Page 120 of Fallen Hero

“Head,” I said by rote.

“Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me,” he groaned, and pulled me to his chest. “We need to get you out of here.”

I shook my head.

“Calli, before Amir’s men get here, we need to exfil now.”

I shuffled around Mason. I needed to see him one more time.

Dead. Just dead.

“Come on, baby.”

When I didn’t move, Mason swept me up into his arms.

Four times.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to commit this one to memory, but just in case, I closed my eyes and let Mason carry me away from the man who had stolen everything from me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“On a scale of super-double pissed and over-the-top, ready-to-commit-murder pissed, how angry are you at me?” Atlanta asked.

I glanced around Mason’s bedroom, then back at the phone.

“This feels like déjà vu,” I told her, my attention going back to the whitewashed dresser.

Who knew Mason Hughes would decorate his badass condo in a classy beach theme. There were some Navy memorabilia and nautical-themed pieces scattered around, but it was mostly pastel blues, creams, sage, and whimsical.

I loved it, and not because my sister loved the beach. Because it was Mason’s.

“Well?” she pushed.

I blew out a breath and gave her what she was looking for—absolution.

“You did hack some pretty scary places to make the evidence against me disappear,” I reminded her.

“That’s what friends do,” she huffed.

I didn’t think that’s what normal law-abiding-citizen friends did for each other, but I didn’t point that out. There was nothing law abiding about Atlanta, and I doubt there ever would be.

“And you did have my back with Tom and told him you’d cut him from throat to ball sack if he ever tried to contact me again. And you got him to send in a GB team to back up Pete, Jack, Cat, Gavin, Aiden, and Fallon when they crashed Amir’s auction and took him out.”

Something I wished I’d been a part of but instead was nursing a head wound back at the penthouse, with Mason standing guard at my side.

“Calli,” she snapped. “Just tell me how mad you are and if you’re ever going to forgive me.”

I snatched my phone off the bed, and on my way to the living room, I told her, “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I killed Jason,” she reminded me.

A few months ago, I never would’ve forgiven her for taking his life, thus taking away my opportunity for revenge.

I spied Mason sitting out on his deck, beer bottle in hand, enjoying his view of the ocean.

“While I was sitting in that hangar, I remembered how much my sister loved me. After all the years of not wanting to reminisce about the real her, who she was, how much she enjoyed life, my brain finally allowed the good stuff to pour back in.”

Mason’s head turned, and when he noticed me standing in front of the sliding glass door, he smiled.