Page 60 of Fixed Asset

“Enough to have your back in a gunfight but not enough to tell me why you’re sitting here brooding.”

“Pete is broody. I plot.”

“Okay. So not enough to tell me what you’re plotting.”

He was quiet for a second, his gaze firmly on Pete’s back across the room.

“One day Pete’s going to tell you about Mexico . . . and what happened after I got there. After you hear the story, maybe you’ll understand, maybe you won’t, and you’ll see me for the monster that I am.”

I didn’t like how Mason was starting this justification of his plot. Not because I was worried what he might say, but because I didn’t like that he thought of himself as a monster.

“I’m going to kill every single one of those men who’re there to sell those girls.”

“That’s the plan, Mase. We’re going in to rescue the girls.”

“No, Kitty, that’s your plan . . . rescue the girls. Mine is to make sure that none of those animals are left breathing.”

I didn’t know what Mason was expecting me to say, so I said nothing.

“You don’t look disgusted.”

“You think I should be disgusted because you feel no guilt taking the lives of men who rape and sell women? Do you think I should feel guilt over the lives lost last night, while I was in that house protecting those women in the bunker? One second I was cuddling a baby, the next I’ve got my weapon in my hand, then three minutes later, I’m killing bad guys. Are you disgusted that I slept last night? Didn’t miss a wink, all warm and comfy. No thoughts of the bodies we left piled up.”

Mason’s lips curved up into a smile. “So that’s why you were up bright and early having a dance party in your room.”

I felt heat hit my cheeks. Mason heard—damn. I searched my feelings and found I didn’t care, and shrugged.

After a moment of silence, he bumped my knee with his.

“Thanks, girl.”

I couldn’t contain my snort. “Anytime, boy.”

Mason shut down his brooding—I didn’t care what he’d said, he was totally brooding—and switched back into his cocky, playful mask.

“You know, there’s a difference between men and women.”

“I’d say there are many differences—plural—not just a difference.”

“Right. Well, one of them is a man will call a woman girl as an endearment,” he educated. “But when a woman calls a man boy and does it all snarky, there’s something inside him that clicks and makes him want to prove his manhood.”

“In other words, women are smarter than men and don’t feel the need to pound our chests and drag our knuckles on the ground to prove we’re the dominant species.”

“No, Kitty. Women do that by batting their eyelashes, giving a man soft looks, and showing him what she thinks he wants to lure him in. Men like to think we’re the masters of our destinies, but the truth is, women have the power—they either feed the soul or they suck it dry. One of those gives a man what he needs, the other crushes his will to live.”

He wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t think he was speaking in generalizations. He was speaking from experience. Some woman had crushed his will to live. I wanted to know the story, but I knew he’d never tell me.

“Well, whoever she was, she was a fool.” With that, I patted his knee again and stood. “I’m gonna go pack up and ditch the phones Tom gave me.”

“Cat?”

I turned to look at Mason. He didn’t say anything right away, but something was working behind his eyes.

“Not all women are like you.”

“No, they’re not.”

“He’s lucky.”