by Mia Watts
Trapped. Bound in time. His mind screamed for freedom. His voice had gone the way of his heartbeat. Yet he saw.
“Shit. Sorry about that. I never know when this ability will fire off.”
The man talked as though he didn’t think anyone heard him. There was a sigh, too. Mason couldn’t see him since he’d been in the process of turning away when time stopped. He willed his fingers to move, focusing the entirety of his attention on the tip of one finger only to fail.
Hands clasped Mason’s waist. Sensation spread out from where the man touched him, wakening Mason’s skin like the numb tingles of a sleeping limb.
The man pushed him to the side so that he wouldn’t crack his head when his body came back to itself.
“What’s…going…on?” the man muttered sluggishly.
Mason’s heart galloped to a beat. Air exploded from his lungs and he fell toward the bed. The man behind fell heavily on top of him, pressing Mason’s face and chest to the mattress.
A grunt puffed over his ear and then all motion, sound, stopped from his dubious savior. At least this time it wasn’t Mason who froze. Mason smiled, triumphantly pushed up causing the man on his back to roll away.
Shakily, Mason looked over. His strength was minimal. His side still ached. Diego was still dead. But success shivered over him as he grinned down at his would-be captor. Now frozen on his back and staring up at Mason with stunned awareness in his eyes as his only communication tool.
“See how you like it, fucker,” Mason said. “It’s my turn. Who the fuck are you?”
* * * *
Dill watched helplessly as Mason climbed over him, straddling his hips. He tried to wake his body, but didn’t know how. This had never happened to him before.
Mason tucked a hand under Dill’s ass and withdrew his wallet. With a look of purpose, he flipped it open and sat back on Dill’s thighs. Normally, he’d have been happy to have this position under Mason. Today, he just felt…scared, actually.
“Dill Harper,” Mason read. “I see even you don’t take a good DMV photo. Doesn’t capture that predatory glint in your eyes.”
The corner of Mason’s lips quirked with droll humor. Dill supposed that Mason had to be feeling a little more secure with the roles reversed and it exhibited in the illusive smile. Dill stared into obsidian eyes. Helpless underneath the man that had captured his fantasies. Of all the ways this could have gone, this was not one he’d imagined.
Mason flipped through the pictures, snorted, then pulled out Dill’s card. “Harper Security.” Mason grew silent. He extracted the business card and slipped it in his own pocket, without taking his eyes off Dill, before tossing the wallet.
He dropped down, hands on either side of Dill’s head. “Interesting. You spy on people for a living.”
Clearly, he wasn’t expecting Dill to answer.
“I remember reading about Harper and a bank theft,” Mason mused.
Attempted theft, Dill corrected silently.
“You’re paid to protect things and spy on people. I think we can establish that you weren’t trying to protect me,” Mason said, rubbing his side then putting his hand up by Dill’s head again. “Unless you’re really bad at your job. So why are you spying on me?”
Dill’s mouth felt dry. Considering that most of his biologic functions had stopped, Dill disjointedly wondered about the moisture leaving his mouth and being able to process what he saw yet not having breath or pulse. Still, it was suddenly dry, and Dill’s nerves were on edge. All of it spurred by the loathing, distrust, and danger radiating from Mason’s visage.
It was a look that made grown men crap their pants. Being frozen had its benefits.
Mason leaned in, touching his nose to Dill’s. “I don’t want to see you again. You stay away from me, and you’ll continue living. Change that, and your life expectancy changes too. A brother for a brother.”
Mason crawled off him and out of Dill’s line of sight. He heard the heavy breathing of a man pained by his condition. Heard the uncertain drag of his feet on the pile and the front door open, then close.
How fucking long would Dill be like this, he wondered? How long would he have to chew on Mason’s words, while the rest of the world stayed frozen in time, allowing Mason revenge for the death of his brother? Because if someone killed Sage, Dill would be hard pressed to keep from doing the same.
The answer had been two hours, he estimated. After Mason had left him, Dill had begun counting minutes—assuming minutes could be counted when time ceased to be recorded.
The first thing he’d done after that was to call the client. The second had been to drive the sample to the drop off point, a blood work lab. And the third had been to call Sage to tell him the most recent way the faery curse had fucked him over. Because this one was a doozy.
As he expected, hoped, Jenson had called earlier that morning, requesting that Dill keep Mason under surveillance. It had been a week. A long week and Dill would have driven over to keep an eye on Mason today whether or not the client had called.
He would have wanted to watch him anyway. Not only did the new development fascinate him, but the other man held Dill’s attention all on his own. Mason, the wet dream. Mason, the battered and lonely soul who, even in a crowd, was alone. Mason, who haunted his dreams with a new fantasy. One in which Dill couldn’t move, and Mason exacted his erotic revenge by swallowing inch after inch of Dill’s throbbing cock.
He got hard just imaging it. Maybe that’s why, after a week of keeping a low profile, Dill sat within easy sight of anyone entering or leaving Mason’s den.
Dill and Sage stared out the windshield of Dill’s car, still trying to figure out how Mason had gotten the jump on him. Sage had pulled his car in front of Dill’s, refusing to stay away when Dill had insisted on doing the surveillance alone.
“I have no recollection of time freezing.”
Dill had expected that.
“Mom and Dad have the same clock time across town as you do,” Sage added.
It was the most telling truth about what had happened. Dill had called immediately upon coming out of the freeze. There’d been ample time to think about his next course of action while movement had stilled. Like Dill, Sage muttered the pieces of evidence to himself, trying to make sense of it.
“If only you and the area around you had been frozen, that wouldn’t have been the case,” Sage went on. “You wouldn’t think the full extent of your ability would transfer to him like that.”
Dill let him explore the questions aloud. Maybe he’d draw a different conclusion. But the way Dill saw it, since the clocks had been the same, all time had stilled—as it would when Dill froze it—which meant somehow he had transferred the ability to Mason at the same strength. Secretly, he’d hoped that the transfer had been partial and would have only frozen the local area. But this was worse, much worse than explaining why one zip code had a slightly different time zone.
It translated to a couple of problems. Mason could be anywhere, have done anything to anyone, without consequences. Free to roam for approximately two hours. And holy shit, but transferring that ability made Mason something of an Achilles’ heel to be avoided at all costs, regardless of his threat.
“How did it happen?” Sage asked, putting his hand on the dashboard. “There had to have been a trigger.”
Dill hadn’t tried to freeze him, he’d merely been thinking that he didn’t want Mason to crack open his head. Then he’d moved him. It had to have been that touch. That was where he’d first noticed the numbness in his own body. It had grown sluggish, and Mason had broken free.
We switched places.
“Well, that complicates things,” Sage muttered aloud.
Dill shot him a glare for seeing his thoughts. Siblings were supposed to be off limits, by an agreement made between the five of them a long time ago.
“I should cover your mark. He could do it again,” Sage reasoned.
“No,” Dill said simply. He didn’t feel like e
xplaining the threat to Sage, nor did he feel like arguing about who should be first in the line of fire. Or why Mason, or any other person, could use a gift, a curse, when Dill was barely able to use it himself.
“He won’t kill me,” Sage said.
“Get out of my head.”
“It’s a dark, lonely place in there.”
“Next time, I’ll roll out the red carpet,” Dill muttered sarcastically.
“Bullshit. You’ll give me spikes.”
“Yet you keep coming back for more.”
“Because I love you, bro,” Sage agreed, grinning.
“Get in your own car and say that as you drive away.” Dill leaned across him and pulled the passenger door latch.
“Harsh.”
“Apparently, not harsh enough.” Dill pushed the seatbelt release. “Go.”
Sage sighed heavily and got out.
“Hey, Sage,” Dill called.
Sage leaned in through the open passenger window, his brows raised expectantly.
“I love you, too.”
He laughed, slapped the doorframe and walked away.
Dill returned his attention to the mouth of the alley. At the end of it was Mason’s flat.
Mason stepped from the shadows, his bald head gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. He paused, met Dill’s gaze and smirked. Mason put his hands on his hips, and Dill thought he looked impossibly more sexy than usual.
Chapter Three
Mason’s loose hipped stride made Dill’s stomach do summersaults. There was danger in the determination of the other man’s approach, but nothing staunched the easy recognition that Mason moved like a predatory lover.
Dill supposed he should be a lot more nervous than he was. He had followed Mason to his lair, and cornering the sexy, animalistic Mason couldn’t have been the best idea Dill had ever had. Except right now, watching Mason’s lithe body move while his long-legged walk ate up the ground kept Dill’s attention firmly trained on his mark.
Mason stopped outside Dill’s car door and hammered a fist on the roof. “Open it.”
He stepped back as Dill pulled the keys from the ignition and unfolded his large frame from the mid-sized car. He stood, shut the door and leaned back against it with his arms folded across his chest. He hoped to hell Mason couldn’t see the how fucking turned on he was, staring him down.
Mason’s thin cotton shirt covered the wicked tribal tattoos circling his upper arms. It did nothing to disguise the unearthly steel-tipped claw tattoo clutching the back and sides of his skull. Dressed in well-worn clothing, the gray cotton and distressed cargo pants shouldn’t have softened his appearance, but it did. He looked more approachable—if Dill didn’t look directly into his piercing black gaze.
His upper lip had a slight curl to it at the moment, and Dill wondered if there was a trace of fear underlying the threatening glare. Whatever it was, worked. Dill’s mouth had gone dry, and any words he might have had worth saying, died well before reaching his vocal chords. It was to Dill’s benefit that he folded his arms across his chest because it kept his hands from shaking, and Lord, did Mason make him feel shaky.
Mason’s glance took Dill in completely, without changing in expression. “I told you to stay away from me,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Now I find you outside my place. I’m going to pretend that you don’t know what a stupid idea that is and give you twenty seconds to get the fuck gone.”
“No,” Dill answered. For a crazy split second, he wondered what the fuck was wrong with him. Who questioned a big-ass dude with freaky-assed tattoos and whose muscles had muscles? Him? God, Dill was a moron.
Mason’s nostrils flared. His lips pressed tightly together. Taking another step, he bumped his chest against Dill’s folded arms. Their gazes locked, Mason’s fuming. Dill hoped he looked even half as intimidating as the other man. Doubtful.
Mason’s warm body permeated the thin cotton, seeped straight into Dill’s forearms. Mason’s heart thudded sedately near where Dill’s elbow pressed his chest. Nothing at all compared to the racing pulse surging through Dill at the moment.
He felt good. Hell, Mason even smelled good. Spicy, musky, like he’d stored his clothes in a cider barrel, and now Dill really wanted to sample him and see if he tasted as heady as he smelled.
“Reconsider,” Mason growled.
Yeah, that would be the intelligent thing to do, but Dill’s voice stayed frozen.
“Who hired you?”
Dill shook his head.
Mason’s gaze dropped to Dill’s lips, before lifting again.
Dill’s throat tightened. Had that been attraction? Had he been waiting to see Dill speak or thinking about the same thing Dill had been thinking about?
“You’d risk your life for a job?” Mason asked, silkily.
“You won’t kill me,” Dill answered, finally.
“How do you know? Whoever hired you sure seems to think I need babysitting.”
“That’s between you and the client,” Dill said.
“So who’s the client?”
“Can’t say.”
“Sure you can. I won’t let on who told me, when they ask,” Mason promised.
Dill smiled, despite himself.
Mason inhaled sharply. Without warning, he reached behind Dill’s head, grabbing a fistful of hair, and yanked his head to a slight angle. Then closing the distance, Mason’s mouth crashed down over Dill’s, punishing him for his silence with erotic flicks of his tongue. He pinched Dill’s bottom lip between the sharp edges of his teeth until Dill, too, grabbed Mason’s head in his hands and engaged in the battle of lips and tongue and teeth.
Mason pulled off suddenly, dragged the back of his hand across his lips as he took several steps backward into the quiet street. “Stay away.”
“Pretty much impossible, now,” Dill answered, breathing hard.
Mason smiled, a wicked, slow unfurling that transformed his angular, handsome face into a thing of stark beauty. Even Lucifer himself didn’t possess the dark appeal of Mason Haliday. Dill reflexively licked his bottom lip, tasting the moist sin of Mason’s kiss. He wanted another, and if he didn’t miss his guess, Mason did, too.
But Mason had returned to his side of the street. Casually, he reached up and used the side of his thumb to rub the corner of his mouth, as though he were drying a spot there, his eyes crinkling with mild humor.
“Consider yourself warned.”
Dill watched him walk away, frozen to his car not because of any faery curse but because his feet had forgotten how to move, his brain how to think beyond the last five minutes.
Mason turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Dill swore, ran a hand through his hair, and reluctantly pulled out his cell phone. Dialing Sage, he waited for his brother to pick up.
“I let him get away,” Dill confessed.
“Is he on to you?” Sage asked.
He thought about the street-crossing saunter and the slow smile, the ravaging press of lips, and his heart stumbled over itself at the memory. “Yeah.”
“Shit, Dill. Don’t fuck up this case. It’s the stepping stone to the French job, which will take us international this year.”
“I know.”
“Then for fuck’s sake,” Sage pleaded. “Find him, and make sure we don’t piss off Jenson.”
Dill ended the call. He scrubbed his hand over his face, and glanced in the direction Mason had left. He had no idea how long he’d be gone, but he did know the mark’s lair was unoccupied. Reaching into the backseat, he took out his tool kit, hit the lock button on his car, and crossed the street. He shot one more watchful eye along the sidewalk, then disappeared into the alley with his prize at the end. One way or another, he’d get the client his information and take himself off the case. Then, if he was lucky, he’d spend the rest of his time protecting Mason from the assholes who’d attacked him, because sure as shit, they were a specialty job and they’d be back as soon as they figured out that Mason Haliday hadn’t died.
>
* * * *
It was always a risk planting a kiss on another guy. If Mason had actually taken a second to think about it first, he might have decided it wasn’t worth chancing. He was glad he hadn’t thought about it.
He waited a few more minutes to make sure Dill hadn’t followed him, then convinced he was in the clear, he pushed past an idealist waving hot pink flyers, and headed toward the Blu Tattoo. Mason turned the next corner, saw the broken glass on the ground where the storefront window should have been and cops swarming the scene. Someone hooked his arm, spinning him around, and ushered him into the porn shop next to where he stood.
“They’re asking about you, Haliday.”
Scutter, the artist who kept the tattoo table next to his, looked solemnly back at him.
“Someone came in and trashed your station. Only yours, but he got the plate glass out front, too. Felix wants you to stay away. You can pick your shit up later,” Scutter said. He nervously glanced at the door.
Rage swallowed what Mason would have said next. That and the only word that suited his state would require stringing expletives together like a chain-cussing bitch.
“What are you into, man?”
“Nuthin’,” Mason said through gritted teeth.
“That ain’t nuthin’. First the parking lot—yeah, I heard about that—now this? You pissed off some powerful people. Get it right, and don’t come back until you do.” Scutter, hands on his hips, shook his head. His spiked black hair didn’t even tremble. “I gotta go. I’ll tell Felix the message has been delivered.” He turned on his heel and left.
Mason rubbed his hands over his head in frustration. Lacing his fingers together at the back of his head, he groaned at the ceiling. “What the fuck is going on?”
As far as he knew, the only one with any answers was Harper. If he wanted some, Mason would have to shiver through more of his dark, brooding looks and try not to stare at Dill’s gorgeously sculpted bottom lip.
He jammed his hands into his pocket, distantly hearing the familiar jangle of the long chain attached to his wide leather belt. Would he be where Mason had left him? He thought so. Of course, he would have expected a tail to actually tail him.
