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I don’t respond, suddenly lost in my thoughts. What Velma says makes sense as far as Mason and Sandie go. I had sensed some sort of past history between them, though I had never bothered to consider what.
It’s always been clear Sandie dislikes me, but I’ve never cared. Now I know why.
“Don’t worry about it,” Velma says, snorting. “Sandie’s trash. Mace looks at you like I’ve never seen him look at anybody. She’s not your competition.”
“I never said she was.”
“Sandie’s not old lady material. She’s a club girl that’s fucked almost every guy out on this patio. Mace had a lapse in judgment,” she explains. “That night he was drunk and upset about Tom. You know how that goes. I wouldn’t be telling you all this unless I trusted you, by the way.”
I blink, thrown by how to respond. The fun atmosphere of the party has shifted into something else I can’t put my finger on. A premonition that I need to be on guard and on my toes for whatever reason, even if I don’t know why.
“Thanks,” I answer. “That means a lot to me.”
“You. You’re old lady material down to the letter. Don’t doubt for a second that’s not what Mace’s got on his mind.”
“We’re still very casual. It’s not serious. I’m not looking for anything. My divorce—”
“Nonsense,” she interrupts. “Not all rebounds are meaningless. This one’s more.”
My stomach flutters at the possibility. Meanwhile, my mind issues a stern reminder that it’s not what I want; I don’t at all want to be Mason’s—or anyone else’s—old lady. I don’t want to be his girlfriend. The only reason I suggested we become exclusive was because he demanded loyalty out of me.
I’m not the kind of woman for one-sidedness. If he requires my loyalty, I require his.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Mason and the MC are still a means to an end.
Yet, these days, I’m all alone. I lost my birth parents so many years ago, then my adoptive mom, and finally, Pop.
My time with the Kings has been the only recent time in my life where I’ve been part of a community. I’ve belonged to a group of some kind and felt some solidarity with others—even if it’s been a ploy for revenge on my part.
I’m only human. Can I blame myself for finding comfort in that?
My conflicting thoughts are interrupted by Mason. He comes striding down the path from the house and crosses the pit of rocks in a few short, fast steps. I start to smile when I see he’s headed straight for me… then a coldness fills me up and any smile drops off.
Pure, raw fury burns in Mason’s eyes and leaves scorched marks in his wake. Every part of him has hardened to the point the veins protrude in his forearms and side of his neck. His face is the same callous mask I’ve seen on him before, only a hundred times worse.
His energy takes over the entire party. Everybody on the patio freezes and turns to watch, confusion rippling throughout the crowd.
It reaches me too as I stand in his path with the sinking dread this can’t be good.
It can’t be good at all.
Then I spot what’s clenched inside one of his fists and I feel like I’m about to faint. A wooziness rolls over me and strips away all thought, all cleverness I’d have to talk myself out of this moment.
A moment I’ve hoped would never come. At least not before I got answers and my revenge.
Mason stops in front of me and slaps my little purple book to my chest.
“Care to explain?” he growls. “What the fuck is this, Singer? All this shit you’ve been writing down about us? So this mean you’re the traitor we’ve been looking for?”
22
MASON
Sydney isspeechless for what seems like the first time in her life. The warmth vanishes from her eyes and the smile slides off her face—she looked so welcoming, so damn excited and happy to see me, that if I weren’t already mad enough to see red, I’d be under her spell. I’d be distracted by how drop dead gorgeous she fucking looks standing in front of me with her soft honey-colored hair curled into loose waves and her summer dress rippling in the night breeze.
But I am pissed.
