Free Mason: The Sinner Saints #4 by Adrienne Bell Page A

the wall, he moved into the center of the room, readying himself for whichever side made their move first—window or door.
    He thought about warning Sara, but quickly discarded the idea. She was safer where she was—flat on her mattress. Any sudden movements would only tip off the man on the other side of the window and make her a bigger target.
    Besides, Mason had a feeling she’d be receiving a pretty rude wake-up call any moment now. He wasn’t wrong.
    The scratching at the door stopped. The knob slowly and silently turned. He tightened his grip on the knife handle, drew in a deep breath, and waited for the inevitable.
    A second later, the door crashed open and a tall, lanky man rushed in, weapon at the ready. Mason’s patience paid off. He didn’t have to make a move. Three running steps and the intruder practically came to him.
    All Mason had to do was use the blade as an extension of his hand as he stepped away from the wall. In one smooth motion, he sliced the cutting edge along the man’s forearm, from wrist to elbow, moved behind him, and kicked the door closed.
    The attacker let out a scream as his Glock fell from his blood-soaked grip.
    Sara shot up on the bed. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, but nothing came out.
    “Sara, get down,” Mason shouted.
    She blinked, but didn’t move. Hell, she wasn’t fully awake. She was probably still half caught in a dream, unable to move even if she wanted to. It would take her brain another couple of seconds to catch up with reality.
    Too bad she didn’t have that luxury.
    Mason reacted for her. He shoved the man hard in the center of his back, propelling him forward. He stumbled into the center of the room just as a loud crack sounded and the window above the sofa shattered.
    The guy Mason had been fighting jerked hard, before collapsing to the floor. More blood poured from his shoulder.
    “O-oh my God,” Sara sputtered, her eyes clear and lucid now. “He’s been shot.”
    “Better him than you,” Mason said, rushing over to the wall next to the window. He threw back the blinds, but he was too late. The walkway was clear, the metal gate in front still swinging. The guy must have bolted the moment he’d realized what he’d done. Something told Mason that shooting his partner wasn’t part of the original game plan.
    Normally, Mason would have been upset that he’d let a target slip away, but right now the only thing that mattered was that Sara was unhurt. It didn’t matter how the threat was neutralized as long as she was fine.
    And it wasn’t like it had been a total loss. He still had a breathing subject—one that he could get information from.
    At least, he hoped he could.
    Mason turned around and found the man trying to clutch at his wounded left shoulder with an equally mangled right arm.
    “Throw me one of your sheets, Sara,” Mason said.
    “What?” she asked, her voice shaky.
    “Your sheet.”
    She nodded but didn’t move right away. Her eyes were glued to the thick puddle of blood spreading across her floor.
    “Sara,” Mason called out. His voice was hard, more commanding than he would have liked, but it was effective.
    Sara shook her head, before scooting to the side of her bed and yanking the sheet free. She balled it up in her hands and tossed it his way.
    Mason snatched it out of the air and started winding it into a long thick band. He stepped closer to the man’s legs, meeting his trembling gaze.
    “Listen, the way I see it, neither one of us has much time,” he said. “You’re losing a lot of blood, and thanks to your friend’s quick trigger finger, I don’t have much time before the police arrive. So, here’s my deal—I’ll bind your arm and shoulder, well enough to keep you from bleeding out, and you’ll tell me what I want to know. Sound good?”
    The man tried to glare up at him. Mason could see that he was really trying to build up a good head of righteous anger, but he just couldn’t manage it. The simple