Page 25 of Rage

“So,” Mason starts, setting down his container.“How was work?”

I hesitate, not wanting to ruin the moment.But Mason notices my pause, his brow furrowing with concern.

“What is it?”he asks, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

“It was… eventful.”

Mason’s eyes narrow, noticing the tremor in my words.“Eventful how?”

I take a shaky breath, debating how much to share.But as I look into Mason’s eyes, seeing the concern there, the words tumble out.

I tell him everything that happened and that Peterson was fired.

When I finish, he pulls me into a fierce hug.“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” he murmurs into my hair.“But I’m proud of you for standing up to him, but I’m going to beat his ass still.”

I laugh softly at his reaction.

We spend the rest of the evening cuddled on the couch, talking and laughing.When there’s a lull in the conversation, I peek up to see if he’s okay.

The soft glow of the TV flickers across Mason’s sleeping face, casting shadows that accentuate his strong jawline.I’m curled against his chest, his steady heartbeat a soothing rhythm beneath my ear.The throw blanket is tangled around our legs, a testament to how we’ve shifted closer throughout the night.

I drift in and out of consciousness, too comfortable to fully wake but not quite able to sink back into sleep.Mason’s arm tightens around me, pulling me closer in his slumber.I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, feeling utterly safe and content.

This could become addictive, the way he is wrapped around me.His heartbeat under my ear, counting the beats.

Suddenly, a thunderous knocking shatters the peaceful silence.I jolt awake, my heart leaping into my throat.Mason is instantly alert, his body tensing beneath me.The pounding continues, urgent and aggressive.

My heart pounding hard at being scared awake like that, I turn my head toward the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?”Mason asks, his voice low and tense.I shake my head, fear gripping my chest.

In one fluid motion, Mason is on his feet.He moves to the kitchen counter where he’d set his gun earlier, snatching it up with practiced ease.The weight of it in his hand seems to change him, his posture shifting from relaxed to predatory in an instant.

“Hide,” he commands, his eyes scanning the room for potential threats.“Now.”

I scramble off the couch, my legs shaky with adrenaline.The knocking intensifies, accompanied now by a muffled voice shouting something indistinct.

Mason gestures toward the hallway leading to my bedroom.“Go.Lock the door.Don’t come out until I say it’s safe.”

I hesitate for a split second, torn between fear and not wanting to leave Mason alone.But the steel in his eyes brooks no argument.I nod, then turn and run toward my bedroom, my heart pounding in my ears.

As I reach the doorway, I glance back.Mason is approaching the front door, gun held low but ready.His entire demeanor has changed—gone is the soft, sleepy man from moments ago.In his place stands a warrior, every muscle coiled and ready for action.

The last thing I see before I shut and lock my bedroom door is Mason reaching for the doorknob, his face set in grim determination.I press my back against the cool wood, straining to hear what’s happening.

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

I close my eyes and laugh, relieved.Then it hits me that my dad now knows that Mason is here with me.

I send up a prayer that he doesn’t fight Mason and make my way out of the bedroom toward the living room.

Mason stands at the door, his muscular frame blocking the entrance.The dim light from the hallway casts shadows across his face, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw.His gun is holstered now.

Mason doesn’t budge an inch.“I don’t care what the fuck you’re here for, even if it’s your daughter.You scared her, showing up like this in the middle of the night, pounding on the door like a madman.”

Liam’s nostrils flare, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.“You don’t get to tell me when I can or can’t see my daughter, boy.Now, step aside before I make you.”

A dangerous glint appears in Mason’s eyes, a hint of the violence he’s capable of simmering just beneath the surface.“You’re welcome to try, old man.But I promise you, it won’t end well for you.”

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