Mason (Iron Reapers MC #1)

Chapter 4

FOUR

CARLIE

"Hey," he says, voice low enough to rumble over the noise. "This isn't a place for someone like you."

"Someone like me?" My voice quivers just a touch, but there's steel there too.

"Delicate." The word is almost an insult in the way it falls from his lips. "Perdition chews up girls like you."

His warning should send me running, but instead, I'm rooted to the spot, caught in his intense gaze. There's danger in the lines of his face, in the ink that snakes up his arms. But there's a question there too, like he's wondering why I haven't bolted yet.

"Maybe I'm not as delicate as I look," I counter, surprised at my nerve.

His laugh is dark chocolate—rich and sinful. "That so?"

"Maybe," I challenge, lifting my chin.

Before another word can pass between us, the door to Perdition slams open with a force that rattles the windows. Every head in the bar turns as a man I’ve never seen before walks in like he owns the place followed by a group of men flanking him like a pack of hungry wolves. Perdition goes silent.

MASON

"Shit,” I curse standing to my full height. What the fuck is he doing here? Cassidy Walker, President of The Vipers MC, is here and his boys are walking in behind him. My body coils, ready to launch and show him the way back out.

"Get behind me," I tell Carlie, not even looking down as I step in front of her. Every muscle screams tension, ready to throw down.

"Blackstone!" He shouts, scanning the bar for me.

Everyone stops talking, the music gets turned off. They all wait to see what’s about to go down. My brothers move, quickly and unnoticed, getting into position. “Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my bar?” I shout.

Walker snorts derisively. “You know who I am, old man. I’m here out of respect. Giving you a heads up, a warning if you will." He shrugs.

“Oh yeah?”

Walker smirks. “Starting now, Iron Reapers are no longer the law in Jackson.” The air crackles, electric with the promise of violence. “We are.”

A chair scrapes back, glass shatters, and the first punch is thrown. The Iron Reapers are about to live up to their name.

"Stay close," I growl, my arm shooting out to snag Carlie's wrist. She's a bright spot in a sea of leather and shadows, way too vulnerable for the shitstorm that's brewing. My fingers tighten around her, feeling the pulse quickening beneath her skin.

"Wha—" she starts, but I cut her off.

"No time." I jerk my head toward the back, where my brothers are already forming a wall. But Walker' boys are closing in fast, slinking through the crowd like they own the damn place.

A bottle whizzes past, smashing against the wall. The sound echoes like a starter pistol. Fists fly. Grunts and curses blend into a symphony of chaos.

"Pres!" Dagger shouts. He's holding his ground, throwing punches with practiced ease.

"Got it, brother!" I call back, steering Carlie with one hand and clocking some punk with the other. I can't let these assholes get the drop on us.

CARLIE

"Mason, what's happening?" My voice is barely a whisper against the roar that fills Perdition. Fear twists in my gut, but there's no time to indulge it. Mason's got me tucked behind him, his body a shield against the violence erupting around us.

"Stay down," he orders, and I crouch, hands over my head as a chair splinters nearby. All I can smell is the scent of sweat and spilled beer.

Motorcycles rev outside, their engines snarling like beasts clawing at the gates. Glass shatters, a scream cuts through the air, and someone's laughter rings out, maniacal and chilling.

"Keep your head down," Mason commands again, and I nod, though I'm not sure he sees it. His focus is everywhere, anticipating each move, each threat, not letting anyone near me.

MASON

"Fuckers never learn." My boot connects with a ribcage, and the guy goes down with a wheeze. Another swings at me, his eyes wild, but I sidestep and send him sprawling into a table.

"Mason, look out!" Carlie's shout pierces the cacophony, and I twist just in time to block a crowbar aimed for my skull.

"Thanks," I grunt, disarming the bastard before landing a blow that sends him to dreamland.

"Anytime," she replies, and I almost smile. She's got guts, I'll give her that.

"Stay close," I tell her again, my voice rough as gravel. "Almost through this."

We're a storm of fists and fury, the Iron Reapers holding the line. I won't let anything happen to her. Not on my watch.

"Pres! To your left!" Dagger's voice cuts through again, and I pivot, taking down another rival.

"Stick with me, Carlie," I say, and even in this bedlam, I know she will. We're in this together now, whether she knows it or not.

A fist grazes my cheek, and that's when I feel her—Carlie—pressed against me. Her breath hitches, but it's not fear I'm reading in those wide eyes. It's something fiercer, wilder. The heat between us ignites something primal. My arm wraps around her waist, not just to keep her safe, but because it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The bar is a war zone, every shout and shatter underlining the peril we're in. But right now, with her body molded to mine, the chaos blurs at the edges.

"Careful," I growl as a chair flies past us, splintering against the wall. Her fingers dig into my leather vest, and I can't help but pull her closer.

"Mason," she breathes out, her voice a siren call amidst the mayhem.

"Focus on me, Carlie," I command, and she does. Oh, how she does.

CARLIE

I'm lost in the storm of his presence, the iron-hard muscles shielding me from the madness. Mason's scent—leather and sweat—fills my senses, grounding me. His grip is unyielding, yet there’s a gentleness there that belies his fierce exterior. Our eyes meet, and there's a promise in his dark gaze—a promise of protection, and something deeper.

"Okay," I whisper, clinging to him as another bottle shatters nearby.

The fight rages on, a feral dance of violence and vengeance. Mason moves with lethal grace, an avenging angel in a world gone mad. His brothers are a force to be reckoned with, their loyalty to one another as palpable as the danger that threatens to engulf us.

"Damn it," Mason curses as he spots a Viper charging our way, his eyes bright with fury.

"Watch out!" I scream, the words torn from my throat.

With a swift motion, he sends the attacker reeling back. He's relentless, every fiber of his being focused on keeping the Iron Reapers' turf—and me—safe from the threat. It's terrifying and exhilarating, and I can't look away.

In the anarchy of swinging fists and curses, Mason is a pillar of wrathful strength. His heavy boots planted firmly on the ground, anchoring us amidst the storm. A rival gang member lunges, and with a calculated twist, Mason sends him sprawling across a table. Glass crunches under heavy bodies, the sound like ice breaking on a frozen lake.

"Stay down!" he commands.

I obey without thought, crouching behind the bar, my heart hammering against my ribs. The scent of beer and blood mingles in the air, a metallic tang that makes me want to gag. But Mason—Pres—he's in his element, every line of his tattooed body screaming danger and dominance.

"Keep your head clear, Carlie," Mason instructs, flicking his eyes to mine for a half-second that feels like an eternity.

"Well I can't exactly do yoga right now," I grumble.

A laugh rumbles deep within his chest, and it's a sound that shouldn't be comforting, yet it is. It's the sound of someone who might just carry you through hell and back.

"Damn right," he says, before turning to intercept a chair flung at us, catching it and hurling it back with brute force.

"Mason!" I call out, reaching for him automatically when a bottle shatters dangerously close.

"Unbreakable," he assures, giving me a quick once-over to confirm I'm unharmed.

"Better be," I mutter, feeling the pull of something indefinable between us growing stronger with each shared glance, each protective sweep of his arm.

"Sweetheart, I've survived worse than this," he shouts over the roar of the crowd, a wicked grin splitting his face as he engages another assailant.

"Prove it," I challenge, emboldened by his confidence.

"Watch me."

And I do. I watch as Mason fights with a ferocity that's near-mythical, his punches precise, his loyalty to his family—a family born not of blood, but of choice—etched into every move he makes. He's a guardian, fierce and unyielding, and as I see him throw himself into the fray, I understand that he's fighting for more than just territory.

"Never seen anything like it," I whisper, almost to myself.

"Get used to it," he replies, his voice laced with promise.

"Perhaps I will." My voice is lost in the mayhem, but somehow, I know he hears me.

As the brawl rages on, the bond between us tightens—an unspoken pact in a world that thrives on spoken threats. Mason Blackstone, president of the Iron Reapers, has become my unexpected shield, and I, Carlie Meadows, have found an unexpected warrior within.

The sound of shattering glass cuts through the cacophony, a siren call heralding the end of the brawl. I watch as Walker's boys falter, their resolve crumbling under the relentless force of the Iron Reapers. One by one, they're beaten down, their bravado dissolving into desperate pleas for mercy.

"Time to ride out!" One of the Vipers shouts, voice hoarse with defeat, and just like that, the tide turns. They stagger away, supporting bruised egos and broken bones, casting wary glances over their shoulders.

Mason stands tall among the chaos, his chest heaving, tattoos glistening with sweat. His knuckles are bloodied, but victory ignites his eyes—victory and something fierce that has my heart pounding double time. The Iron Reapers holler around us, their roars filling the bar with the thrill of triumph.

"Looks like we scared 'em off," Mason says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. He doesn't look at me when he speaks, too busy scanning the room for any lingering threats, but I feel his words like a touch.

"Seems so," I reply, trying to sound braver than I feel. The adrenaline fizzles out, leaving my legs shaky beneath me. I look around at the wreckage—the overturned tables, the shattered bottles, the splintered remains of what was once orderly chaos.

"Hey," Mason's hand finds mine, rough and warm. "You good?" His eyes meet mine, and I see the concern etched in the lines of his face—lines that tell stories of countless battles fought and survived.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." My fingers curl around his instinctively, seeking comfort and finding it in the solid presence of this man who's nothing like anyone I've ever known.

"Good." He nods, releasing my hand only to wrap an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "Let's get some air."

We step outside, the night air cool against my flushed cheeks. The distant rumble of motorcycles fades into the night, leaving behind a silence that feels both heavy and hollow. I glance up at Mason, taking in the way the moonlight plays across his rugged features.

"Thank you," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. "For protecting me."

"Anytime, Carlie." His gaze is steady, unwavering. "That's what we do here—look out for each other."

I nod, but a knot of unease settles in my stomach. Tonight was supposed to be about moving on, proving I could be brave. Instead, I've stumbled into something much bigger, something dangerous and all-consuming. And Mason... Mason is at the center of it all.

"Mason," I start, but he silences me with a finger to my lips.

"Shh. Not now. There'll be time to talk later." His words are a command, but his touch is gentle, almost tender.

His words hang in the air between us. As he leans down towards me, I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin and the beat of my heart quickens. He moves closer, slowly, giving me time to pull away if I need to. But I don't. Instead, I lean into him, seeking the comfort that only he can provide.

The cool night breeze whispers past us as we stand there, sharing the weight of what just happened inside. His arm circles around my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies are flush against each other. He walks us back until my back meets the brick wall of the bar. My heart pounds in my ears as he lowers his mouth to mine softly at first, a gentle brush that makes my body tremble. His hand cups the back of my head gently, holding me still as he deepens the kiss.

His free hand travels up my side, tracing patterns on my skin that make me squirm with desire as he pulls me tighter against his metal-hard frame. My heart races as we sway together under the moonlight. I clutch at his leather jacket, feeling its strength beneath my fingertips – an extension of who he is - rough and powerful but protective.

All too soon he pulls away, placing kisses on my chin and down my neck. His hand snakes under my top just as Jenny bursts out of the bar with Dagger trailing behind her. “There you two are!” She smiles brightly. Then her eyes widen when she sees what’s happening.

Mason clears his throat, and steps away from me. His warmth going with him and I’m left with my head swimming.

“We should get out of here. I’m sure y’all have some things to figure out in there.”

Mason gives me a quick nod. I want to say something. Ask him what this means or if I’ll see him again. I stand there longer than I should, hoping he’ll ask for my number or offer something to put me at ease after what just happened.

As we stand there, the Iron Reapers' laughter echoing from inside the bar, I can't shake the feeling that we're balanced on the edge of a precipice—one wrong move and everything could come crashing down. But for now, there's Mason, and there's me, and there's the wild, reckless hope that maybe, just maybe, we'll find a way to survive the fall.

Jenny loops her arm through mine. “Boys, thanks for letting us party,” She smiles and turns us around, leading us back to her car.

“What the hell was that?” I whisper when we’re far enough away.

She nudges me playfully. “That my dear was the Iron Reapers.”