Mason: Fallen Angels MC

by Laura Day

  Mason’s eyes chilled down, cold and hard as ice. “I told you already, Dec. I want nothing to do with this slut. Kill her if it means so much to you. I’ll see you back at the garage.” He didn’t look at Caroline again. Not as he gathered up the papers he’d brought to her house, not as he stuffed them into his saddlebag, and not as he pushed past her to leave, the same way he’d come in, each and every time.

  Declan McDermott, tall, stocky, tattooed, evil, stood in her kitchen, his smile morphing into a smirk. “Well look at that. I guess your boy wasn’t worth defending after all, huh, gorgeous?”

  He tapped Caroline under the chin. “Sorry you got your panties all twisted up for him. If it makes you feel better, he’ll probably end up in a dumpster before the month is out. He talks a good game, but he doesn’t have the stomach for this life. Not really. And, hey! When you hear it on the news, you’ll know you helped put him there. I bet that’ll be nice for you.”

  He tossed the wrench, watching it spin in the air, and in her fantasies, she tackled him then, bowling him over, smashing his head into the floor again and again, until it was a bloody ruin. In reality, though, she hung in the chair, limp against the ropes that Mason had loosened, sick and trying not to vomit. He’d abandoned her. He’d called her a slut. He was after the money, that was all.

  Declan left. He whistled while he walked out the door, as if he hadn’t just assaulted her, tied her up, threatened her. She did throw up, twice. Once she made it to the bathroom. Once she did not.

  And then she threw clothes, toiletries, wallet, laptop, into a duffle bag. She got Gloria into the backseat of the car—the dog went insane when she went out to the garage, licking her and growling past her, even though the house was empty—and she started it.

  She backed out of the driveway, her hands shaking so hard that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold the car steady on the road. She managed to call Jack, leave him a message, telling him to stay safe, that someone had been to her house, that he needed to be careful. She called twice. She tried not to think about the fact that he wasn’t picking up.

  Shock, she thought. This is what shock feels like.

  It felt like sinking. It felt like drowning. It felt like nothing at all.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  She drove until the sun went down. She hadn’t taken the interstate, had instead focused on the state routes. It had made sense at the time, but when she looked up and realized it was already dark, she wished she’d taken the Interstate. She would have been farther away if she had.

  She kept driving until she found a motel that didn’t refuse to rent to her once they glimpsed Gloria. She hadn’t thought to take out cash, so she paid with her debit card. If he was really going to follow her, he would, whether she used cash or plastic. He’d find her. Somehow. It wasn’t like she knew how to disappear.

  She found a corner store and bought Gloria some food and a bowl. She walked her, jumping at shadows. Gloria was just as bad, growling at squirrels and strangers with equal intensity.

  Her face was starting to hurt, really hurt, and her vision was still off. She probably had a concussion. What were the rules about concussions? You weren’t supposed to be alone. You weren’t supposed to sleep. Or maybe that had changed; maybe you were supposed to sleep now? She couldn’t remember.

  She thought about going to the hospital, but she’d have no explanation for what had happened other than falling down the stairs or something, and she didn’t think she could stand the way they’d look at each other, the staff, glance back and forth like they knew her. But at the same time, if she told them who’d done this, told them what had happened, the cops would go looking for Declan, and then… and then.

  Mason was a shit. He was a liar. He wasn’t worth protecting. And yet she was protecting him. She told herself she wasn’t, that she was protecting her own safety, but she knew that was a load of crap.

  She eventually went back to the hotel room, locked Gloria up in the room, and went to find her own food. She found a diner, a cheesy little place that looked like it had been in exactly the same spot since 1950, at least. She went inside and breathed in the aroma of old fried food and stale coffee. There was no one else there but the waitresses. It was dark, summer time. It had to be past eight. She hadn’t looked at her phone in hours. She didn’t even know if she’d brought her phone. Leaving the house felt like a bad dream.

  There was something poking her in the thigh. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out an index card. It was what Mason had put in her hand. She’d stuffed it into her pocket without thinking. She read it now; it had an address, back in town. Her heart lifted, just a little. Was he trying to tell her to go there? To meet him? Was he actually faking, had he really—

  No. That was the sort of hope that got her into trouble. It was nothing she needed to indulge in now.

  The waitress came, and when Caroline looked up at her, the polite interest in her eyes turned into real concern. “Sweetie,” the woman said, suddenly looking so much older than Caroline had originally thought. “I’m sure you know this, but you are sporting one hell of a shiner. You okay? Somebody hit you?”

  That was when Caroline finally started to cry.

  The waitress—Angie—flipped the sign at the door over to Closed and locked the door. She brought Caroline back into the kitchen, fed her coffee, ibuprofen, and found her an ice pack, while the chef made her something he swore had healing powers.

  He gave her a plate piled high with home fries, hot sausage, sautéed peppers and onions, and an egg over easy. She popped the yolk and watched it run down, melding everything together into a plate of greasy perfection that she didn’t dare to eat.

  “You’re not a local girl,” Angie said conversationally. “So you can tell us what happened. Maybe we can help?”

  “I need some sleep,” Caroline said. “That’s all I need.” Her hands were shaking hard enough that the fork rattled against the plate as she tried to take a deep enough breath to ease the ache in her chest.

  “Was it a man? I mean, it usually is, but this day and age, all sorts of things can happen.”

  Caroline sighed, swallowed another wave of tears, and resolutely stuck her fork through a piece of sausage and potato. Her stomach rebelled briefly, but once it moved through the anxiety phase, she discovered she was starving.

  She didn’t answer them. In the distance, she could hear the engine of a motorcycle roaring past. She stared off, as if she could see it through the walls of the kitchen. As if she was looking to see if he’d come to find her after all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Caroline Lewis woke up to the sound of her dog, Gloria, barking viciously at the window. Only it wasn’t her window. Or her wall. And the bed didn’t smell right, and the covers were way too light and thin.

  It took a moment for all the pieces to come together, and when they did, her heart sped up instead of slowing down. She called Gloria to her; the dog left the window reluctantly, but when Caroline lifted the covers, Gloria crawled under them with her. The dog was just as much of a big scaredy-cat as Caroline had always been; Gloria just barked louder.

  If there were any big, scary bikers out in the parking lot of the skeezy motel, Caroline didn’t want to know about it. She’d had absolutely every second of panic that she could handle in the past twenty-four hours, and she was quite willing to call that more than enough. If anyone actually minded, she’d send Gloria after them. Gloria would probably lick them to death, but hey. It might help.

  She had a sudden flash of Declan flinging her beautiful dog into the wall. She had been so panicked yesterday it hadn’t occurred to her that Gloria might be hurt. She’d made a terrible sound when she’d hit. But she was breathing fine now, and nothing seemed swollen or injured or— but people died of internal injuries all the time, and she wasn’t any kind of vet. And, God, if something happened to Gloria right now…

  She wiped her eyes furiously. She’d go back to the diner and see if anyone th
ere could tell her where to find the local vet. And then she’d have to figure out what to do next. Go home, get her things, run for it? How long could she really stay hidden? A guy who was running drugs and guns and who knew what else probably had the resources to track her down, but what was the point? She couldn’t prove anything of what she knew about the Fallen Angels, and even if she could and she ratted them out, she’d be taking Mason down with them.

  Her heart ached just from thinking of his name. He’d been so sweet with her, so kind, so incredibly hot and sexy. How had he turned so fast, morphed into the monster she’d seen with Declan, his eyes cold and dead? And there was the mystery of that index card he’d pressed into her hand—what the hell had that been about? It had an address on it, but no other message. Had he intended her to go there? After the way he’d talked to her? She was a lot of things, but a complete idiot wasn’t one of them.

  She gave Gloria another kiss, then pushed herself up and out of the bed. She’d slept in her bra and panties, and the underwire bra had made her boobs ache. A shower was in order. In the movies, people on the run were always perfectly coiffed and clean, so showers were definitely allowed. And then she’d need a pair of big Jackie O sunglasses to hide the black eye Declan had given her. Possibly a tacky straw hat too.

  She entertained herself by making a mental list of all the things TV had taught her about being on the run—don’t use plastic, stay away from places that were familiar to your old life, don’t fall in love with a single father because he’ll totally turn you in after a heart wrenching moment with his kid—while she went to the front window and pushed the curtain to the side just a margin. No motorcycles in the parking lot. No leather coats, no dark shades, no handsome redheads with their curly hair back in elaborate braids.

  It would be a lie to insist that part of her didn’t break at that.

  She needed to call Jack, but after that, she’d shut her cellphone off. The GPS could be used to track her if someone filed a missing persons report. Or something.

  ***

  Mason walked into Second Chances five minutes after it opened. He saw Jack, Caro’s co-worker, sitting at his desk, but even from the door, Mason could see Jack’s eyes shifting to the empty desk with more than a hint of worry. He did his best to adjust his default bitchface into an expression of concern and sympathy, and walked across the office. Jack looked up at him, smiled, recognized him, paled, and then smiled again. “If you hurt her—” Jack started.

  “I didn’t.” Mason dropped himself into the chair next to Jack’s desk. “And I lost my best chance at fixing the source of the whole problem, so don’t get all indignant on me. Have you heard from her?”

  Jack sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyebrow lifted. “You’ll forgive me for wondering why you’re asking.”

  Mason tried to find his cool. He was sure he’d left it around somewhere. “Declan found her. He knows who she is. And I can protect her, and I tried to protect her, but she’s disappeared. I need to get to her, before he does, and get her somewhere safe.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s not just that you are here to try and see if she’s been in touch with me, so you can tell your boss, and my friend can get—what, axed? Iced? What’s the chosen nomenclature for killing an innocent woman because some jackass in leather got her mixed up in bullshit?”

  The story spilled out before he could stop it. “They’re using my sister’s name. I swear to you, man, I know what you told Caro, but I swear to you, I knew nothing about this. I thought someone was skimming, but I didn’t make the connection until she found it first. Anna—my sister—I told Caro she died when I was in the military.

  "She was still living with her mother and the pathetic excuse for a man that her mother was dating then. And one night, her mother and that piece of shit got drunk and high, and he went after my sister while her mom tripped out and laughed. He—" Mason choked on the words, and looked down at the floor. Partly because Jack was watching his eyes every second, but mostly because he couldn’t tell the story and maintain that intense eye contact.

  “What I didn’t tell Caro was that Anna had written me a couple letters." he continued. "Hinting at things that dick was doing to her. Nothing clear, just accidentally busting in when she was showering, giving her long hugs, finding reasons to be in the house when her mom wasn’t home. And I told her to ignore it. I told her that she was overreacting.”

  He looked up again, found Jack’s gaze, and forced himself to hold it. He expected to see disgust, or pity, in the man’s eyes; he saw instead a pain he’d never thought he’d share with anyone.

  Finally, he said, "Declan is dealing in girls. If your guy thinks it, I’m sure of it, and that stops. Even if I’d been involved in the other shit, which I wasn’t, that will not happen on my watch.”

  The words had an echo, a roll to them.

  Jack held steady through them, and then he nodded, short and quick, all wariness gone from his posture. “I haven’t heard from her. Well, she left me a message last night, but I think she must have turned off her phone; she’s not answering when I call her. When I get hold of her, how do I get hold of you?”

  For the first time since Mason had stepped into Caro’s house, knowing Declan had beaten him to it, his heart started to lift.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Caroline pulled her phone out to call Jack again and see if she could get ahold of him to let him know what was going on, but her phone’s battery had gotten so low that it wouldn’t turn on, and in the bag she’d thrown together in a state of near-shock she couldn’t find a charge cable. She put Gloria on her leash and walked back to the motel office, but no one answered when she rang the bell. She sighed, stuck her phone in her pocket, and headed off to the diner she’d been to the night before.

  Angie wasn’t in the restaurant;at least not from what Caroline could see from the front door. Which was probably good for her, because it probably sucked to work from close to open, but still. Her heart jumped in her chest at the thought of having more people stare at her, more people wanting explanations.

  She hadn’t been able to bring herself to really look in the mirror, to see what that bastard had done to her face. It wasn’t that she was vain—she knew she wasn’t ugly, but she was no model—but the idea of looking down the barrel of what he’d done, what she’d allowed him to do… it made her feel nauseated. If she threw up, she was pretty sure her headache would come back, and she couldn’t face it. She needed to pretend that the throbbing from her eye socket down to her jaw was just a sinus infection. Or an infected tooth. And not because…

  “Hey, sweetheart,” someone called out. Caroline looked up, blinking fast to get rid of the tears, and forced a smile onto her face. She knew in her heart that it probably looked more like a grimace than anything else, but she made it happen anyway. The woman approaching her wore jeans and a tucked-in T-shirt with the logo of the diner on it. Caro had an intense urge to run away for no reason she could put her finger on. “My name’s Heather. You must be Caroline. Angie left me a note, said you might wind up here this morning, and said we should take care of you if you did. So tell me, what can I do to help?”

  “I’m fine,” Caroline said automatically, even through the throbbing in her face. And as her stomach growled in disgust.

  “Something to eat, then?”

  “I can’t. My dog—”

  “She’ll be fine out here for a few minutes, I think. Are you taking her to Snips and Snails up the street?”

  “The— what?” She sounded like an idiot, a total idiot, but she couldn’t make her words go in a straight line.

  “It’s the vet clinic in town. At least, the decent one. Dr. Watson is good.” Heather looked Caroline over carefully, and then said in the tone of someone answering a question that hadn’t technically been asked, “Dr. Emily Watson. She’ll take care of you. And your dog. Let me get you something to eat.”

  “No, really, I’m—”

  It was the w
ay Heather laid her hand on Caroline’s arm that made her finally pause and listen. Heather’s eyes were brimming with tears, and her glance kept flickering over to the side of Caro’s face that felt like it was on fire. “Please,” Heather said, almost pleading. “I want to help. Please, can you let me?”

  “Sure,” Caro said, because it was easier than continuing to argue. And because she was hungry.

  ***

  Heather stayed with Gloria while Caroline walked back to her motel for the car. Once Gloria had lied down on the sidewalk, she didn’t seem inclined to stand back up. Heather also had a charger, and offered to charge Caroline’s phone in the diner office while she brought Gloria over to Dr. Watson’s practice.

  Once Caroline got there, she found that Heather had even called ahead for her there; Dr. Watson was a tall woman, with short hair that was as much salt as pepper, and she wasted no time getting Gloria back into an exam room. Once Gloria’s leash was out of her hands, Caroline found her fingers twisting together with nothing to really stop them. “What happened to this dog?” Dr. Watson asked in a brusque, no-nonsense tone.