Page 14

twelve

Meadow

Mason’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. The plastic creaks under his grip. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The silence in the car is deafening.

I steal glances at him, my stomach churning. His anger radiates from him in waves, filling the small space. I want to reach out, to touch him, but I hold back.

The familiar outline of the hospital looms ahead. My heart rate kicks up a notch. This is it.

Mason pulls into a spot near the entrance, engine cutting off abruptly. He doesn’t move, staring straight ahead.

“Mason,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turns to me, eyes blazing. “I don’t like this, Meadow. Not one fucking bit.”

I swallow hard. “I know. But I have to do this.”

Mason’s intense gaze bores into me, a storm of emotions swirling in his dark blue eyes. Anger. Fear. Frustration. And beneath it all, a fierce protectiveness that steals my breath.

“I know you do,” he says finally, his voice rough. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He reaches out, cupping my face in his calloused hand. The tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply with the tension thrumming through his body.

Mason shadows me through the hospital corridors, his presence a constant, looming shadow. The weight of his gaze prickles the back of my neck. Every squeak of a gurney, every beep of a monitor, sets him on edge. His muscles coil, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger.

I try to focus on my rounds, but Mason’s tension is contagious. My hands shake as I flip through charts. Deep breaths. Center yourself.

A nurse sprints into the hall, face flushed. “Dr. Beckham! Emergency C-section in OR 2!”

Adrenaline surges through me. This is what I’m here for. I sprint down the corridor, Mason hot on my heels.

“Stay out here,” I order as we reach the OR.

His jaw clenches. “Like hell I will.”

No time to argue. I push through the doors, the familiar scent of antiseptic hitting me. Controlled chaos greets me, monitors beeping urgently and nurses prepping instruments.

On the table, a woman writhes in pain. Her eyes, wide with fear, lock on to mine. “Please,” she gasps. “Save my baby.”

I nod, snapping on gloves. “I’ve got you. Both of you.”

Mason hovers in the corner, a dark sentinel. I push his presence from my mind, laser-focused on the task at hand.

“BP’s dropping!” a nurse calls out.

No time for niceties. I make the incision, muscle memory taking over. Blood wells up, staining my gloves crimson. The metallic scent fills the air.

“Suction,” I bark.

Seconds stretch into eternity. My world narrows to this—the flash of steel, the give of flesh beneath my hands.

A cry pierces the air, and relief floods through me as I lift the squirming newborn. “It’s a boy,” I announce, passing her to the waiting pediatrician.

But we’re not out of the woods yet. The mother’s vitals are erratic. Blood loss, too much.

“She’s hemorrhaging!”

I work frantically, fingers flying as I suture. Sweat beads on my forehead, threatening to drip into my eyes. Can’t stop. Can’t falter.

“Come on,” I mutter. “Stay with me.”

The monitors stabilize. The bleeding slows, then stops. I exhale, shoulders sagging in relief.

I turn, catching Mason’s eye. The intensity of his gaze steals my breath. Pride and something deeper shine in those dark depths.

As I strip off my bloodied gown, exhaustion hits. But there’s no time to rest. More patients await. More lives hanging in the balance.

Mason falls into step beside me as we exit the OR. His hand brushes mine, a silent gesture of support.

“You were amazing in there,” he murmurs.

I offer a tired smile. “Just doing my job.”

His eyes narrow, sensing the weight of unspoken words. But before he can press further, my pager buzzes again.

The day stretches on, a blur of examinations and procedures. Through it all, Mason remains a constant presence. Watchful. Protective.

As night falls, the shadows in the corridors seem to deepen. Every corner holds potential danger. My nerves fray, the constant vigilance taking its toll.

As I finish updating a patient’s chart, Mason’s hand on my lower back guides me toward my office. The touch sends sparks through my exhausted body. He closes the door behind us, the soft click echoing in the sudden quiet.

I turn to face him, a question on my lips. But before I can speak, Mason’s mouth crashes to mine. The kiss is hungry, desperate. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me flush against him. I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against my own.

My back hits the wall, Mason’s body pinning me in place. Heat floods through me, chasing away the bone-deep weariness. I arch into him, fingers clawing at his shoulders.

A snarl rumbles deep in Mason’s chest. The primal sound sends shivers down my spine. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along my jaw. His stubble scrapes deliciously against my sensitive skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire, “how fucking incredible you are?”

His teeth graze my earlobe, drawing a whimper from my throat. One of his hands slides down to grip my hip, fingers digging in possessively.

“Watching you in there,” Mason continues, punctuating his words with nips and kisses along my neck. “Saving lives. So confident. So in control.”

He pulls back slightly, dark eyes blazing with intensity. “It drove me crazy. Wanting to touch you. To claim you.”

My heart pounds, desire coiling low in my belly. “Mason,” I breathe, voice barely above a whisper.

He captures my lips again, the kiss searing in its intensity. His hand slips under my scrub top, calloused fingers tracing patterns on my bare skin. I shiver, overwhelmed by the sensation.

“Mine,” Mason says against my lips. “You’re mine, Meadow. Say it.”

The possessiveness in his tone should frighten me. Instead, it ignites a fire in my veins. “Yours,” I gasp. “I’m yours, Mason.”

He groans, pressing impossibly closer. I can feel every hard plane of his body, the evidence of his desire hot against my hip. My own need builds, threatening to consume me.

A sharp knock on the door shatters the moment. We freeze, hearts racing in tandem. Reality crashes back, reminding me where we are.

“Dr. Beckham?” A nurse’s voice, muffled through the wood. “You’re needed in the ER.”

I close my eyes, resting my forehead against Mason’s chest. His arms tighten around me, a silent promise.

“To be continued,” he murmurs, pressing a final, tender kiss to my temple.

As I straighten my clothes and smooth my hair, I catch Mason’s heated gaze in the mirror. The promise in those dark depths sends another shiver through me.

* * *

I finish my last chart, hand cramping from hours of writing. Mason’s at my side in an instant and the ache between my legs seems to be growing by the second.

“Ready to go home?” he asks, voice low and gravelly.

I nod, too tired for words. But as we head for the exit, a chill runs down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

It’s probably just the nerves of the day from being constantly on guard, plus I’m exhausted.

Mason leads me out into the parking lot, his form curled around mine like he wants to completely cover my body.

The night air is cool against my skin as we step out of the hospital. Mason’s arm wraps protectively around my waist, his body angled to shield me from potential threats. The parking lot is eerily quiet, the few cars scattered across the asphalt like abandoned sentinels.

* * *

Unbeknownst to them, a figure lurks in the shadows between two parked cars. Her face twisted with rage and jealousy as she watches their every move. Her fingernails dig crescents into her palms as she fights the urge to scream.

It should have been her. She was the one who’d worked alongside Peterson for years, catering to his every whim. She’d endured his temper, his wandering hands, all for the promise of a better life. And then Meadow had waltzed in, with her perfect smile and her fancy degree, and ruined everything.

Her eyes narrow as she watches Mason open the car door for Meadow. The tenderness in his touch, the way his gaze never leaves her face, it’s like a knife twisting in her gut. She remembers a time when Peterson looked at her that way, before Meadow stole his attention.

As the car pulls away, she steps out from her hiding place. Her hatred burns white-hot, consuming every rational thought.

Meadow Beckham has taken everything from her—her mentor, her future, and now her freedom. Peterson’s obsession with her had ruined everything.

She reaches into her pocket, fingers closing around the cold metal of the scalpel she’d stolen from the supply closet. A humorless smile twists her lips.

Meadow may have won this round, but the game is far from over. She will make her pay, make her suffer as she has suffered.

And when Meadow finally breaks, when she’s lost everything she holds dear, only then will she end her misery. But not before savoring every moment of her pain.

As the taillights of Mason’s car disappear into the night, she melts back into the shadows. Her time will come. And when it does, Meadow Beckham will wish she’d never set foot in this hospital.

She has stolen my future, I will destroy hers.

* * *

Meadow

We are close by my apartment. “Can we go in and get the rest of my things?” I ask Mason.

Mason nods, pulling into the parking lot of my apartment complex. As we approach my door, an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. Something’s not right.

The door creaks open at my touch. It should be locked. My heart pounds as we step inside.

The sight that greets us steals my breath. Destruction. Utter chaos.

My living room is unrecognizable. Furniture overturned, cushions slashed. Picture frames lie shattered on the floor, glass crunching under our feet. The walls, once a soft cream, are now defaced with angry red scrawls.

“Tell the world it’s a setup and no one dies,” I read aloud, voice barely a whisper.

Mason’s arm tightens around me. “Jesus Christ.”

We move deeper into the apartment, the devastation growing worse with each step. In the kitchen, dishes lie smashed on the tile. The acrid smell of spoiled food assaults my nostrils; the refrigerator door hangs open, its contents strewn across the floor.

But it’s my bedroom that truly makes my stomach turn. My dresser drawers have been emptied, clothes scattered everywhere. A sickening realization hits as I notice what’s missing.

“My underwear,” I choke out. “They’re all gone.”

Mason’s jaw clenches, his eyes blazing with vehemence. But there’s worse to come.

The bedsheets are stained, reeking of urine and something else, something musky and unmistakable. Bile rises in my throat as I realize what it is.

“They… Oh God.” I clap a hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.

Mason pulls me close, his body trembling with barely contained rage. “We’re leaving. Now.”

As he guides me out, my eyes land on one final message scrawled across my vanity mirror.

I’ll see you when you sleep, bitch.

The words blur as tears fill my eyes. I stumble, overwhelmed by the violation.

Mason scoops me into his arms, carrying me out of this nightmare and into the cool night air. As we reach his truck, I finally let the tears fall, sobs racking my body.

“I’ve got you,” Mason murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re safe now. I won’t let them hurt you.”

* * *

MASON

Rage burns through my veins as I carry Meadow to my truck. Her body shakes with sobs, face buried against my chest. Every tear, every broken whimper, fuels the inferno inside me.

I want blood. I want to tear Peterson and his goons apart with my bare hands. To make them suffer for daring to violate what’s mine.

But Meadow needs me. Her pain takes precedence over me being pissed.

I settle her into the passenger seat, buckling her in with gentle hands. She looks so small, so fragile. Nothing like the fierce woman I know her to be. It breaks something inside me to see her this way.

“I’ve got you, darlin’,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re safe now.”

As I slide into the driver’s seat, my phone buzzes. Liam’s name flashes on the screen.

“Yeah,” I answer, voice clipped.

“Where are you?” Liam demands. “Tracker shows you’re not at the hospital.”

I glance at Meadow, debating how much to say. She meets my gaze, eyes red-rimmed but determined. She nods, giving me silent permission.

“Meadow’s apartment. It’s… Fuck, Liam. It’s bad.”

Silence stretches for a beat. Then, “How bad?”

I relay the details in terse sentences, each word tasting like ash. Liam’s breathing grows heavier, punctuated by muffled curses.

“Bring her to the clubhouse,” he orders. “Now. I’m calling an emergency meeting.”

“On our way,” I confirm, ending the call.

I peel out of the parking lot, tires squealing against asphalt. One hand finds Meadow’s, our fingers intertwining. She clings to me like a lifeline.

“It’s going to be okay,” I promise, though the words feel hollow. “We’ll make this right.”

Meadow’s grip tightens. When she speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. “They were in my home, Mason. My bed. I can’t… I can’t go back there.”

My jaw clenches so hard it aches. “You won’t have to. Ever. We’ll get you new things. A new place. Whatever you need.”

She nods, falling silent. The rest of the drive passes in a haze of fury and helplessness.

As we pull into the clubhouse lot, I see bikes lined up outside. Word travels fast in our world.

The cavalry has arrived.

* * *

MEADOW

Rage burns through me, hot and vicious. My fingers dig into the leather seat, knuckles white. Fuck sadness. This is war.

“Someone’s pissed,” Mason says, a hint of admiration in his voice.

I turn to him, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “Damn right I am, I’m going to cut off his dick and sew it in his mouth. Then I’ll shove his tongue up his ass for good measure.”

Mason’s eyes darken, a predatory grin spreading across his face. “That’s my girl,” he purrs, leaning in close. His breath is hot on my cheek as he whispers, “I’ll hold him down for you.”

A shiver runs down my spine, equal parts excitement and fury. I can almost taste the blood, feel the satisfying give of flesh beneath my blade. The vivid fantasy should horrify me. Instead, it feels right. Justified.

He practically carries me to the clubhouse before setting me on my feet so I can walk in on my own.

I push the door hard, and it crashes open, slamming against the wall. Heads snap toward us. Dad’s there, eyes blazing. I storm past him, fire crackling through my veins.

“Oh shit, she’s pissed,” Dad mutters.

Mason’s lips twitch. I whirl on him, eyes narrowed. “You think this is funny?”

His smile vanishes. Smart man.

Caiden backs away, hands cupping his crotch. “Watch out. Remember that kid in high school? His balls never recovered.”

The memory flashes—the satisfying crunch, agonized screams. I bare my teeth in a feral grin.

Mason’s eyes darken. “Name. Now. I’ll finish what you started.”

A laugh bursts from my throat, unexpected. “Mason, you can’t hunt down my high school bully.”

“Watch me,” he growls.

Dad crosses his arms, glowering. Grandpa materializes beside him, equally imposing. Four alpha males, radiating protective fury.

Elle waddles over, belly swollen with child. Christopher shadows her, ever vigilant.

A booming voice cuts through the tension. “Ronny! When’d you get back?”

Maverick, Ronny’s dad, makes his way over to hug his son and ole lady Olivia.

Their story is a beautiful one, and tragic; Olivia was kidnapped and rescued at the age of fourteen. Ronny was sixteen when they met, and he waited for her and took care of her until she was ready to be with him.

“Baby, I’m going to go out with my brothers and we are going to stir up some shit. Can you hang out with your mom until we get back?” Mason asks me, and I bite my tongue, not wanting him to go.

But I have lived the MC life long enough to know that this is the way things go.

He kisses me deeply in front of everyone, his hand buried in my hair, and I sink into him.

“Be careful,” I tell him and the others when I pull back, running my finger across his bottom lip where I got lip gloss on him.

He winks. “I will be back before you know it.”

One by one, the men leave, and then the roar of their bikes are heard through the clubhouse. It feels like the floor vibrates with the power of it.