Page 87 of Unmask
We pulled up down the block, headlights clicking off with a soft whisper. The engine ticked as it cooled. Raine was the first out, his hand hovering over the hilt of his knife, fingers flexing and releasing in a nervous tell he’d never quite managed to shake. “We’re going through the side. Briggs said they were seen entering near the loading dock.”
I nodded. “Maddox, you cover rear. Stay sharp and watch for runners.” I turned to my right-hand man. “Raine, you’re with me.”
As we crept toward the building, our footsteps muffled by years of practice and necessity, adrenaline simmered beneath my skin. We’d been doing shit like this since we could walk. At least it felt that way. I’d never forget the first time the old man stuck a gun in my hand. It was a memory you never forgot. I told myself I was done with this shit, and I was. Once this was over, that was it. I was walking away from it all.
The air hung thick and stagnant, smelling like rust and mold, old concrete, and something else, something that made mynostrils flare and my gut clench, but we were getting closer. I could sense it.
19
KAYLOR
Iwoke up in darkness. The kind that pressed against your eyelids like velvet, making it impossible to tell if your eyes were open or closed, if the world still existed beyond the suffocating quiet. The bed beside me was empty, cold sheets stretched where warmth should have been. My hand instinctively reached out anyway, fingers searching blindly across the mattress for Kreed, expecting to find the familiar landscape of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Nothing but cotton and disappointment.
My pulse jumped, a staccato rhythm too loud in the silence.
Pushing the covers off with more force than necessary, I sat up slowly, the cool air hitting my bare legs. I blinked hard into the dark, trying to force my vision to adjust as I swung my feet to the floor and strode toward the hallway. The hardwood was ice beneath my bare soles; each step a small shock to help clear the fog of sleep from my brain.
A faint flicker of light bled up from downstairs, painting ghostly rectangles on the hallway walls. Shadows danced andshifted, accompanied by the soft murmur of a television filtering up through the quiet house.
Kreed. It had to be him. Maybe he couldn’t sleep either; maybe he was waiting for me to find him.
I padded down the stairs, each step careful and deliberate to avoid the creaks I’d memorized. His oversized hoodie from earlier hung loose around my frame, the sleeves swallowing my hands completely, the fabric still carrying traces of his cologne. The glow of the television drew me into the living room, but it wasn’t Kreed sprawled across the leather couch.
Mason?
He sat there with casual confidence, one long leg draped over the other, remote balanced lazily in his palm. A smug little grin played at the corners of his mouth as he flipped through channels with a deliberate slowness suggesting he had nowhere else to be. The blue light from the screen cast angles across his face, highlighting the aristocratic line of his jaw and the mischief that seemed permanently etched in his features.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Kreed?” I demanded, wondering what was going on. Nothing like going to sleep with one Corvo and waking up with another.
He turned toward me with that infuriating sparkle in his eye, the one suggesting he knew exactly how unsettled I was and found it endlessly entertaining. “Out. It’s just you and me, my little kitten.” His voice carried that trademark Mason drawl, honey smooth and designed to get under your skin.
I arched a brow, crossing my arms defensively across my chest. “Is that supposed to make me feel secure?”
“At least I’m not Maddox,” he said with a shrug that somehow managed to be both dismissive and suggestive. He stretched like a cat in a sunbeam, all lazy grace and hidden claws. “Pretty sure he’s got a hard-on for you.”
My nose wrinkled at the mental image. “Let’s save the dick talks for another night.”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “Even Kreed’s?”
Heat flashed up my neck, but I pushed through it with stubborn determination. “You want to talk about how impressive your brother’s cock is? How fucking huge is it? How he knows exactly how to?—”
“Okay, stop. You’re right. Bad idea.” He held up both hands in mock surrender, but his grin only widened, those dimples carving deep crescents in his cheeks. The expression lit up his whole face, transforming him from dangerous criminal to charming rogue in the space of a heartbeat. For a second, I almost felt sorry for the poor girls who didn’t know better than to fall for Mason Corvo’s particular brand of trouble.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I pointed out, steering him back to the topic. “Where is he?”
“Out with Raine and Mad.”
My stomach twisted into a familiar knot of dread. “Did something happen? Did he?—?”
“No, not yet.” Mason’s grin faded. He muted the television, plunging us into a quieter intimacy. “This is why he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
That twinkle of anticipation that had bloomed inside me like a fragile flower fizzled and died. Of course. Hope was dangerous. Hope was sharp-edged and treacherous. I sank onto the opposite end of the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. “So what kind of ‘not yet’ are we talking about here? The kind where he comes home with good news, or the kind where he comes home bleeding?”
Mason studied me for a long moment, his expression uncharacteristically thoughtful. “You really want to know, or are you just asking because youthinkyou should?”
The question caught me off guard. “I want to know. Ineedto know.”
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “They got a tip about where they might be transporting. If it pans out, if they can get these girls out… It might give us leverage. Information. A way to trace this whole fucking network back to whoever’s pulling the strings.”
