Page 111 of 12 Months of Mayhem

Mason grabbed the glass vase off the table, launching it at the wall. “You’re lying!” he hissed, but it was my turn to stand my ground. It was my turn to show him I wasn’t running away. Not this time. I was ready to face this head-on.

His chest heaved up and down, his breathing growing heavier by the second.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I was going to get you to drive us to my dad so we could ask him for help,” I rambled, fighting to get the words out before he lost it completely. “Then that cop separated us before I could tell you what was going on.”

I was eighteen.

I was scared—fucking petrified.

Not just of being killed for witnessing something I never should have, but of losing Mason and knowing I could have done something to stop it. To stop him from being murdered.

“Tell me who did it,” he demanded, stepping closer.

His hands were clenched into fists, and the look on his face was deadly.

“It was all I could do to keep you safe.” I could barely get the words out as every single one felt like a knife in my stomach being twisted. “I did it because I loved you. I did it because I wasn’t about sit back and do nothing while some monster hunted you dow—”

“Who. Did. It!” he roared, reaching for me. His fingers threaded into my hair, twisting in the strands until he had a handful.

It was painful, but not physically—Mason, even in his fury, didn’t have it in him to hurt me.

No matter how hard he’d tried with his words a few minutes ago.

With a gentle tug, he forced me to lift my chin and look up at him, walking me backward until I bumped the wall. There was nowhere left to go, and yet, he continued to press forward, his body pinning me there.

I licked my lips, and his eyes dropped, following the movement of my tongue as it glided from one side to the other. “Mason,” I whispered while his hand moved from my hair to my neck, his thumb gently grazing my pulse. “Please. We can go to my dad. This time, we can get it right. This time, we can ask him to help.”

He leaned in, his forehead touching mine and his breath grazing my skin.

I needed to get this right this time.

This was the second chance I never thought I’d get, to prove to him that I wasn’t the villain he thought I was.

“Calli,” he murmured, the sound of my name on his lips again casting a wave of goose bumps across my skin. “Tell. Me.”

“Mas—”

“Tell me who killed my dad!”

My heart slammed against my ribcage, making it hard to speak, or breathe, or even damn well think.

But there was no going back now.

The shit was out of the horse.

And nothing I did or said was going to put it back in.

“Dime.” This was the point of no return. “Dime killed your father.”

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