Page 108 of 12 Months of Mayhem

Where things between us had turned from learning each other’s favorite ice cream flavor, to learning each other’s bodies. And while Mason had been my first, I wasn’t under any false impression he was some kind of saint.

He was a biker—a fully patched member and on his way to being the damn club president. While I tried not to think about it, I knew I wasn’t the only girl he’d fucked during the past year. But this time around, when I got back home from Scorch, I’d be packing up and moving for college.

And the college I’d chosen?

The University of Arizona.

In Tucson.

Things were about to change, and I couldn’t wait to tell him.

I smirked, shoving at his cut and reaching for his belt buckle as I sunk to my knees, or at least tried to.

He caught my wrist, pulling me back to my full height and shaking his head. “As much as the thought of my dick in between those pretty, pouty lips sounds enticing, I want to fuck my woman.”

My woman.

My entire body felt like it was weightless.

Growing up in the club, I was never really sure if I wanted to be someone’s old lady, or someone’s woman. It always sounded a little degrading, and I believed I’d been raised to be stronger than that.

But since being with Mason, I understood the terms so much better.

I understood why it felt good to feel like you belonged to men like him.

It was safety and comfort—knowing that being theirs didn’t mean being owned—it meant being cherished.

I buried my hand into the cross-body bag I’d sneakily borrowed from Aja, one of the club girls, knowing she never went anywhere without a handful of condoms and a packet of chewing gum. But when I dug deep inside to pull one out, my fingertips brushed over something different.

Blinking through the dim lighting, I pulled the baggie of weed out, holding it pinched between my fingertips.

Mason barked out a laugh, taking it from me and holding it out further so we could see it in the street lights. “Jesus. You been dealin’ on the side, Cal?”

I giggled, snatching it back and shoving it back into the bag. “I guess I should have checked, I didn’t take off with someone’s stash when I borro—”

“Hey!” A sharp beam of light cut through the dark alley.

“Shit,” Mason cursed, stepping in front of me.

A deep voice rang out, echoing loudly in the silence. “What are you two doing back here!”

Mason glanced back at me. “Hide.”

I didn’t argue, darting into the shadows and zipping in and out through buildings and across a couple of streets until I honestly had no idea where I was. Ducking down behind an old concrete loading dock, as my lungs screamed for oxygen, my heart felt like it might explode at any moment, and my throat was dry and sore. That, plus the thick scent of grease and dust in the air, did not help me catch my breath.

I crept slowly along the side of the loading dock, keeping my head down because the roller doors leading inside were rolled up just slightly, a gentle light shining out from underneath.

I just needed to hide until Mason handled the cop.

He would.

He was good like that.

Always knew the right thing to do and say.

But then I heard voices. Low, angry voices.

And I couldn’t help but pop my head up just enough to see past the old truck parked in the loading bay and make out two men standing outside near a stack of wooden pallets, their bodies rigid.

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