Free Mason: Fallen Angels MC by Laura Day Page A

his own nut sack, and I’m going to stick a red hot poker into his intestines and watch him scream. It’s Declan, isn’t it?”
     
    She nodded, more afraid of him now than she was when he was shouting. “Jack’s source says it all comes back to him.”
     
    Mason shook his head. “I should have known. There were always rumors among the girls. They didn’t go near him if they could help it, and we should have… we should have listened. We let him brag on it, let him tell us that they couldn’t handle that he didn’t want a relationship. I always wondered, but I didn’t—I didn’t stop him—” That choking motion in his throat again, and this time, his eyes bugged out, his hand pressed more firmly to his mouth.
     
    He pushed past her, out of the room. She stayed in the bedroom, trying not to listen as he lost lunch, breakfast, maybe every meal he’d eaten since the day he found out his sister was dead. He wouldn’t want her to see him like that. She waited until he came back. Pale, shaky, but back in control.
     
    “Thank you for helping,” he said. “I’ll take care of this from here.”
     

 
     
    CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
    The right thing to do would be to nod, to let him go, and to keep the past 24 hours packed away, crystallized in amber, for viewing on cold nights. To let it tell her something about the kind of guy she wanted to meet, and then to forget the specifics. Jack was right. She had no idea who Mason was, or if he was involved with something. This could all be an incredibly convincing act. She’d fallen for them before.
     
    “No,” she said. “I’m coming with you.”
     
    He laughed, a harsh, cold bark. “Are you kidding right now?”
     
    “No.”
     
    “You are something else, you know that? I am trying to protect you.”
     
    “Yeah, I can practically see you, putting on your armor and mounting up on your white charger to ride off into certain death while the wee little woman waits at home, doing whatever the hell it was Odysseus’ wife did while she was waiting.” She put herself in his space again, and he let her, scoffing at her.
     
    “Did you ever hear of mixing your metaphors?”
     
    Attempting to divert with sarcasm. Her therapist had called her a pro at that. “Yes. You ever hear of accepting help when you need it?”
     
    “I did.” Each word was carefully enunciated, but his eyes never quite met hers. They came close, very close, but never quite locking in. “I came to you when I needed help, and now I’m leaving. I appreciate the help you’re offering, but I don’t need it. I don’t need to be worried about you when shit goes down.”
     
    “What shit is going to go down, Mase? What’s so bad that I can’t help?”
     
    His expression was darker than the summer sky before a thunderstorm. “War.”
     
    “What?”
     
    “I’m going to go to the garage. Declan will be there, he always is. I’m going to tell him what I know. His goons will try and protect him. If God is willing, some guys will fall on my side as well. And we’ll chase him out, or he’ll kill me. One or the other. There’s no other way this will fall down.”
     
    Caroline thought she’d probably shown more emotion choosing between oatmeal and toast for breakfast than Mason did, talking about his own death. He stood like a soldier, his shoulders back, his muscles loose and ready for combat. She watched him and wanted to cry without entirely knowing why. “Call the cops,” she said. “We’ll turn over everything we’ve found, we’ll tell them what Jack found out.”
     
    He was already shaking his head. “We’ve been over this, Caro. Cops in a sleepy little New England town aren’t going to look further than the obvious guy.”
     
    “You’re a war hero.”
     
    He snorted. “I’m a soldier. There’s a big difference.” He sighed, took her hands and lifted them to his lips, kissed each and every one of her knuckles, and then placed an extra on each wrist. “I have to