What?
He’s paid to protect me, right? If it were ticking, he’d hear it.
That, of course, led to a full sweep of all my devices. Jack didn’t buy my cover story. Not a single made-up piece of it. I considered telling him the truth. For one brief moment, before kicking some sense into myself.
There is no way I’m giving Mason Grant a reason to lay eyes on me again. Who knows what he’ll do if I tell Jack? He’ll probably make me disappear, too. To wherever it is people go. No, thanks.
Safe to say, I have been avoiding Mason Grant like the plague. I leave for the campus at first light, then hide in the library or the café, and don’t return until everyone has gone home. I even have the Masters of Economics class schedule memorized, so I know where he is likely to be. Though I doubt he cares about class, the degree is just a respectable stamp on a résumé earned in the family business.
My plan was working. Until yesterday, when I spotted him center-field in a rainstorm, in the middle of the Kingsden rugby match. His lethal face was a brutal mix of dirt, wounds, and blood, striped by the rain. His eyes swept the field like a predator, deciding which throat to tear first. I wasn’t going to wait around to become a contender.
I turned and bolted before he saw me, heart pounding louder than the roar of the crowd.
“Well, the library is now closed.” Thea flashes me her keys. “So, unless you want me to lock you in…”
My fingers pause on the keyboard, eyes squinting to slits. “It’s tempting,” I mumble.
Thea rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she orders, picking up my bag and tugging me by the elbow. “It’s your turn to cook, remember?”
“You really want ham sandwiches for dinner again?”
I’m not a great cook. Not as bad as my mum. At least I can feed myself. But if I get too creative, it usually ends in smoke and culinary charcoal.
“Better than Penny’s nachos.” Thea smiles.
After Thea locks the library, we make our way out of the Armstrong building, casting shadows on wide windows that reflect the gold-stained violet sky, just after sunset.
The hallways are mostly quiet now, except for Jack, who is waiting for me under the arches, at the entrance.
He’s been un-freaking-bearable since The Vault. Stern and unreadable, with the icy glares and location sweeps around the clock. Thankfully, Thea rides back with me, so I don’t have to make small talk with him.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull into Charlton House. I follow Thea to the lift only to pause when something across the street catches my eye.
A dark silhouette of a lone figure on a motorbike stands camouflaged in the shadow of the oak tree. Embers cut through the dusk, smoke unwinding in ribbons.
My breath hitches, lips turning white hot. And just like that, every inch of me he touched sparks.
7
MASON
I giveup on my workout when The Barrel starts to shake with plastic pop music.
The Barrel—the old Grant pub that I converted into my digs when I started at Kingsden four years ago. Then Kane and Hugo moved in, desperate to get away from their own fathers, and the fuckers haven’t budged since.
After racking the weights on the bench press, I grab my T-shirt from my bed and walk down the long, creaking hallway, sliding it on and running my fingers through my damp hair.
The house got a full makeover with new flooring, sleek décor, all the works money can buy, but it still has the bare bones of the traditional English pub with beams in the ceiling, exposed bricks on some walls, and stone fireplaces. We even kept the wooden bar downstairs. How else will we entertain Hugo’s flock from Kingsden? The intruders who insist on turning my place into a teenage club. I prefer simple chaos. Pool games, whiskey, cards, and smoke.
I come to a halt at the top of the stairs. Trash music blares from the ground floor, though it seems to be just a few of them tonight. I don’t go downstairs. That will end with me kickingeveryone out. Instead, I shove open the door on my right. It flings open to a double bedroom, where colors aren’t allowed. Only black. And everything is glass. Fragile as the ego of its owner.
“Can I help you?” Kane grumbles from his chair, tapping his desk, and staring out the window into the countryside, like he’s plotting the end of the world. “Or are you here for more theatrics?”
“Saw you got your Jeep buffed out.” I smirk, grabbing his precious Rubik’s Cube from the desk and giving it a few random spins before tossing it in the air.
His eyes track the motion as I bounce it from one hand to another, until he jumps up, strides over, and catches it midair.
“This is serious business, Mason. It’s not a fucking joke,” Kane hisses.
