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Ten. Fifteen. Fifty-seven.Click. The loud noise of the case opening doesn’t startle me as much as I thought it would; I’m still waiting to learn who the man was and why he was here. I need to know what he was searching for and what was in that syringe.
Mason swallows thickly, opening the case and revealing a shiny handgun.
“It’s a nine millimeter. It?—”
“Mason,” I say, cutting him off, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. “Who was that?” I ask him when I have his full attention.
“I don’t know,” he answers lowly, holding my gaze.
“Why …” I can’t finish my sentence, my blood rushing in my ears and my body heating.
My throat goes dry as Mason gives me nothing. His expression is unchanging, and I know right then he’s not going to tell me a damn thing.
I lick my lips and push the case away from me. I didn’t choose this, and I don’t want it.
“You need to know how to use this, Jules,” Mason says, grabbing the gun by the barrel and passing it to me handle out, insisting I take it. I stare at it, but I don’t really see it. Everything’s a blur.
“I can’t describe how absolutely terrified I was,” I say, swallowing down every fear as I rush to get it all out. “Not for my own life or what was going to happen to me, or what could have happened…” Chancing a look in his eyes, I know he hears me. I know he understands what I’m saying.
I was worried he’d never come back. I was worried Mason was going to die.
“I need you to talk to me,” I tell him as my eyes burn with the emotions finally surfacing. Scooting closer to him on the bed, I lean closer and plead, “I need to know what’s going on.” I take a steadying breath, surprised at how even my cadence is. At how strong my voice sounds although I feel as if I’m on the verge of collapsing with hopelessness.
“I don’t want to tell you more than you need to know, Jules,” Mason says and looks up at me with sympathy, his strength and dominance ever present. He reaches out to cup my jaw but I flinch and move away, scooting backward slightly as I shake my head.
“No, you don’t get to decide that,” I tell him with a voice much louder than I anticipated. A small bit of anger seeps into the firm statement.
Mason’s gaze narrows, but he doesn’t respond.
“I need to know.” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does, but I am truly desperate and there’s no way to hide that. “You need to tell me.” Without a response, I lick my dry lips and shamefully look away, down at the patterned rug on the floor. I wish my voice held the strength I feel. I wish I were stronger overall. I’m trying, I’m truly giving everything I can not to be the meek woman I was raised to be and praised for being.
“You don’t need to know.” His answer is short but he keeps my gaze as if he’s ready to cave to me, to give me what I want. I know that look well. I only need to ask.
“I want to know, Mason,” I tell him honestly. “Please,” I add as I lean forward slightly, almost reaching for his hand. Almost.
With a heavy sigh, he puts the gun back into the case. He shoves it to the side and finally tells me, “I think he was a hit man. I think there’s a hit out?—”
“A hit?” I blurt out, not quite picking up what he’s saying at first, but then the realization floods through me, along with a coldness that cracks my composure. “Someone wants to kill you?” How I have any voice at all is beyond me.
His expression softens as he shakes his head once. “It could be either of us. But I would think that the killer knew I was downstairs in the office.”
“Someone tried to kill me?” I manage to get out, but then immediately have to fight back the need to vomit. The shock is just too much. “Why?” My hands shake without my conscious consent.Someone’s trying to kill me.
“Your father?” I can only surmise it’s him. “He warned me. He … he?—”
“I don’t think so. I think he’d rather use you to get to me than kill you.”
“Then who?” The question is torn from me. “Who the hell would try to kill me if not him?”
Mason doesn’t answer me.
“Mason.” I whisper his name, my face crumpling with pain as I beg him, “I don’t want to die.” I’ve thought about death so much this past year, ever since Jace died. It often occurred to me that it would be so easy to just end the pain. But I don’t want that. I want to live. I want to be happy. Like I was with Mason, before I found out all the lies.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” Mason states with finality in a voice so full of confidence, I believe him. His white T-shirt is pulled snug across his broad shoulders and as he leans forward, looking me deep in my eyes, my heart flips and everything else but him blurs around me. “I’ll always protect you, Jules. I promise,” he tells me. I think he’s going to reach out and touch me, that he’s going to kiss me and hold me in that comforting way I’ve grown used to. But he doesn’t. He’s only inches away, so close I could touch him, but the distance between us is still there and I know I only need to give my consent to let him in. To let his touch soothe the pain that’s suffocating me.
“Please hold me.” I hate myself in this moment for needing Mason, for forgiving him enough to give in to my own weakness and desires. I close my eyes tight, willing my conscience to go away so he can comfort me. It’s not the first time I’ve had to do this. And the last time sent me spiraling into a darkness I couldn’t control.
“I need more than that, Jules.” Mason’s voice is full of raw emotion for the first time since coming back in here. My eyes open slowly, feeling the sting of tears subside and something else forcing its way through me. His cold gray eyes soften and fill with vulnerability.