by Evelyn Glass
“Trish, if you were a coward, you wouldn’t be helping me. You wouldn’t have let me in. You wouldn’t be agreeing to tell CPS what you know about the girls, once I let you know Declan’s out of the picture.” He watched her carefully, gauging her reaction as much as her words.
The snort of laughter surprised him. Not at all what he was expecting. “You’re taking on Declan? Mason, you didn’t even want to lead the way down the street when we were going to a movie. You’re not taking over the fucking Fallen Angels.”
“I’m not trying to. But Declan is a rabid dog.”
“And a rabid dog needs to be put down?”
He nodded.
“Why should I help you? How does that help me? I’ll lose everything.” Her arms were crossed tight over her belly, her eyes locked down. He hated seeing her like that, beautiful Trish who’d stood so proud and tall, taking on bullies for him until he’d figured out how to stand up for himself.
“Except your pride.” He hoped he was taking the right track with this. It had the potential completely blow up in his face and have her kick him right the hell out of the house. “Except your ability to heal, and start over.”
She was trembling on the edge of something, and she finally looked up, meeting his eyes again. “Mason, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be the person I was before all of this.”
He reached out and took her hand in his. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head, but she started talking anyway. “The thing is, Declan was great at the beginning. I mean, we were always clear about what was happening. Freddie had gotten in deep with the Rockets, and he’d started promising them stuff of mine. Worse than when we were kids. And at some point, he promised them me.”
“Jesus, Trish. Was this when—?”
She nodded. “Yeah. While you were on tour. That’s why I came to you when you came back. I needed someone to protect me. It sucks, it fucking sucks that a woman can’t protect herself with these shitheads, but if I’d taken any of them down, there would have been a bunch more leaping up. But with Declan saying I was his, they had to back off unless they wanted to start a war.”
The stress in his body coiled into a tight snake in his belly. “Trish, why didn’t you just tell me?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want you to do it because you had to, Mason. I wanted you to love me. If it was going to be us, I wanted it to be because you loved me. But you didn’t, and you know, that’s okay. That’s fine. I can’t make you feel a certain way, and I get that. But I didn’t want it to be transactional between us, ever.”
“So you went to Declan.”
She nodded. “Told him what was happening, what I needed. He agreed, on certain...conditions. Nothing I didn’t expect. Being his girl in all the ways someone could be. Sex when he wanted it, show up on his arm whenever he wanted, look pretty and good and waxed and made up and all the things he thought a girl should be.” She sighed. “At first it was kind of fun, you know? He bought me all kinds of pretty things just because I liked them. And I got to dress up, and go places, and when I was on his arm, people gave me everything.
“But he kept wanting more from me. And dark shit. I mean, you know I like a good kinky scene as much as the next switchy girl, but he was...scary. He didn’t...follow the rules. And then I started hearing things, lately, things about how the other girls were afraid to be alone with them. How kids were disappearing.”
She shook her head, clearly on the edge of breaking down. “I tried, Mason. I swear to God I tried, when I found out what was happening. No one should have to go through something like this, I swear. It’s awful. But I didn’t know what to do on my own.”
He put his hand over hers, and she looked at him. Her eyes were red from crying now. “The good news, Trish, is that you’re not alone. I swear, I’m going to deal with this piece of shit, no matter what happens. But I need your help. I need your help to find the girls, and I need your help to take Declan down.”
The pause was longer than he would have liked, but he understood why it happened. He was asking her for an awful lot. “Okay,” she said, finally, her voice quiet and soft and clearly afraid. “Okay. Yes. Whatever you need.”
Chapter 13
Caroline gave in. She’d been staring at the clock in the guest bedroom for an hour, and she wasn’t sleeping. At home she would have pulled out a book or played a game on her phone or done something else to distract herself from the insomnia until her brain gave up and admitted that it was time to sleep. The room that Jack and Missy had given her was gorgeous, but it was a guest room, and there was nothing here for her.
She sighed and threw back the covers. She’d get a glass of water, and she’d seen bookcases in the living room before. Her own reading tastes were pretty broad, so she could find something there. She’d curl up on the couch and wait for sleep to find her.
She heard rustling in the kitchen before she got there. It made her heart pulse, and she had to focus for a minute. This wasn’t a movie. The sounds were too quiet to be someone who was trying to wake her up, and too loud to be someone who was trying to keep from being noticed. The odds were that either Jack or Missy were up, in the kitchen as well.
But she still crept down the hallway and through the living room, forcing herself to move as quietly as she could. She peaked around the corner into the kitchen, and then took a deep, sighing breath. Missy was standing in front of the refrigerator, staring as if she’d find the meaning of life in the crisper drawer.
“Hi,” Caroline said, hoping to keep from startling the other woman; it didn’t work at all. Missy jumped six inches in the air and yelped, her hand going to her chest.
“Holy crap,” she said, laughing as she realized who had surprised her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you coming down the hallway. Did I wake you?”
“No,” Caroline said, moving past Missy to sit down at the bar. “I couldn’t sleep. You?”
“Same.” Missy finally pulled a bottle of iced herbal tea out of the fridge. “Want some?”
“No, thank you. But water would be great.”
Missy nodded and poured a glass of iced water out of the freezer door, passing it over to Caroline. They were quiet for a few minutes, Caroline sitting at the bar, Missy hoisting herself up to sit on the counter, until Missy cleared her throat.
“Is he worth all this? Your Mason?”
Caroline hesitated, thinking back to the first time Mason had turned up in her office, clutching a handful of paperwork and a lot more chaos than she’d ever had to deal with. “I think so? I don’t honestly know yet. I know how I feel about him, and I know that I want to give it a try. I know he’s been through hell, and I know he hasn’t gotten anything like the kind of help that he needs for that yet. I don’t know if he ever will, and I don’t know if I can stay with him if he doesn’t. But—”
She trailed off, and Missy picked up the thread. “But you want to stick around and find out?”
Caroline nodded.
Missy smiled, her eyes far away. “It was like that for Jack and me. When I met him, it’d been so long since I dated a guy that I’d stopped bothering calling myself pansexual and just called myself a lesbian. It was easier and required less explanation. And then he came waltzing in at a party, catching my attention, and talking about numbers and accounting of all the fucking things.”
Missy laughed. “I used to be a punk rocker. I had safety pins in all my clothes, a dozen piercings in my ears. I still have ink all over my back. But the way his eyes lit up when he talked about balance sheets—I couldn’t walk away.”
“Was it hard?” Caroline asked. Missy cocked an eyebrow at her. “Adjusting to it all. To the different lives you two had led.”
Missy stared down into her tea for a bit. “It was never hard for the two of us, together. We got each other. He’d go to punk shows with me, and I’d listen while he railed about the most recent Forbes editorial. But our social circles... that part was hard. My pu
nk friends were horrified that I was fucking The Man, my queer friends were convinced that I was just conforming because being queer was hard, and his friends thought I was some kind of prostitute who’d eaten his brain.”
She smiled. “In the end, I think we lost most of our friends from that time, and then when we couldn’t have kids...” A darkness passed over her face that dwarfed the darkness in the kitchen. “Well. We take care of each other. We have fewer friends than we did before, but the friends we have are the sort you’d lay down in traffic for.”
“Sounds good, in the end.”
“It is in indeed.”
They sat in silence for a little bit longer. And then Missy laughed, kicking out with her foot to gently jostle Caroline’s leg. “Why is it that women like us always end up sitting in kitchens talking about the menfolk? Let’s change the subject. What do you like to read?”
Caroline laughed and kicked back. “Fantasy, a lot of the time. Sci-fi. Doesn’t matter the flavor—urban, punk, cutting edge, classic, paranormal, whatever. I love it all.”
“Would a good book help you get some rest?”
Caroline nodded. “Or keep me busy until it’s socially acceptable to be awake. I’ll take either one.”
“Come with me,” Missy said, leading her into the living room. “Let me show you a few different things.”
Chapter 14
After the crying had passed, Mason helped Trish clean up her face, and then tucked her into bed. The girl had a massive hangover on top of the damage to her face, and she needed some rest. After she had relaxed into sleep, and he stood up. His phone had rung half an hour ago, and he had a feeling he knew who was calling. He hit redial without bothering to check the voicemail that had been left.
“I hear you’re looking for me,” Declan said in place of “hello.”
“I hear you’ve been corrupting something that means more than the world to me,” Mason responded.
“Last I knew, you wanted a piece of that action.”
“Last I knew, you were a human being. An asshole, sure, but human.”
“I guess we were both lied to.” He’d never heard Declan’s voice so cold. When he’d come back from his tours, this man had saved him. Helped him find purpose again, helped him find a way to be a man again, to live with what was happening instead of running from it. Where had things changed? Had this monster always been lurking underneath? Had something happened to turn Declan into this person? Mason wasn’t sure he’d ever really know.
“I guess.” It was the only thing he could think to say.
“I don’t imagine you’ll take your bitch girlfriend and just wander off into the sunset like a good little cowboy?”
Mason found his mouth stretching into his own cold smile. “Unlikely.”
“Shame. She’s going to find out that you’re a pretty shitty lay when you’re dead.”
He laughed, then; he couldn’t help it. “Really? Is that all, Declan? I'm sure you can do better than that.”
Declan ignored the jab. “So should I watch my back? Peek around all the corners in the world?”
“I’d prefer to discuss this face to face,” Mason said. “Like men.” He considered adding that he was giving Declan a lot of benefit of the doubt there, but it wasn’t necessary.
“Meet me at the garage in an hour,” he snarled, “and I’ll show you how men settle things.”
“No,” Mason said, as much as he wanted to agree. His plan was barely formed, but it was sound. Solid. “I don’t need a bunch of assholes cheering me on to kick your ass. Meet me at the high school. It’ll be deserted this time of night, and we can talk. See if we can work this out.”
“You just don’t want anyone to see me kill you,” Declan said.
“Seems like you wouldn’t want anyone to see that, either,” Mason said. “I mean, your dirty cop can only cover up so much.”
Declan’s laugh was cold, and sharp enough to cut. “He can cover up more than you think. The death of some dirtbag biker? Easy as pie. I’ll see you in an hour, asshole. Say goodbye to your girlfriend.”
The connection died, and Mason took a long moment to control his sudden nausea. He’d killed before, in battle and in cold blood, but always in the context of the military. This was—different.
This was for his sister. For those other girls, who were probably so far beyond scared that “scared” sounded like a Disneyland vacation. Some people used up all their chances.
He rooted through Trish’s closet until he found a pair of heavy work gloves, then picked through her purse and her keychain until he found her apartment key. He let himself out, then locked the bolt from the outside and slipped the key back under the door. He’d find the rest of what he needed on his way.
DECLAN WAS PUNCTUAL. An hour after their phone call, he arrived at the school, parking his bike next to Mason’s. Mason was leaning up against his bike, and he’d parked far away from the arc lighting that brightened the parking lot, even at midnight. “Declan,” he said. “Long time no see.”
“Mason.” Declan stepped off his bike and stood still, his posture loose and ready. “Where do you want to do this?”
“I assume only one of us is leaving alive.”
Even in the darkness, he could feel the edge of Declan’s grin. “You assume correct.”
Mason nodded shortly. “I’d say we should go back to the edge of the forest, then. Stay away from where anyone can see us.”
Declan agreed, which surprised Mason. He’d expected a lot more argument.
Declan rushed him as they approached the edge of the woods, but Mason was ready. He let Declan swing first and then went in low, pulling both of them to the ground. He rolled with the motion, moving so he landed on top of Declan and smashed the man into the dirt.
He was tempted to let the bastard up, just so he could pummel the jerk a little longer, but that wasn’t necessary. He’d learned the hard way, on duty, that when you had your opponent at a disadvantage, you didn’t monologue, you didn’t give him a chance to redeem himself, and you didn’t reconsider.
Once you’d engaged lethal force, you didn’t stop until you or your target was eliminated.
Declan was stunned by the rush to the ground, and by Mason not coming up to straddle him like some grade school kid in the playground. Mason slipped an arm around Declan's throat even as his fingers clawed at Mason’s arm, his feet kicking frantically at the ground. He bucked hard as his autonomic reflexes kicked in, his brain losing oxygen.
Mason held on.
Somehow, all the parts of him that made him human faded, and another, more animal side held on. It was a mistake to think of the people you were doing this for—he’d learned that too. To think of Caro, or the girls. No. He focused on his enemy, and on the physical signs of oxygen deprivation.
Sixty six seconds, Mason. A voice whispered in his mind. One one-thousand, two one-thousand...
After Declan went still, Mason held on for a few more minutes, just to be sure. It took longer to strangle someone. He wasn’t interested in a horror movie ending, with the bastard popping up all unexpected. He checked for a pulse and couldn’t feel anything, but then, of course, he was wearing the work gloves. And, he found, he didn’t much care. He hoisted Declan’s body in a fireman’s carry, and started into the woods. He’d prepared the hole earlier. All that was left now was the burying.
It was too easy, in the end. He’d hiked miles in the mountains wearing packs heavier than this bastard, and he thought of it like that. Just another trip, a couple of miles in country. He could feel his brain filing this experience away among his wartime memories, just another nightmare to wake him up sweating. Nothing more, nothing less.
The sound the body made as it flopped down into the hole made his stomach flip, but he swallowed the nausea. He was a couple miles into the woods, off the trails. The odds of anyone finding this spot were ridiculously small, but there was still no reason to leave any kind of evidence if he could help it.
He pu
lled out the pay-as-you-go cell he’d bought with cash on his way here, and dialed both Munch and then Trish, giving them instructions. The specifics didn’t matter. They’d both handle things. They both wanted this freedom as much as he did.
And then he started to fill in the hole.
Chapter 15
The knocking at the window was soft and insistent. Caroline had taken the book Missy gave her back to bed and read a few chapters before sleep finally overcame her. She woke up all at once, with a sense that she’d been hearing the sound for a few minutes at least. Her heart pounding in her chest, she went to the window, ready to scream for Jack and Missy if she needed to. The face that greeted her in the window was so filthy that it took her a moment to recognize Mason’s features. “Come to the back door,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”
He nodded, every motion showing total exhaustion, and she grabbed the microfiber robe Missy had laid out for her and slipped it on. He was trembling on the back step, and his eyes were flickering from spot to spot, his pupils way too wide. “Mason?”
“It’s finished,” he whispered, swaying. “It’s done.”
She caught him as he collapsed, managing to brace her feet in time to not fall to the floor herself.
Jack flicked on the kitchen light a moment later, and hurried over to her, slipping Mason’s arm over his shoulder and helping Caroline support his weight. Mason’s head lolled, but his eyes were open. “Just exhausted, I think,” Jack said. “I don’t see any blood?”
“No, but he’s filthy,” Caroline said. “Can we get him into the shower, do you think? And then somewhere to rest.”
“I think so,” Jack agreed. “We have a shower chair from the last time Missy’s mom was here. Do you think you can hold him for a second?”
“Yeah, I got him,” she said, and braced her feet more carefully this time before Jack gave her back his weight.
Mason’s eyes flicked up to her. “I did it, baby. We’re going to be safe now.”
