Page 19 of Mason
From behind me, the sound of footsteps and a verbal sparring match meets my ears. Duke grumbles, “As if she could have done him that much damage. She’s like one-twenty, soaking wet.”
“He was being a pussy,” Mason bites out. “And it worked against him. If he’d kept his mouth shut, I wouldn’t have felt the need to pound on him. And as for what he was up to—as if Lennon would fall for that shit. She’s too… I dunno… worldly for that.”
My lungs seize, and I hold my breath for several seconds. I don’t know quite how to take what he said, but I suppose he’s not wrong. I’ve seen some shit. Made some really bad mistakes. I glance down, scuffing the toe of my sandal on the ground.
Bear gestures that I should turn around, and when I do, he places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing… even though mere minutes ago, he seemed irritated with me.
“I see you got dressed.” Duke shoots me a teasing wink that I don’t know how to respond to, especially since his fists are covered in blood. My gaze slides to Mason, who is even worse off, blood covering his hands and splattered over his shirt. He even has speckles on his neck and under his chin.
Except.Shit.I don’t think any of the blood is theirs.
“Her hand is pretty banged up. Can we save the asshole act for later?”
Duke glowers at Bear, which is unnerving, considering I thought they were sorta close, but he steps closer, eyeing my hand. “Yeah. Looks like we could all use a little ice.”
Mason snorts, “Kinda funny that the only one who didn’t get into it tonight is our brawler.” He’s still chuckling as he walks over to the SUV and opens the door. “Let’s go, Mighty Mouse.” He makes a grand, swooping gesture in the direction of the open SUV door, and damn if the playful look on his face isn’t disturbing, considering he’s got blood splatter all over him.
My brow furrows, brain clicking back to what he said about Bear a moment ago. I glance at each of the trio as I climb into the waiting seat, but no one says another word about it. Maybe Bear used to get in trouble for fighting in high school or something. These guys all had to have gone to Kingston Academy. They’d have been a year ahead of Juliette. Two years ahead of me, but, of course, it was public schooling for me, I didn’t have a chance in hell of attending an exclusive school like that.
Luckily no one says jack shit on the way home, because I simply can’t have one more curveball thrown my way. If this is how my life is going to be living with these guys, I’m in serious trouble because the twists and turns on top of mood swings and other assorted craziness are close to doing me in already. I can’t anticipate a damn thing they’re going to do.
The scary part is—I think they like it that way. And even scarier, I might like it, too.
ELEVEN
MASON
Dark,black water sluices from my hands and down my bathroom sink’s drain. Sometimes, it’s really damn hard to remove the stain of it from my hands after a full night of getting out my demons. I use black charcoal almost exclusively for my artwork, and it can get messy.
Fuckcolor. Why use it when the black expresses so clearly what’s in my heart and in my mind?
When I’m as clean as I’m going to get, I lean down and splash some water over my face, then run my hands through the longer hair on top of my head. Righting myself, I rub them through the dark strands as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. After seeing Lennon practically naked yesterday, there’d been no doubt in my mind that I want to touch her. To fuck her. And now that I’ve felt the weight of her tits in my hands and how perfectly her nipples respond, the desire has amplified to a fever pitch. Her quick intake of breath with every dirty word and idea I’d whispered in her ear had nearly sent me over the edge.
See, baby sis? Big bro totally wants to put that massive dick of his into your wet little cunt. It’s drenched just thinking about him, isn’t it? Or maybe… maybe we should make him watchus.Pretend like we aren’t aware he’s there.I’d breathed hot and heavy near her ear before I’d finally rasped out, “Before long, I’m going to know every fucking filthy thing that turns you on.”
So, yeah, I want her, no denying it. But I’m not the only fucker who wants her either, and I do think the other two simply refuse to accept the truth.
Duke wants to bang his stepsister so bad, it’s not funny. I don’t know if it’s obvious to everyone, but fuck. The longing in his eyes gives him away. If it ever happens, I will fucking cheer him on because way to flout society’s conventions. It’s really too bad for him that there’s not a chance in hell she’d go there after he called her a whore last night to her face.
And Bear. Fuck, when we got back to the house, it’d been so fucking obvious that somehow she has this big dude wrapped around her finger. Or hell, maybe it’s merely that he’s had his hands on her multiple times since she can’t seem to stay the fuck put and keep herself out of trouble. I don’t know whether he’d have been pissed off at us for the stunt we pulled with her at the party or if he’d have joined in. Hard to tell with Bear, sometimes.
Last night after we got back and everyone was settled, I’d lost track of time, one image after another flowing from the charcoal and onto the paper. When I looked up, it’d been almost noon, sunlight shining through the circular window, and the temperature rising in the small space. As usual, I’d had no fucking control over what I drew, and it certainly came as no surprise that most of the subjects were Lennon. At least I think they were—because the part that freaks me out is how close in nature they are to some of my other work. That’d sent me running for the john really fucking fast and vomiting up the vodka I’d been drinking.
I need to find a way to keep what Bear told me at the forefront of my mind: Lennon isnother, no matter how my head twists it. Fucking aggravating that her presence makes me feel like more of a crazy person than I already am. And it’s equally irritating that I don’t seem to care. I want my hands on her again, fuck all the consequences and ramifications. She’s the most infuriating, sass-mouthed bitch sometimes, and I admit it—I fucking love seeing her stand up to us. She challenges me like no one else ever has.
I wander from my room down the stairs and directly to the kitchen, running a hand over my chest as I attempt to squelch the confusion in my head. Lennon glances up from the kitchen island where she’s assembling some sort of—what the fuck are they called?—wrap. Like a sandwich but rolled up in a tortilla. “How’s the hand?” I don’t have a goddamn clue where I stand with this girl after yesterday, so I’m going to choose to skirt the things I did that I know have upset her.
“Bruised. But I can obviously use it. I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.” Her tone is clipped and unfriendly. But then, she glances at me, and it doesn’t take more than thirty seconds of my eyes on her to see the flush rising from her chest, up her neck, all the damn way to her cheeks.
I raise a brow, waiting for her to meet my gaze again.
She deftly rolls the tortilla, then picks up the serrated knife and cuts the wrap into three pieces. Without looking up, she murmurs, “Did you need something?”
“Don’t know. But every time I turn around, it seems like you do.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and she wets her lips, eyeing me carefully. “You know, I’m beginning to understand you. I thought about you last night. A lot. Even considered trying to talk to you, but you weren’t in your room.” She shrugs. “But in the light of day, I realize what a dumb thing it would be for me to try to get inside someone’s head who is as fucked-up as I think you are. And that’s based on one single day’s worth of interactions. Whether you prove me right or wrong, I’m going to find it intriguing either way.”
“And Duke? Were you thinking about him, too?”
