Page 106 of Mason

And I swear to God, I will drag her home with blood on my hands and smoke in my lungs if I have to.

31

SHELBY

Ikeep my face carefully blank as the van slows, the tires crunching over uneven pavement. Headlights pierce through the darkness, their harsh beams slicing across the grimy glass pane at the back—the only sliver of the outside world I’ve seen in hours.

The van rolls to a stop.

This is it.

A cold weight settles in my stomach. I have seconds. Seconds before the doors swing open, before I’m dragged out and handed off to whoever’s waiting. Before this gets worse.

I brace myself. Whatever happens next, I have to be ready.

I have only seconds to tip the scales.

My pulse kicks hard against my ribs, but my voice stays steady.

“You should kill me.”

The passenger whips around, his face twisted in an ugly grimace, but I don’t let him speak.

“Because if you do”—I lower my voice, pressing the words through the thick air between us—“Mason Ironside will probablymake your death quick. But first, he’ll make you watch while he takes apart everyone you love—piece by fucking piece.”

The driver swallows so hard I hear it.

The passenger’s hands twitch.

Doubt.

Fear.

Perfect.

A heavy fist pounds against the van’s back doors, and I hear a muffled voice from outside. The contact.

The moment they step out, I shift, straining against the binds. If I’m to have any chance of escape, it’s now or never.

“Man, you didn’t tell us she belongs to Mason Ironside!”

The driver’s voice cracks with panic as he throws open the van’s back doors, the hinges screaming like something out of a nightmare.

I flinch at the sudden flood of light—harsh, blinding beams from the headlights cutting into the dark like knives. My eyes burn as I squint against the glare, trying to make sense of the shapes beyond the brightness.

The night presses in, hot and suffocating, thick with fear that clings to my skin like sweat.

We’re somewhere forgotten. Lost.

A patch of land swallowed by time, cracked earth and weeds growing wild where pavement should be.

An overpass looms above us, its concrete ribs jutting overhead like a giant, broken skeleton. Steel bars curl from the edges like twisted claws. The rusted steel catches the van’s red taillights and throws long, jagged shadows across the dirt.

This is the kind of place people don’t stumble on. The kind of place no one hears you scream.

There’s no chance of escape after they haul me out of the vehicle—hands bound behind my back, ankles tied together.

I stumble, hobbling, my body screaming from the thrashing they already gave me.

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