Of course, he has a large following, including Penny, Thea, Caden, andCharlotte Pike.
Most of his photos are bike shots, hilltop views, and snaps from his clubs, though he can’t be seen in many of those. I find one with his mother outside what must be the Grant Manor. She is beautiful, athletic and youthful. Her long, honey-brown hair trails over a brown leather jacket. Though she has a warm presence, even from a photo, she gives me the chills. Because that woman right there is a legit mafia daughter.
I don’t realize how long I have been stalking him until I check the time again. Half past one.
My heart starts to race as the dark, lonely shadows slither toward me, crawling across the floor, slipping under the door, drawing closer with their cold fingers, ready to wrap around my throat, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
Flustered, I reach for my nightstand in desperation, my fingers trembling as I pull open the medicine caps and swallow my melatonin.
Click!
The front door unlocks. I close the app, place my phone and pills on the nightstand, and close my eyes, willing my pulse to quiet.
Twenty seconds later, my bedroom door opens, then shuts. Ignoring the pounding of my heart, I try to stay still as heavy footsteps make their way toward me. A mixture of leather and smoke floods my airways, my skin pebbling as I feel him in touching distance.
And then he does.
It takes all my will not to twitch as his fingers brush my skin, pulling the hair away from my face and tucking it behindmy ear. He strokes my cheeks, then my lips, his warm breath washing my face.
Did red flush my cheeks?
Did he feel my pulse race?
Maybe not, because his weight shifts, then he moves away. A moment later, the leather on my armchair squeaks and the window creaks open, followed by the click of the lighter and the scent of nicotine.
I try to keep my breathing even as I lie there for long minutes, with Mason Grant—my midnight stranger—watching me sleep.
As he has been every night since he marked me.
How do I know?
Because I wake up every morning tied to my bed with the lingering taste of smoke on my lips.
14
MASON
“Where have you been?”Kane demands when I finally make it back to The Barrel.
“Where have I been?” I plop down and sprawl out on the couch. “What, are you my mother, now?”
“Hugo’s been waiting for you.” Kane grins.
“The fuck now?” I throw out an arm. “I’ve had a busy night. Can’t you two knuckleheads take care of your own shit for one day?”
“Busy doing what exactly?” Kane presses, his brows furrowing. “You’ve been gone every night this week. Should I be worried?”
“Did you get a fresh batch of annoying from my father today? Back the fuck off,” I snap and throw the rugby ball at his face. He dodges it with a swift turn of the head.
“Is he here?” Hugo’s angry voice comes from upstairs as he storms down the stairs. I throw my head back and sigh. I’m far too knackered for one of Hugo’s rants. “Hey, dickhead.” He points at me. “Did you torch that fucker’s car at The Vault?”
“What car?” Kane looks between us, sniffing trouble like the watchdog he is.
“Some knob who pissed him off,” Hugo grunts. “You couldn’t have moved his car away from the fucking generator? You fried the fucking electrics, prick.”
They both stare at me like I give a fuck.
“Care to explain?” Kane cocks an eyebrow. “Is there a body to dispose of, or is James taking care of it already?”
