Page 91 of Freaks Of Nature
My hand is still sore from the punch into the locker earlier, and another round of sharp pain shoots up my forearm as my knuckles collide with his jaw. His head flings to the side. The rest of his body follows behind with the momentum.
As Vince stumbles and goes down, I straddle his chest. My hands wrapping around his throat is the last thing I see.
Then my vision goes dark.
Em
Oh my God!
“Mason!”
I jump out of the car and rush over to where he’s pinning Vince to the ground, hands around his neck.
I’ve never seen anyone get punched before. Not even slapped.
Heaving breaths saw in and out of him. Mason’s glare stays down. He’s so focused on choking the man, he doesn’t even hear me.
I yank on his arm. “Stop it. Let him go.”
He doesn’t budge. His knuckles are white while Vince’s face is starting to turn blue. His legs thrash as he tries to fight Mason off.
I give one more pull. “Please, Mason.” And this time the sound of his name breaks his frenzy.
His head snaps around, and his dark eyes find mine, but for a second he looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me. His features remain twisted and hard.
In the next moment, his eyes dart over me, and the same confusion from the other night at my apartment washes over him as if he doesn’t know where he is or what’s going on.
A groan from Vince swings Mason’s attention back to him. I watch the tension in his grip loosen, then his hands switch to the guy’s shirt to yank his face toward him.
“If you so much as look her way again, I’ll pluck your fucking eyeballs from their sockets,” he snarls an inch from him, his nostrils flaring with his threat.
He drops him to the asphalt and pushes off.
I take a step back on reflex. I can’t believe he laid into Vince like that just for running his mouth. What would he do if someone were to actually put a hand on me?
“Fuck, Mason.” Vince rises to his feet, albeit a little unsteadily. “Always with the short fuse, huh?” Glaring at Mason, he straightens out his shirt, then jabs a finger at me.
“She must have a death wish to put up with you,” he says before pivoting and marching toward the restaurant’s entrance.
Mason turns to me but hesitates to move, wary of my reaction. His fingers twitch down by his sides. His jaw is tense.
I blow out a breath and put his mind at ease.
“What just happened?” I ask, raising my hands to his face. I want him to look at me, and only me. I’m the one who got through to him. That has to count for something, right?
Mason’s fingers close around my wrists, the same fingers that nearly drained the life out of a man right in front of me.
“I won’t let anyone talk to you that way. You’re more than what he implies, Em.”
His voice is filled with emotion, and his touch is just as tender—a stark contrast to how he snapped at me earlier.
I half expected him to shove me into my car himself. He was scary. Scarier than hunting me through the alley or taunting me in my apartment. I know he was just playing then, because he promised me I’ll always be safe with him; the devil you know, right?
But there’s something haunting within the swirl of green that meets me, and seeing him so violent, lashing out at another guy, is frightening. It’s a side of him I haven’t really given much thought to. Where’s all that rage coming from?
And what did Vince mean by me having a death wish?
Mason’s throat bobs. His right hand releases my wrist and tilts my chin up. “You’remine.”
