Page 167 of Mason

Kanyan was the one who stopped me—one hand on my chest, one word:enough.

“Enough. She’s gone,” he said. “You punish her ghost all you want, but you’re gonna end up killing one of your own.”

Maybe that’s the point.

At night, I prowl the underground clubs, looking for violence. Looking for something that can cut me deeper than the memoryof her walking out. I let a guy slash me open once—across the ribs, just below the tattoo I got when I thought I’d live long enough to regret it.

He got one hit.

I got twenty.

He's probably still picking his teeth out of the gutter.

Meanwhile, I stitched myself up with a flask between my knees and fell asleep staring at the space in my bed she used to curl into.

I was a monster before Shelby.

But she made meforget.

Now? Now I remember everything. Every scar. Every kill. Every fucking thing I was trying to bury in her softness.

Until they find me.

Mia and Maxine.

I don’t even hear them come in.

I’m in the back room of some piss-soaked bar I don’t remember walking into. The stale air reeks of blood and whiskey. My knuckles are shredded—skin hanging, blood dripping onto the floor where some guy’s curled at my feet, groaning through broken ribs.

Then I hear it.

The familiar click of heels and a voice sharp enough to split stone.

“Jesus, Mason,” Mia barks. “What the hell are you doing?”

I blink through the haze.

She’s standing there like a storm in a bottle. And Maxine’s behind her, arms crossed, expression pure steel.

“Get your shit together, Ironside,” Maxine snaps.

I grin. Dry. Dead. “When are you girls gonna start calling me daddy?”

I try to stand, but the room spins like it’s been tipped sideways. I sway, stupid and slow.

“Jesus Christ,” Mia mutters again.

“No wonder she left your sorry ass,” Maxine says, yanking my arm over her shoulder like I’m not twice her weight. Her words hit harder than any punch I’ve taken in weeks.

Mia grabs the other arm, and for one horrific moment, I realize they’re dragging me out like I’m some drunk nobody—and they’re my daughters.

I’mthat mannow.

And then Brando’s there, storming in, his face carved from fury.

“I told you not to come without me,” he growls at Mia, voice low, shaking. “You don’t belong here, princess.”

My back straightens despite the liquor. My lip curls. “Hey. Watch your tone with my daughter.”

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