Page 29 of Mason

The problem is that she pulled the trigger.

And there’s no way in hell the law is going to let that slide.

I can’t rescue Clay from prison only to put his sister there.

“Shelby.” My voice is low, measured.

She lifts her head, and fuck—her eyes are glassy with shock. She’s trying to hold it together, but the weight of what she’s done is sinking in fast.

“I had to,” she says, barely above a whisper. “He was going to?—”

I already know what he was going to do. I glance at the overturned coffee table, the broken lamp, the evidence of the fight she put up before I arrived. And then, after it looked like David was going to kill me with his bare fists, she pulled the trigger.

In her mind, she probably believes she was saving me.

But it won’t matter. Our lives will never measure up to those of an officer.

Not to the people who will investigate this. Not to the ones who will twist the truth and make it look like David was the victim.

“Talk to me,” I say. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

She blinks, her breath unsteady. “He… after you left. He broke in. He—he wouldn’t leave, Mason, he was—” Her voice cracks, her throat working around the words. “No one wouldlisten. No one everlistened.The restraining order never went through. The reports… they always went missing. And now he’s?—”

Her eyes drop to the body, and I move fast, stepping in front of her, blocking her view. “Stop looking at him,” I say, voice firm.

She shudders out a breath.

And I make my decision.

She’ll do time for this. Even if it was self-defense, even if every person with a moral compass would say she did the right thing.

The system doesn’t work for women like her.

Not when the man she killed owned a badge.

If I don’t do something, she’ll end up in a prison cell before the sun rises.

I pull out my phone and dial Kanyan. He picks up on the second ring.

“I have a problem,” I say. “I need you and Scar to meet me at the address I’m sending you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Kanyan doesn’t ask questions—not when I use this tone.

“On our way,” he says.

I hang up, exhaling slowly. Shelby watches me, her body tense.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I meet her gaze.

“Fixing this.”

I don’t hesitatebefore I make the next call.

I know exactly what’s at stake, exactly what needs to be done, even if Shelby doesn’t. She stands there, shaking, her breathsshallow and uneven, watching me like I’m her last hope. She doesn’t understand.

This isn’t hope. This is damage control.

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