Page 111 of Mason

Not a whimper.

Not even a fucking breath.

Anger.There’s so much of it, but it’s not even mine—it’s his.

He grabs my chin, jerking my head up, forcing me to look into his eyes.

I see it then—the frustration, the fury, the need to break me.

But he won’t.

A sharp defiance coils in my chest, and before I can think better of it?—

I spit in his face.

It’s thick, hot, disgusting, and it lands on his chin, drips back down onto me as he looms over me, eyes going wild.

For a split second, everything stills.

Then—

A low, animalistic growl rumbles from his throat, his grip tightening like a vice.

I don’t care.

If my life is to end here today, if I’m to lose the last fragile piece of me, then at least I’ll go down swinging.

His fist slams into my face with the force of a wrecking ball, the impact so violent it sends a sharp, sickening crack reverberating through my skull.

For a moment, there’s nothing.

Just a burst of white, an explosion of light behind my eyes, a strange, suspended weightlessness before the pain rushes in—blinding, searing, absolute.

My head snaps to the side, my neck screaming in protest as my body lurches with the force of the blow.

A wet, crunching sound follows, and I realize it’s coming from inside me.

My nose. My cheek. My jaw. Something is broken.

The metallic tang of blood floods my mouth, thick and warm, spilling over my tongue before I can swallow it down.

My ears ring. My vision swims.

There’s pain and pure, unfiltered defiance.

My breaths are ragged, uneven. My body is on fire. But even as the world tilts, even as my face pulses with agony, I do the only thing I have left.

I spit blood onto the ground.

Even as his shadow looms over me, even as I taste my own ruin on my lips—I will not break.

Instead, I close my eyes.

I don’t want to see his face.

I try to think of something else, someone else—but the only face that comes to mind is Mason’s.

The way he looks when he’s angry.

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