Page 109 of House of Payne

I want to bang my hands against his chest just to see something other than cool composure.

I know he felt it.

He had to have felt it.

“Get dressed. I have things to do.” He tosses my clothes at me. “I’ll send someone up to take your bag.”

I scoot to the edge of the bed, the blanket drawn to my chest. “I don’t need help.”

I don’t need another reminder of what happened here. Of what I let happen. Despite my best efforts to steer clear, Mason has his hooks in me.

I can’t imagine what everyone must think.

How long before Noah tells my father what he saw?

How long until they both hate me even more?

Mason is now the same cool, composed man I met in the office the day they took me to meet him. “Don’t argue with me, and don’t shower. I like smelling myself on you.”

I press my lips together and don’t say anything.

Willingly walking into this arrangement is one thing. Letting Mason control me is another. He won’t take this away from me, too.

I won’t let him.

I’ll do what he wants to keep the peace, but I won’t do it willingly.

When Mason leaves, keeping my bedroom door ajar, I sit on the edgeof the bed and bury my face in my hands.

I don’t realize I’m crying until I get up and stumble into the adjoining bathroom.

I’m still heaving and catching my breath when I hear someone knock on the door, and my heart sinks.

With trembling hands, I pull on my clothes and throw open the door, finding one of Mason’s goons waiting for me. He takes my two large bags in silence, and I wait until he leaves the room before I look around. The sheets on the bed are rumpled, and I can still smell Mason in the air, but other than that, the room remains untouched.

One of the last vestiges of my old life, and he couldn’t even let me have that.

What was the point of proving he can have me in my childhood home?

What sick mind game is he playing now?

You didn’t say no, so Mason isn’t entirely to blame.

I keep telling myself I can be strong enough to look at him and refuse, but then I look into his stormy eyes and hear his smooth voice, and something in me snaps.

Every time.

I don’t know why he has the kind of impact he does, and I wish I knew how to stop it.

With a frown, I get up to leave, pausing only to pull the door shut behind me. Mason’s goon is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his dark eyes giving nothing away. I don’t look at him as I stop to brush lint off my clothes. In the doorway of my childhood home, I stop and look at the framed picture on the wall on top of the shoe rack.

I don’t recognize the young woman in the picture, standing between her parents, in a green field, with a bright smile on her face.

Maybe you’ll find her again someday. For now, you have to do what needs to be done.

My heart is heavy, and there’s an ache in my stomach as I tear my gaze away and hurry outside. A single tear slides down my cheek as I bow my head. Then, the car window rolls down, and Mason’s face appears.

A heartbeat later, I get in the car. Mason doesn’t look at me as he raps on the roof. He takes out his phone and speaks in low, rapid tones, too quickly for me to hear. I press my face against the cool window, squeeze my eyes shut, and drown him out.