Page 62 of Infamous
“I know.”
Mason studies me for a long moment, then nods toward the truck. “Wait for me there. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
I hesitate. “Mason -”
He cuts me off with a look. “Truck. Now.”
There’s no arguing with that tone. I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather cold against my back, and shut the door. The silence swallows me whole.
Through the windshield, I watch Mason disappear back into the war room, and I know what’s coming next.
Scar will calm down. Mason will mediate. Lucky will make jokes about body bags and bleach. And they’ll all tell me the same thing in different ways -don’t make it personal.
But it’s already personal. It’s been personal since the day the world took everything from me. If Scar wants to keep his hands clean, that’s fine. But I’ve never been afraid to dirty mine.
39
MASON IRONSIDE
Scar’s still pacing when I walk back into the war room, his temper cutting through the air like static.
The table’s a battlefield of papers and photos, most of them crumpled where his fists landed. He doesn’t look up, just mutters, “Don’t start, Mason.”
I take my time, shut the door behind me, and lean against it. “Didn’t come to start. Came to keep you from breaking something else you’ll regret.”
He finally glances up, eyes burning, the storm still alive in them. “That son of a bitch jeopardized everything we’ve built. You know what happens if someone spots him dragging a man into a truck outside a residential complex? We’ve worked years to clean up this city.Years,Mason. We can’t afford this shit.”
I nod, slow and calm, like I’m agreeing just to get him to breathe. “You’re right. It’s messy.”
He scoffs. “Messy?”
“Yeah. Messy. But understandable.”
Scar’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you start romanticizing this. You and your bleeding-heart logic.”
“I’m not romanticizing anything,” I say, pushing off the door. “I’m reminding you who we are.”
Scar turns away, but I press on.
“Any one of us would’ve done the same. Hell, probably worse.” I step closer, voice low. “You remember what Lucky did to that judge who had his wife’s stalker released on bail? You remember what Brando did when Mia got that threat letter in the mail? You remember me in that prison yard, Scar - when I put a shiv through a man’s ribs because he so much aslookedat my woman’s photo?”
Scar goes still.
I take another step forward. “We’re all murderers wearing nicer suits now. But the reason we’ve survived this long isn’t because we don’t feel - it’s because we remember who we’re killingfor.”
He exhales through his nose, still not looking at me. “That’s not the point, Mason. We took Jude in for a higher purpose. To clean up the city’s filth. To remind the world what happens when monsters run unchecked. Not to have him fuck it all up because of a woman.”
“And yet,” I say, pacing now, matching his rhythm, “that woman’s the only thing that’s kept him human. You think we want a killing machine? We already had one. His name was Ghost. The version we have now - the one who stillchooseswho to kill, who still thinks twice before pulling the trigger - that’s progress.”
Scar turns finally, eyes cold. “Progress gets people killed.”
I shrug. “So does detachment. You of all people should know that.”
He opens his mouth to argue, then stops, jaw tight. There’s history there - his, mine, all of ours. He doesn’t have to say it. We’ve all buried people we loved because the job came first.
“The fact that he didn’t outright kill Michael,” I continue, “and instead came here? That tells me something important. It means he’s in control of his impulses. His thoughts. His emotions. The man’s been locked up for ten years, Scar. If he were still a robot, we’d be scrubbing blood off this floor by now.”
Scar drags a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath I don’t quite catch.
