Page 76 of Please Save Me

But I had to agree with her. Sebastian was naive when it came to relationships. And, while Mason was a fantastic partner, she wasn’t exactly one a beginner should have. Not only did she have her own issues, but she was polyamorous. That alone was hard to grasp without prior knowledge.

“What?” Sebastian questioned.

Mason’s gaze held him with a steely determination that caused me to shiver. “I don’t think you know who you are, and that’s something you need to figure out before we could even think about getting married.”

“Of course, I know who I am.” He laughed before a serious look took over his face. “I just… I’m only me when I’m with you.”

Mason shook her head again. “And that’s the problem.”

Sebastian’s lips parted as if he were going to argue with Mason, but no words came out. For the first time since I’d met Seb, he seemedcompletely lost. It was like he was searching for some way to prove Mason wrong, that he was ready for marriage and that he knew exactly who he was.

But he couldn’t.

“If I could show youexactlywho I am, not just who the world wants me to be, would you reconsider?” he pleaded.

Mason hesitated, and I wondered if there were more pressing reasons why she said no. That realization seemed to dawn on Sebastian too. Slowly, he rose to his feet, tucking the ring back into his pocket.

She reached out for Sebastian, but he pulled away.

“I just need some air.” Sebastian’s voice broke before he darted up the steps.

It was impossible to look away from him, and in the back of my mind, I again wondered what Sophia was doing. Whatever it was, ithadto be better than this.

Chapter 24

Sophia

When it came to my work with S.H.A.D.E, the days were usually few and far between. They typically only needed me for ten missions a month, each lasting just a few hours. And while I never pictured myself doing work this dirty, it paid well... Not only that, but it was kind of fun.

It was no secret that I liked to be in charge, and there was nothing more thrilling than deciding if someone terrible lived or died—spoiler alert, they always died.

Tonight’s mission was an easy one. The target was a lower level hitman who decided to manipulate his evidence and blame his ex-wife for a string of stabbings in Bar Harbor. I hated men who thought they could hurt their partners the second they grew tired of them. That was the problem with a lot of the hitmen in S.H.A.D.E; they’d get too big for their britches and think they were gods.

Unfortunately for them, they were only human.

Bar Harbor was a nice town, just about forty-five minutes north of Hartwood. That’s what made it believable when I matched with this guy on a dating app. My momma had set up my profile so we were guaranteed to meet,but I pretended I couldn’t find anyone to fit myimpossiblyhigh standards in Hartwood. And, realistically, if I hadn’t imported my partners, I probably couldn’t.

Not thatthisguy actually did anything for me. He wastooeasy to lure in. All it took was a hello, a lewd selfie, and suddenly he was putty in my hand. One thing led to another, and now this guy was showing me the boat he lived on—which, admittedly, was really freaking cool.

He’d anchored the boat just off the coast. The night was cool and still, leaving us to languidly bob with the rhythm of the sea.

The boat itself was a bit dated. Most of the interior was either wooden or covered in faded florals. It screamed eighties to me, which was so ancient it was almost chic. That being said, the exterior was sleek and well-maintained.

I leaned against the railing, watching city lights twinkle in the distance. The chill of the metal seeped through my jacket and into my skin.

I was having a good time, but letting him bring me out here was dumb. How the heck was I supposed to get back to shore? I’d never driven a boat—were they different from cars? It probably had a steering wheel and a pedal of some sort.

“Alright, I grabbed us a couple of drinks.” The man’s voice destroyed my train of thought.

How rude.

I turned to face him, forcing a sticky-sweet smile as my eyes met his. He had a name; I just didn’t bother to remember it. It was easier this way.

The man was stereotypically attractive, in the bland, cookie-cutter way that most of S.H.A.D.E.’s lower level agents were. It was part of the job—being good-looking made people trust you more and that made you seem less threatening. It was a weird psychological trick that had worked for centuries.

But this man wasn’t as pretty as Sebby.

Sebby had a way about him that made people underestimate him. Maybe it was his nerdy disposition, the way he seemed more interested in Legos and video games than in the deadly work we did, or maybe it was his boyish good looks.Whateverit was, it made it easy to forget that beneath that exterior, Sebby was six foot five, built like Hercules, and absolutelylethalin ways I never thought he could be.

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