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Mason’s hand shook as he set his bottle back on the table.
Our hands once more clasped together atop his thigh.
“Joseph…he and I hooked up on occasion,” Mason said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Spots of color stained his cheeks. “The last time…well, he decided to introduce me to one of his kinks. Blood play.”
Mason lifted the front of his shirt but wouldn’t look at either of us as he did so.
TheJ.
My insides tensed, and I pressed my lips tightly together to keep quiet. I didn’t shift, but all I wanted to do was find the asshole who had hurt Mason and slam my fist into his nose.
“Jesus,” Detective Jenner whispered, scrubbing a hand over his jaw as he stared at the barely healed wound. “That fucking little…” He cleared his throat. “Did you, uh consent?” he asked, leaning forward onto the table, his eyes hard and yet filled with compassion.
“Yes…but not fully?” Mason shrugged, allowing his shirt to drop back down. “I…ah, didn’t press charges or anything. It had just been…for fun?”
“You’re talking about Joseph Delaney the third?” the detective asked for clarity—to have it on the record.
“Yes.”
I’d heard of Delaney Industries, had seen its logo pretty much every day of my life. But I didn’t know anything about one of Boston’s richest men and the cutting edge of technologically advanced gadgets he invented.
“And you’re sure this is the knife he used to mark your chest?” Detective Jenner asked.
Mason nodded. “He bragged about it being custom-made. Makes it kind of hard to forget,” he whispered, once more tightening his fingers around mine.
He spoke the truth. The end of the pommel was shaped into a boar’s head, and tan leather wrapped around part of the handle. I’d never seen anything like it.
“Can you tell me how you met? Or what might have led to this latest assault?”
“I’d rather not,” Mason whispered, eyes clenched shut.
“Is Mason going to need a lawyer?” I butted in, ready to take over and end his misery as quickly as possible regardless of unanswered questions. Whether it was fear or embarrassment that unsettled Mason, I didn’t wish to see him overwhelmed and possibly shutting down again.
Detective Jenner frowned at me. “He’s not here to answer toanycrime—we aren’t investigating him.”
“Then we’re free to leave.” I stood, tugging on Mason’s hand.
“Do you wish to press charges against Joseph Delaney, Mr. Thomson?” The detective remained seated, his focus firmly fixed on Mason’s pale face.
“I-I don’t know?”
Lips in a thin line, Detective Jenner nodded. “When you decide, give me a call—but don’t wait too long.”
Minutes later, I led Mason out to my car.
I expected him to either burst at the seams and spill everything about Joseph or either clam up. He kept silent without fully shutting down, and I once more held his hand, hoping to help keep him grounded. Concern filled me—over his silence, his slumped shoulders, the sense of…brokenness and pain radiating off him.
But if anything, I’d learned working with hurting kids that I couldn’t save or heal them. Only be available in their time of need.
While I was also curious as hell about Mason and Joseph, I didn’t wish to push him for information and cause even more unrest than he’d dealt with in the previous hour.
But questions burned in my mind. Suspicion leading to unease, a sixth sense I’d honed after years of dealing with my father’s bullying. I tended to question people’s behaviors, same as I expected Mason did due to his childhood under the care of a narcissistic mother.
I wanted to give Mason the benefit of the doubt, trust that he remained silent to hide something he merely felt ashamed of, but I barely knew the man.
“What are your thoughts on pressing charges?” I asked rather than prying into his past.
“I didn’t do so then…not sure I should now.” He rested against the headrest, gaze turned out the passenger window. “It all depends.”
