Page 9

seven

Mason

The clubhouse door creaks open. I step inside, the familiar scent of leather and whiskey hitting me like a punch to the gut. Every eye in the room snaps to me. The air crackles with tension thick enough to choke on.

Grim Sinners and Devil Souls, packed shoulder to shoulder. Two clubs, united by a common enemy. Peterson.

My jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard. Images of Meadow, bruised and bleeding, flash through my mind. My fists curl at my sides, itching to connect with Peterson’s face.

I make my way to my dad, feeling the weight of every gaze. Judging. Assessing. Waiting to see how I’ll handle this shitstorm.

Liam steps forward, his eyes hard as steel. “All right, let’s cut the bullshit. We’ve got a situation, and it needs dealing with. Now.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. I notice Meadow’s grandfather, his face etched with barely contained rage. The old man’s hand rests on his hip, inches from where I know he keeps his piece.

“Peterson’s still out there,” I say, my voice low but carrying in the sudden silence. “And he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Lane’s father snaps, his tone sharp enough to draw blood.

I meet his gaze, unflinching. “Revenge. On Meadow, on anyone who spoke out against him. He’s got nothing left to lose.”

“Then we take him out,” one of the Devil Souls members says. “Simple as that.”

The room erupts. Voices overlap, each man trying to outshout the other. I stand silent, my mind racing. All I can think about is Meadow upstairs, vulnerable and alone. The need to get back to her, to feel her warm and safe in my arms, claws at my insides.

“Enough!” Meadow’s grandfather’s voice booms over the chaos, silencing everyone. He turns to me, his eyes piercing. “You. You were there tonight. What do you suggest?”

I feel the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. “We need to draw him out. Set a trap. But we use me as bait, not Meadow.”

A hush falls over the room, and I can feel my dad’s eyes on me.

“Explain,” Liam demands, his voice gruff but interest piqued.

“Peterson’s obsessed with Meadow, yeah. But he’s also furious that I interfered tonight. If we leak information about my whereabouts, make him think he can get to me…”

“He’ll come running,” Lane finishes, nodding slowly. “It could work.”

“It’s risky,” my dad warns, but I can see the wheels turning in his head.

I stand tall, meeting each gaze in turn. “I don’t care about the risk. All I care about is keeping Meadow safe and ending this nightmare once and for all.”

The room falls silent as they consider my words. The tension is palpable, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. Any moment now, it’ll snap.

The silence stretches on, heavy with unspoken thoughts and simmering tension. I can practically see the gears turning in everyone’s minds as they weigh the risks and potential rewards of my plan.

Finally, Liam speaks up. “It’s a solid plan. Risky as hell, but solid.” His eyes lock on to mine, sharp and assessing. “You sure you’re up for this, kid?”

I meet his gaze unflinchingly. “I’d die for her,” I say, my voice low but carrying in the quiet room. “This? This is nothing.”

A ripple of murmurs runs through the crowd. I catch sight of my dad, a flicker of pride in his eyes before he masks it with his usual stoic expression.

Meadow’s grandfather steps forward, his presence commanding attention. “All right,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “We do this. But we do it smart. No cowboy shit, you hear me?” His eyes sweep the room, landing on each face in turn. “This bastard hurt one of our own. We end him. For good.”

A chorus of agreement rumbles through the clubhouse. The air shifts, charged with a new energy. Purpose. Determination.

Lane’s father clears his throat. “We’ll need eyes on every possible angle. Surveillance, intel, the works.”

“Leave that to us,” one of the Devil Souls calls out. “We’ve got contacts in places your Boy Scouts wouldn’t dream of.”

Before anyone can bristle at the jab, I cut in. “Good. We’ll need all hands on deck for this. Devil Souls, Grim Sinners—we work together on this one. For Meadow.”

“For Meadow,” the room echoes, a united front forged in the face of a common enemy.

As the group breaks into smaller clusters, discussing logistics and strategy, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to find my dad, his face a mix of concern and pride.

“You sure about this, son?” he asks quietly. “Using yourself as bait… it’s a hell of a risk.”

I nod, my resolve unwavering. “I’m sure, Dad. Meadow’s worth it. She’s… everything.”

He studies me for a long moment, then nods. “All right. But you’re not doing this alone. I’ve got your back, always.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, the words inadequate for the surge of emotion in my chest.

I push through the crowd, eager to check on Meadow. The clubhouse reeks of leather and stale beer. Voices fade as I climb the stairs, taking them two at a time.

A hand on my arm stops me. Mom. Her eyes, so much like mine, search my face.

“My baby,” she murmurs, pulling me into a hug.

I let her fuss, knowing it’s pointless to resist. Dad appears behind her, lips twitching with amusement. Traitor.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I grumble, but I don’t pull away.

The hall fills with noise. Other mothers descend on their sons like a flock of leather-clad hens. Christopher, all six-foot-four of him, endures his mom’s attention with the patience of a saint. Reid isn’t so lucky, squirming as his mom checks him for invisible injuries.

“Enough,” I say, gently disentangling myself from Mom’s grip. “I need to check on Meadow.”

Mom nods, reluctantly stepping back. “Take care of her,” she says softly. “And yourself.”

I nod, throat tight. The need to see Meadow, to touch her, to make sure she’s real and whole and safe, claws at my insides.

“Go on,” Dad says, wrapping an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “We’ll handle things down here.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I take the remaining stairs three at a time, my heart pounding in sync with my footsteps. The door to my room looms ahead, a barrier between me and the woman who’s become my whole world.

I pause outside the door, my hand hovering over the knob. The weight of the night’s events crashes over me, threatening to drown me in a tidal wave of rage and fear. Meadow’s terrified face flashes before my eyes, the glint of the scalpel at her throat. The sickening sound of flesh tearing. Her body trembling against mine.

My fists clench at my sides, knuckles white with fury. Every fiber of my being screams to hunt Peterson down, to make him pay for each bruise, each drop of blood he’s drawn from her. But Meadow needs me here. Now.

I force the rage back down. Later. There’ll be time for vengeance later.

The door creaks as I push it open, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness. Darkness envelops the room, broken only by slivers of streetlight seeping through the curtains. My eyes adjust, landing on the small form curled up on my bed. Meadow. My heart clenches at the sight of her, so vulnerable in sleep.

“Meadow?” I keep my voice low, not wanting to startle her.

She stirs, a soft whimper escaping her lips. My chest tightens at the sound. I’m at her side in an instant, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Mason?” Her voice is rough, heavy with sleep and something else. Fear? Pain?

“I’m here, darlin’.” I reach out, my hand finding hers in the darkness. Her fingers curl around mine, grip desperate. “How you feeling?”

Meadow pushes herself up, wincing. I slide an arm behind her, supporting her weight. She leans into me, her body molding against mine like it was made to fit there.

“Sore,” she admits. Her breath is warm against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “But better now. With you here.”

The simple honesty in her words hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. I gather her closer, careful of her injuries. She burrows into me, face pressed against my chest. I breathe her in. My world narrows to this moment, this woman in my arms.

“I was so scared,” she whispers, voice muffled against my shirt. “When Peterson had that scalpel… I thought…”

“Shh.” I run a hand down her back, feeling the tremors that run through her. “It’s over now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Meadow pulls back, just enough to look up at me. Even in the dim light, I can see the fear lingering in her eyes. “Is it really over, though? He’s still out there, Mason. What if he comes back? What if next time?—”

I press a finger to her lips, silencing her. “There won’t be a next time,” I say, the promise fierce and unshakable. “We’ve got a plan. We’re going to end this, once and for all.”

Her eyes widen. “We? What do you mean?”

I hesitate, not wanting to burden her with more worry. But Meadow deserves the truth. “The clubs are working together. Devil Souls and Grim Sinners—we’re all in on this. Peterson’s days are numbered.”

Silence stretches between us as Meadow processes my words. I can practically see the gears turning in her mind. When she speaks, her voice is small but determined. “I want to help.”

I feel my muscles coil, a surge of protective rage igniting in my chest. “No fucking way,” I say, the words rumbling low in my throat. “You’re not getting involved, Meadow. End of discussion.”

She jerks back, eyes flashing. “Mason, I can’t just sit here while you all risk your lives. This is my fight too.”

“No.” The word comes out sharp, cutting through the air between us. I take a breath, trying to rein in the storm of emotions threatening to break loose. “Listen to me. You nearly died tonight. That psycho had a fucking scalpel to your throat. I won’t let you put yourself in danger again.”

“But—”

“No buts.” I cradle her face in my hands, my callused thumbs tracing the soft skin of her cheeks. “Do you have any idea what it did to me, seeing you like that? Bleeding, terrified.” My voice cracks, the memory raw. “I thought I was going to lose you before I even really had you.”

Meadow’s eyes soften, her small hand coming up to cover mine. “Mason…”

“I can’t go through that again.” The words pour out, rough and unfiltered. “The thought of you in danger… it fucking tears me apart. You’re everything to me, Meadow. Everything. And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

I watch the conflict play out in her eyes, a battle between her need to help and her understanding of my fear. “But what about you?” she whispers, her voice thick. “You’re putting yourself in danger. How do you think that makes me feel?”

I lean in, resting my forehead against hers. Our breaths mingle, warm in the small space between us. “I know, darlin’. But this is what I do. I’m trained for this. And I’ve got the whole club backing me up.”

“So, I’m just supposed to sit here and wait?” Frustration creeps into her voice, sharp and biting.

“No.” I pull back, meeting her gaze. “You’re supposed to heal. To rest. To let me take care of you for once.” I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, my touch gentle despite the storm raging inside me. “Let me be the one to protect you this time, Meadow. Please.”

She’s quiet, searching my face. I hold my breath, silently pleading with her to understand. The tension in the room is thick, suffocating. Finally, she nods, a small sigh escaping her lips. “Okay,” she whispers. “I don’t like it, but… okay.”

Relief crashes over me, so strong it’s dizzying. I pull her close, burying my face in her hair. The scent of her, coconut shampoo and something uniquely Meadow, fills my senses. “Thank you,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I promise you, I’ll end this. For both of us.”

She melts into me, her body molding against mine like it was made to fit there. But even as I hold her, I can feel the tension thrumming through her. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

* * *

Meadow

I pull back slightly, my mind racing. The need to do something, to help, burns inside me like a fever. “Mason, please. There must be some way I can contribute. Maybe I could help with surveillance or?—”

“No.” His voice is low, firm. Final. “I told you, Meadow. You’re staying out of this.”

Frustration bubbles up, hot and insistent. “But I’m not some damsel in distress! I’m a doctor, for crying out loud. I’ve dealt with difficult patients, high-pressure situations?—”

“This isn’t the same,” Mason cuts me off, his eyes flashing. “Peterson isn’t some rowdy patient. He’s a psychopath who nearly killed you tonight.”

“I know that!” The words come out sharper than I intended. “But I can’t just sit here twiddling my thumbs while you put yourself in danger. It’s not fair!”

Mason’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. When he speaks, his voice is dangerously quiet. “Fair? You want to talk about fair? It wasn’t fair when that bastard cornered you in the hospital. It wasn’t fair that he held a scalpel to your throat and made you fear for your life.”

His hands come up to cradle my face again, his touch gentle despite the steel in his voice.

“Nothing about this situation is fair, Meadow. But I’ll be damned if I let you risk your safety again.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Mason’s next words stop me cold.

“I swear to God, Meadow, if you try to argue with me on this, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you until you can’t sit for a week.”

My eyes widen, a shiver running down my spine that has nothing to do with fear. The look in Mason’s eyes is deadly serious, a mix of protectiveness and something darker, more primal.

“You wouldn’t,” I breathe, but even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. He would. And part of me, a part I’m not ready to examine too closely, thrills at the thought.

“Try me,” Mason says. “You’re mine, Meadow. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure nothing happens to you. Even if that means protecting you from your own stubbornness.”

The possessiveness in his tone sends heat pooling low in my belly. I should be outraged, should rail against his high-handedness. But instead, I find myself melting into him, my body betraying my mind’s feeble protests.

“Mason,” I whisper, my voice small and uncertain.

His expression softens, just a fraction. “I know you want to help, darlin’. I know it’s killing you to feel powerless. But the best thing you can do right now is stay safe. Let me handle this.”

I shouldn’t be so turned on by the fact that he threatened to spank me.Mason’s words sink into me, his intensity both thrilling and terrifying. My heart races, torn between the need to assert myself and the allure of his fierce protectiveness. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely audible. “I’ll stay out of it. For now.”

The tension drains from Mason’s body, his shoulders sagging with visible relief. In an instant, he pulls me against him, his arms like steel bands around me. I melt into his embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and something uniquely Mason. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my hair. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

We stay like that, wrapped up in each other, as the events of the night crash over me in waves. Exhaustion settles deep in my bones, making my limbs feel heavy. A yawn escapes me, impossible to stifle.

Mason’s chest rumbles with a soft chuckle. “Time for bed, darlin’. You need rest.”

He starts to pull away, and panic flares in my chest. My fingers tighten in his shirt. “Stay,” I plead, hating the neediness in my voice but unable to stop it. “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

His eyes soften, a tender smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mason helps me lie back, his movements achingly gentle as he arranges the pillows behind me. The mattress dips as he settles beside me, pulling me close. I curl into him, my head resting on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat fills my ear, a soothing rhythm.

“Rest now,” Mason murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His lips linger, warm against my skin. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

As I drift toward sleep, wrapped in Mason’s warmth and strength, a nagging thought tugs at the edges of my consciousness. Peterson is still out there. This calm feels temporary—fragile. But for now, in this moment, I let myself feel protected. Cherished.

My eyes grow heavy, but I fight to keep them open, to savor this feeling. Mason’s hand traces lazy patterns on my back, each touch sending little shivers through me.

“Mason?” I mumble, my voice thick with approaching sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Promise me something?”

His hand stills on my back. “Anything, darlin’.”

I tilt my head up, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “Be careful. When you go after him. I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

Mason’s eyes darken, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. He cups my face in his hand, his touch impossibly gentle. “I promise,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “I’ll always come back to you, Meadow. Always.”

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Mason leans down, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that’s both tender and desperate. When we part, I settle back against his chest, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing lull me toward sleep.

As consciousness starts to slip away, one last thought floats through my mind.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

But whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.