Page 14 of Mason

Something shifts in the air between us.

I lean in slightly, my voice dropping. “What does that mean, kid? You into some shady shit?”

He shakes his head fast, eyes wide, skin paling. “No. David is her ex-husband. She’s just trying to avoid him.”

Ah. One ofthosesituations.

Messy. Dangerous. The kind of thing I wouldn’t normally get involved in. But Clay isn’t asking for much. And I already told myself I’d get him out of here.

I nod. “That’s all?”

He scratches the back of his neck, something still lingering on his tongue. “Tell her to organize a lawyer to get me out of here.”

I lean back, studying him. “That’s okay, kid. I’ve got you covered.”

His eyes narrow slightly, cautious. “What do you mean?”

“My lawyer’s coming to see you tomorrow.” I crack a small, knowing smirk. “You’ll be out in no time.”

Clay blinks at me, completely still, like his brain needs a minute to catch up. “You serious?”

“Dead serious. But give me your sister’s address, and I’ll swing by on my way home.” I stand, ready to walk this time. “Anything I need to know? Like killer dogs behind the front gate?”

He shakes his head, relief flooding his features. “No. Just, obviously, knock.”

I look at him like he’s grown two heads and give him a slight shake of my head. “Geez, kid, what did you think I’d be doing? Opening the front door and just walking right in?”

“My sister’s a bit anxious. You’ll have to convince her that I sent you,” he says.

The task of paying Clay’s sister a visit is getting more arduous by the minute; I’m already second-guessing the promise I’ve made him when he tells me they have a secret code word. If she’s anywhere near as odd as her brother, I’m going to end up with a migraine before my head hits my pillow tonight.

“Kewpie,” Clay mutters, and my eyebrows shoot up so fast I swear they almost leave my face.

“Kewpie?” I echo, the word tasting ridiculous in my mouth. “That’s your code word?”

He must catch the disbelief written all over my face because his ears turn red, and he drops his head, suddenly fascinated with the table in front of him.

The thing is, despite the ridiculous nature of the conversation, I can’t help but think that if I’d had kids, I would have wanted them to be comfortable enough with each other that they’d share code words. I don’t know that Mia and her sisters ever had such a bond, despite Mia acting like a mother hen around them. In a way, it’s endearing.

“I’ll give her the message,” I assure him, before I nod once and turn to leave.

His thank you reaches me even as I walk away, reluctant to turn back to see more of that sadness on his face.

I should be thinking about my own freedom right now, about getting the hell out of here and never looking back. But as I walk away, something about Clay’s request lingers, burrowing under my skin like a splinter that refuses to be ignored.

David knows she’s here. And she needs to be careful.

Yeah. I might be out of this place soon.

But something tells me I’m not done with Clay Monroe just yet.

There aretwo cars waiting when I step through the prison gates, the late afternoon sun glaring down on me like an interrogation light. The world outside feels too open, too exposed after days locked away, but I push past the sensation, rolling my shoulders as I take in the scene.

Jayson Caluna leans against the driver’s side door of one of the cars, arms folded across his chest, feet crossed at the ankles. He’s too relaxed, too casual, but that’s Jayson for you. My right-hand man. Indispensable. Ever since he turned on Frank Falcone and helped us get Mia back, he’s been a mainstay in my life. In my family’s life.

He straightens as I approach, tapping me on the back in a half-hug. “How was your holiday?”

Cheeky bastard. Only Jayson could get away with acting like that. We call him the Maltese Falcon—not just because Falcone stole him from the Maltese mafia, but because he towers over the rest of us like some kind of predatory bird, always watching, calculating. Yeah, when we stole him from Falcone, we knew exactly what we were doing.

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