Page 89 of Unmask
My stomach churned, a nauseating cocktail of fear and rage burning in my chest.
A low, static ringing filled my ears. If they could get this into my bag, slip past every defense and precaution, what else could they do? How long had they been watching?
The sound of footsteps broke through the fog of panic.
“Hey, you good?” Mason’s voice came from around the corner before he stepped into the kitchen. His expression was open, relaxed even, but I watched it shift as his gaze landed on me, the way his pupils dilated slightly into confusion.
I froze like a deer in headlights, every muscle in my body locking up.
He looked from me to the untouched fridge, its door still hanging open and spilling light across the tile floor, then back to my face. The blood drained out of me so fast I felt dizzy, my vision swimming at the edges as I instinctively palmedthe burner phone behind my back, the plastic warm and slick against my suddenly sweaty palm. I tried to keep my features neutral, to arrange my face into an expression resembling normal, but my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
Too late.
“Are you okay?” he asked again. His brows drew together in a way that transformed his boyish features into someone older. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out except a small, strangled sound barely qualifying as breathing. I licked my lips, tongue darting out nervously as I fumbled for something, anything, to say that wouldn’t sound like the complete lie it was. “I…I couldn’t decide what to grab,” I muttered, turning toward the open fridge to hide the tremor that had started in my hands and was now spreading up my arms. I pretended to study the shelves with intense concentration, like the arrangement of leftover Chinese takeout and expired yogurt was the most important decision I’d ever made.
Mason didn’t buy it. Not even close.
“Wanna tell me what’s really going on?”
I clutched the phone behind my back. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. Haven’t really been sleeping. Shocking, right?”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile. “Kaylor.”
I flinched, my shoulders jerking involuntarily. My name sounded different coming from him now, not teasing or fond but serious. Like he was giving me one last chance to tell him the truth before he stopped asking nicely.
He looked down, scanning me from head to toe with a systematic thoroughness that made me feel like he was cataloging evidence. My posture was too rigid; my shoulders were drawn up defensively. The strain in my voice was too high, and the words were coming too fast. The way my eyes wouldn’tmeet his, darting away every time he tried to catch my gaze. How my breathing had gone shallow and quick.
“What happened?” he demanded, sounding eerily like Kreed. He moved deeper into the kitchen, boxing me in against the counter and effectively cutting off any easy escape routes. “Don’t make me call Kreed.”
The phone burned in my hand, the threat in the message feeling more real, more immediate.Come alone. No cops. No Elite. No Crew.
If I told him… Kreed would find out within minutes. Wouldn’t that be a good thing? Perhaps this was helpful, but something was holding me back. Something was telling me not to tell Mason about the burner phone.
But lying to them again? Keeping this from Kreed?
It made my gut twist into knots.
Mason stared at me, and I didn’t know what to do. Every option felt like betrayal.
I forced a shaky breath, my lungs burning with the effort, and grabbed the first things I saw in the fridge, string cheese that had seen better days and a half-empty bag of grapes that looked lonely on the top shelf. My movements were jerky, uncoordinated, as if my body had forgotten how to function normally. Before turning around, I quickly stuffed the burner phone deep into the front pocket of Kreed’s hoodie, the fabric soft and oversized enough to hide the telltale bulge.
Mason hadn’t moved.
He was still watching, suspicion darkening his usually playful light-green eyes until they looked almost gray in the amber kitchen light. “You sure nothing happened?”
I nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just…overwhelmed, I guess.” The words were clumsy on my tongue. “It caught up to me for a second. I’m okay now.”
He didn’t look convinced. Not even a little bit. His eyes never left mine, and I could see the promise there: this conversation wasn’t over. “All right. But grapes are a sucky snack. You got any popcorn in this place? Some candy, preferably chocolate.”
“I’m sure there’s a box of microwave popcorn in the cabinets,” I retorted.
He nodded. “I’ll find the popcorn, andyoucan take your grapes, but don’t un-pause the movie until I get back.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Leaving Mason in the kitchen, I took my pathetic snack that I really didn’t want and rushed back into the family room. A few minutes later, Mason plopped back down onto the leather couch with a giant bowl of popcorn, filling the room with the aroma of butter and salt. The grapes couldn’t compete.
I sat at the opposite end, and if I had any chance of getting my hand in that bowl, I had to move closer. Mason played the movie, and my stomach made a hollow ache. I glanced at the grapes and then at the popcorn. The choice was obvious.
