Drake moves forward, glaring. “Where’s Elijah?”
“Lookin’ for Daddy? How sweet.” Hatch motions to the mysterious door at the opposite side of the room where people have been coming and going all night.
Mason shakes his head as if he has no idea he’s acting out the one word his mind is probably screaming. A single tear builds and spills over my lower lid. Unable to hold his accusing glare for another second, I drop my head into my hands.
“Shit, you gonna toss?” Hatch’s hand grips the back of my neck. “If so, get your ass to a bathroom.”
I nod, feeling the acid from my stomach rush to my throat. He shoves me to standing and I take two quick steps, before my shoe snags on the carpet. I fall forward. My hands move to brace my fall, but two arms wrap around me, and I’m slammed into a wall of muscle.
The scent of fresh grass and honey surround me. “Mase—”
“Shh,” he says into my hair while guiding me through a crowd.
“Stop, don’t.” I try to wiggle out of his hold, but his grip only tightens. “Let me go.”
“Can’t. Not until we talk.” He guides me to a door and pushes me into a room, plunging me into darkness when the door closes.
I whirl around, searching for him, grateful when the light finally clicks on. I squint against brightness and turn to catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My top is made of fishnet, and my shorts cut up high on my ass, lacing up the back and leaving very little to the imagination. God, he must think the worst of me.
“What are you doing here?” I’d hoped the question would come out more accusatory than desperate. “Did you follow me?”
His jaw is clamped down in barely concealed rage. “That’s your fucking source? That guy?” He practically spits the words through clenched teeth.
“Yes, but . . .” I blink up at him, thoughts whirling and trying to put the pieces together. “You know each other?”
He runs a hand through his shaggy hair, gripping it tight at his scalp. He’s not denying it.
“Mason . . . how?”
He spears me with a glare that has me stumbling back into the wall. “This is over. Tonight.”
“What? Why? You said—”
“That guy, your boyfriend—”
“He’s not my boyfriend! You know why—”
“Almost killed my brother.”
A gasp rushes from my lips. I press against my chest to push back the feeling that my heart is about to leap from my body. “How does Drake know Hatch? Wait, why are you guys even here?”
I shake my head as if somehow mixing up all the information will help it to finally align to make sense.
“It’s over, Trix.”
I jerk my eyes to his at the non-negotiable tone in his voice. “No, it’s not.”
He takes a step toward me, his icy-blue stare sending chills across my skin. “It is.”
“How can you say that? He just came back.”
He moves in more until the heat of his breath is on my lips. “It’s over.”
I grip his T-shirt, shoving him back and at the same time dragging him to me, needing my space as much as I need to crawl inside him. “It’s not over yet. No!”
Lightning fast, he whirls me in front of him, pinning my hips to the counter top from behind me. He grips my chin, forcing my eyes to the mirror, and growls in my ear. “Look at yourself.” His eyes are wild, glistening with rage, and his jaw throbs with tension.
Possessive, violent, and breathtaking.
He flexes his hips, pressing mine deeper into the granite vanity until the pinch of pain brings my eyes to the mirror.
My untamed hair is tossed around my shoulders, purple streaks like roadways across the net shirt that displays my naked breasts. I blink as my eyes travel lower. Mason’s possessive hand is splayed across my bare stomach.
“Is this what you want, Trix?” He jerks my chin. “Look at yourself now. Is this what you want?”
I shiver in his hold, knowing the right answer is no, but holding onto the last thread of hope that I could help bring my family peace and Lana’s killer to justice.
He tilts my face up, catching my eyes, and I fight the urge to recoil at the darkness I see in their depths. “I’m done with this. Not doing this anymore.”
“What . . . why?”
His hand roams up, stopping at the tender underside of my breast. “Can only take so much. Thoughts of you with anyone else are fucking torture.” He grazes my neck with his fingertips, brushing my hair back. “I know you’re doing your best to respect what we have, but I don’t give a fuck anymore. It’s not enough.” Hot, wet kisses paint my shoulder and neck until he nips at my ear. “You wanna know why this is over? Why I’m putting an end to this bullshit?” His breath beats heavy in my ear and he grips me hard. “Because you’re mine.” His declaration rumbles against my skin seconds before he turns me and drops to his knees.
My hands brace against the counter behind me as he throws one leg over his shoulder. Rough hands grip the thin material of my boy-shorts, pulling them aside.