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“I’m sorry that happened to you, Dawson. Is there anything else you can remember? One of the people? What they looked like?”
“No,” he murmurs as another shiver wracks through him. “Wait! There was a man who was in control of everything. He and another woman had sex in the cell next to mine.”
I pause. That can’t be true.
“He had dark hair. Dark eyes. Looked like he had a lot of money.”
“And this woman . . . what did she look like?”
He stops, staring at me as if he’s just seeing my face for the first time.
“You . . .” he breathes. “She looked like you.”
Horror breaches his face and then he launches himself back from me, crashing to the ground with a scream of terror.
I don’t hear anyone come in the room, but seconds later, big, strong arms are wrapping around me and hauling me away from Dawson who scrambles to cower in a corner as Logan’s men go to calm him.
“Don’t hurt him!” I screech, but I’m still carried away.
“Stop,” Mason growls low in my ear when I fight at his hold, arms tightening like thick bands around my stomach. He drags me back from the room and to the area behind the two-way mirror before he releases me as if I’d burnt him.
My heart pounds in my chest as I suck in air, that night on my pink kitchen floor coming back full-force.
“Please don’t kill him,” I beg, uncaring if Mason doesn’t want anything to do with me. I can’t allow them to hurt this man because of me. It’s wrong.
Logan just shakes his head, tutting under his breath as he watches them carry the man back to the chair and tighten his bindings.
Mason’s jaw ticks, but still, his gaze remains locked on the man in the room.
“Please, Mason?” I beg, shaking from the tears and shivering as the iciness from the distance between Mason and me bleeds into my veins.
He won’t even look at me.
“Find someone to take her home,” he murmurs darkly, but not to me. “I don’t want her here.”
And then he strides back in the room without another glance in my direction.
Hannah
I’m falling for Mason Carpenter.
As much as I hate it. As much as I try to fight it . . . I know it’s true.
Underneath his cold, hard exterior, is a man who cares. Who wants to see the people around him happy. Who wants to save his family so much, he’s willing to go to family therapy to make his mother happy.
Some distant part of me feels like I’ve known him my entire life. Or maybe in a previous one. Either way, there’s a connection there that’s as deep as it is troubling.
I must drift off to sleep on the couch after I’m brought home because it’s not until after one in the morning when the door closes that I wake up with a start. I jump from the soft click of the lock, sitting bolt upright on the couch and meeting Mason’s gaze.
He stares at me for a moment in the dim lighting, his eyes impossible to read. It’s not indifference, this time, but something else. Acceptance?
My stomach flutters when his jaw ticks and suddenly, our fight means nothing to me anymore.
I miss him.
“It’s late,” he murmurs, voice rougher than usual and I nod. I can tell he took a shower. His clothes are changed and he smells clean.
Not like he’s been torturing someone all evening.
