Page 10 of King of Sinners

Mason’s mouth twitches and he snaps open the door, stepping out before he reaches out his hand to help me out too.

It’s another parking garage, another elevator. But behind me, I hear the clanking of metal gates as the entrance into the garage closes.

No one is getting in and that ought to be a comfort. But I seriously doubt I’m getting out either.

We make the trip up to yet another penthouse and the elevator opens directly into Mason’s home.

I stop in the entrance of his apartment, awestruck once again.

If this is the place I’m dying in, call me happy.

It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a space. It’s not the high-end finishes, or the amazing views, though both are out of this world. It’s the energy that flows through the entire place. Quiet, positive, clean.

It’s the way the kitchen moves seamlessly into the dining and then the living room. And the high ceilings. The absolute silence isn’t bad either, something I almost never get in the city.

Walking by the massive island, I run my hand along the cool slab of granite, murmuring, “Quartz is far more popular these days.”

“I like real stone,” he answers, barely glancing at me.

I agree. Completely. I’d like to lay my cheek on the surface, feel its strength. Instead, I follow Mason down a small hall. There are two doors on the left and one on the right. He opens one on the left, walking inside.

I follow, but stop a few feet in. It’s a bedroom. Decorated in muted creams, a large bed is in the center of the far wall, a vanity in the right corner.

“This is the closet,” Mason opens one door.

I blink at him, looking down at my skirt. I have no clothes other than my awful uniform. The closet isn’t seeing much use.

He moves to another door. “And the bathroom.” I get a peek inside and nearly gasp at the large sink with miles of counter and a high-end tiled shower with two different shower heads that I can see.

As exhausted as I am, a shower to wash the sins of the evening away, sounds amazing. “Thank you.”

He gives me a small jerk of his chin before he brushes past me, my body prickling at his proximity. Once he’s gone, I step forward, touching the coverlet on the bed before kicking off my shoes and socks, letting the carpet scrunch under my feet as I pad to the bathroom.

“Charlotte.”

I spin back around before I’ve reached the bathroom, my breath catching as Mason fills the doorway again before he pushes deeper into the room, tossing something white on the bed. “For you to sleep in.”

And then he’s gone. Leaving the bathroom, I walk back to the bed, finding a white T-shirt on the coverlet.

Lifting it, it unfurls in my hand. It’s certainly long enough to be a nightgown. Without thinking, I draw it to my nose, inhaling the fresh, clean scent. It’s a finely brushed cotton that slips through my fingers as I glide my hand over it.

I carry the shirt into the bathroom and start the shower.

Steam fills the room, the large space of the shower is only separated from the bathroom by a single piece of glass. I strip off my uniform, bringing my underwear into the shower with me. I have no idea how long until I’ll have another set, and this is my nicest pair.

Washing them out in the hot water, I hang them up to dry and then I step in myself, the rain head pouring down on me somehow makes something unfurl inside me and my legs almost give. The water feels so good on a night that’s been so terrible that I let it just wash over me as I sink to the floor, my hands spreading out on the warm tile.

Water rains down, plastering my hair to my face. I might be crying, who can tell with all the water, and I bow my head, letting it all mix together as rivulets cascade down my back and over my chest.

I don’t know how long I’m there, but I finally get my legs under me and use enough soap to call myself clean. I get out and towel dry. Shrugging on Mason’s shirt, I climb into the cool sheets of the bed.

Tomorrow, I’ll decide how to navigate this new maze of predators I’ve found myself in. It must be five in the morning, but I close my eyes and give myself over to sleep.

Which is why I only dimly hear the clicking of the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mason

---