Page 196 of Their Arrangement
“No—please—stop?—”
It was faint. But it was her. And I’d never forget that tone again.
My hand clenched the edge of the desk hard enough the wood bowed. My other curled into my thigh until the muscle locked. I should’ve been there. I should’ve never left her.
I watched it again.
Slower.
Frame by frame.
I saw the way she fought. The way she kicked. The way she bit his hand. He flinched. She got him. Just for a second. Right before he slammed her down.
I stopped the feed. Froze it on her. Collapsed. Hair fanned out. Knees tucked up. One hand half-raised like she was still trying to shield herself from something already done. I didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Because if I did? I’d lose it.
The door creaked open in the footage. Her voice came faint and terrified—“no, no, please?—”
Then the struggle.
The impact.
The silence.
My fists clenched tighter. The playback window reflected her fall again. Over and over. And each time? Something inside me broke wider.
Then—
“Sir.”
Mason’s voice cracked through the static in my chest.
I turned toward the monitor. His live feed flicked on. He didn’t say much. Didn’t need to. He stood in front of a man. Chained. Knees bent. Head down. Blood on his shirt. Eyes blackened. Lip split. Breathing like it hurt.
“I found him,” Mason said.
“You touch him?”
“Nope.”
He raised his hand. Showed clean knuckles.
“Like you asked. He’s all yours.”
I stared at the screen. At the man’s face. Still bowed. Still too calm. But I recognized him now. Not from the footage. From the way Cloe curled into herself. From the sound in her voice that wasn’t fear—it was memory. And I knew. This wasn’t just an intruder. This was the past. The one Selene warned about. The one who never really left her.
And now?
He belonged to me.
I shut the monitor. Grabbed my coat. And drove.
The parking garage was mostly empty. Third level. Far corner. One single flickering light overhead. The kind of spot where secrets got buried. And men left limping—if they left at all.
Mason stood next to the chair. The man was slumped in it. Wrists tied behind him. One ankle already swelling. Blood drying on his temple. No mask now. No mystery. Just a mouth that had whispered the wrong words in the dark to a woman I’d already claimed.
I stepped closer. Mason didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He knew better.
The man lifted his head. His left eye was swollen nearly shut. The other fixed on me as I circled once. Just once. Slow.
