Page 100 of Mason

And if I’m being honest, I don’t think I ever cared.

Because I never stopped long enough to.

Not after David.

Not after I killed him, after I put an end to the torment that had haunted me for years.

I didn’t come up for air, didn’t stop to process what came next—what my life was supposed to look like beyond survival.

I just existed.

And then Mason was there.

A presence, a force, something dark and unmovable that I let in without thinking. Without asking.

Without wanting to know who the hell Mason Ironside really is.

But it’s only now—with the way these men talk about him, with the sheer terror in their voices, the way they’d rather lose money than keep me just a second longer—that I understand.

Mason Ironside isn’t just dangerous.

He’s a fucking monster.

And I let him into my life.

I let him into me.

But he’s exactly what I need right now.

The passenger laughs, but it’s the kind of cackle that comes when a man is two seconds from breaking down.

“You can’t just ‘give her back’ and expect that will be the end of it.”

For a moment, they go silent.

The van hums, the tires biting into the asphalt, the engine a low growl that barely masks the sound of my heartbeat thudding behind my ribs.

I know what they’re thinking.

If they let me go, if they let me live—I’ve seen their faces. I’ve heard their voices. I can identify them. And that doesn’t bode well for them.

Because Mason Ironside?

He’ll make sure they die slow.

A part of me understands it now.

The truth. The real truth.

That Mason lives and breathes violence. That this is what he does, that he walks hand-in-hand with death, and it’s only a matter of time before it takes him.

And then what?

Then I lose him? To a bullet? To a prison cell?

I know Mason’s been inside.

He was locked up with Clay.

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