Page 62 of Taint My Soul

But I can’t consume Mason. Because consuming him means I have to face this attraction I have for him.

And the entirety of consumption doesn’t make sense if you feel.

And he makes me feel. God, he makes me feel.

I hate myself for feeling.

I have never felt.

But he makes me feel.

For twenty years, I buried myself in a coffin, but he materialized out of nowhere, chipping away at my confinement with every strike of his hammer. Letting light reach me in the darkness.

I unlock the car door, stomping to the club. As I appear inside the space, the club comes alive with the frenetic crowd moving in sync with the music. I expect to find him at the bar, but he’s not there. “Do you have any idea where the young man I was with went?”

“Some of the security men took him up to meet the boss.”

“Thank you.” I nod at her and move straight to the elevator. I pace the enclosed space, hands in pocket. The elevator ascends to the third and last floor of the building, and I step into the dark hallway.

Mason’s scream split through the silence. I reach for my gun and pull it out, holding it forward as I stalk toward the door where his tortured voice comes. I don’t bother knocking. I kick the door in, and it comes off its hinges.

“This is a private room.” The security guard beside the door tries to apprehend me, but I slam my gun into his nose. The man staggers backward, almost losing his balance. He barely recovers on both feet.

Prince stands behind Mason, knife in hand. Beside him is the motherfucker who had Mason pinned against the wall. Two of Prince’s security men hold down Mason, twisting his arms backward. They’ve torn through his shirt, leaving him with knife scars on his back.

“Let him go.” I growl.

“He’s with you?” Prince asks.

“Did the rat tell you what he did?” I point the gun at the other man, and he flinches, eyes widening with fear.

“He did.” Prince pressed the knife into Mason’s back. My eyes drop to Mason. He doesn’t move. He remains menacingly still.

“What did you say?” I demand. “Fucking talk! Oh, I forgot, you can’t speak because I cut off your tongue.” Prince’s features twist with a shocking surprise. He steps back and looks at the man standing next to him. “Tried to get all handsy with my friend here, so I put him in his place.” Prince sighs, shaking his head with regret.

“You lied to me.” He says quietly, and the man shakes his head fearfully. “Let him go. We’ll deal with this later.”

The two security men drop Mason’s hand, but he remains there on the floor. I move toward him and help him up to his feet, but he doesn’t look at me. I snake my hand around his shoulder, help him up to his feet and lead him out of the room. “Our deal’s off, Prince.” As I cross the threshold, my cold gaze settles on him. He doesn’t utter a word. He just let me walk away.

I expect Mason to fight me off, but he lets me hold him.

I’m not even supposed to lay my hands on him.

Because touching him sets every part of me on fire.

He doesn’t speak.

It takes everything in me to hold him this close to myself. To keep him still. To stay with the comfort of having him in my arms.

We appear outside the building, and I march straight to the parking lot. “You’ll be okay,” I promise, voice shaking with restraint. I put his weight on one arm and open the car door, tucking him inside carefully.

I shut the door, circle the bonnet, and get into the driver’s seat. As I turn on the engine, I reverse out of the parking lot, leaving the hedonistic chaos behind me.

The entire drive home, I don’t think of the business deal I called off or the people behind my missing cargo. It’s Mason who preoccupies my mind. He’s right beside me. Fast asleep. Whimpering from the pain of his scars. Back pressed against the leather seat.

He has gotten under my skin and left an ache. A mark I can’t ignore. A truth branded into my skin.

I see the monster in him.