Page 74 of Mase
I lift my hips in an attempt to throw her off, but all it doesis have her bitching up a storm. It’s like she’s only pretending to enjoy this, and I know Tara better than anyone; she’s not enjoying it. Maybe if she enjoyed me, we might have lasted a bit longer. Who am I kidding? We were never meant to be. We never should have been.
“Tarrra,” I croak out, my tongue thick somehow and my words slurred. “Stoppp.”
She lifts her palm and slaps me again, but I don’t feel it. Every muscle in my back coils as I raise my head from the pillow in an attempt to move, my body feeling so unbelievably heavy. Then she hits me again, and I fall back against the mattress, feeling utterly useless.
“Jesus. Just stay down, you dumb fuck!” she hisses.
She grabs something off the dresser, and I turn my head to see what she’s reaching for, then a shooting pain splintering through me is followed up by everything going black.
FORTY-FIVE
OWEN
“Come on. Answer the fucking phone.”I scowl at my phone screen as ringing from the call to Mase blares back at me. “Fucking pick up,” I grit, my body vibrating with tension.
When the call goes to voicemail, I move on to Reed, knowing he’s close by.
His phone continuously rings out too, and I’m torn between trying him again or Gia.
Something flashes in my mind, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m calling someone I swore I would never ask for help from again. More because the pompous prick loves to hold it against me than anything else.
“Owen. To what do I owe this pleasure,” he drawls, with an almost mocking tone.
“I need your help.”
“Of course you do. That’s why you’re calling after all, is it not?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes. You know it is.”
“Then stop wasting my time and tell me what it is that you want.”
“Are you still in LA?”
“I am, for”—I imagine him glancing at his watch—“the next twelve minutes, we’re currently six-thousand feet high.”
They’re in a helicopter. That’s great; this could work. Hope blooms in my chest.
“I need you to make a slight detour.”
“I don’t do home visits,” he snarls, and I roll my eyes.
“Who the fuck you speaking to?” a deep voice booms from inside the chopper.
“Can you lower your tone? I’m on a business call,” Oscar snipes back.
“Who the fuck is it?”
I should have just called his don in the first place. I listen in as their conversation plays out.
“It’s, Owen.”
“STORM guy?”
I want to balk at his reference to me, but in all honesty, I’m grateful he remembers who I am.
“Yes. It appears we’re going to be slightly late getting home.”
“Sky is gonna bitch.”
