Mason (Iron Reapers MC #1)

Chapter 5

FIVE

CARLIE

It’s been six days.

Six days since Jenny dragged me to Perdition and my world turned upside down.

Six days since I’ve seen or spoken to Mason.

Six days for me to remember everything he said and everything we shared that night.

He didn’t ask for my number, but a man like him, I figured he could get it if he wanted to. You know the saying, if he wanted to he would . Guess he didn’t want to. Which bums me out more than I care to admit.

I feel like I’ve been on autopilot all week, just going through the motions. My mind has been on Mason, wondering what he’s doing, who he’s with, if the club is okay after what happened. I’ve been going crazy picturing a hundred different scenarios as to why I haven’t heard from him and it’s eating me up inside. This is what I get for trying to live dangerously.

I’m cleaning up in the living room, thankful tomorrow is Friday and I’ll have the weekend to get my head in order when someone knocks on my door. Surprised, I look through the peephole and find Mason standing there, looking much like he did the other night with his jeans and black t-shirt and a black leather vest. My heart races and I’m right back there on Friday night, my back pushed up against the brick and my mouth locked with his. I’m excited, yet terrified. I must spend too long in la la land because he knocks again, startling me out of my daydream.

I open the door and he looks me up and down. Is that desire I see in his eyes? I’m suddenly very aware of how I look in the light of day with my hair up in a messy bun, my glasses on, and my signature baggy t-shirt and short shorts combo. I look exactly how I feel, like a hot mess. I cross my arms over my chest and look at the man who has taken up far too much of my brain power lately.

“Carlie.”

“Mason?”

Mason grunts and extends a hand, the glove rough against my palm as he passes me a necklace I hadn't even noticed was missing. "You dropped this the other night," he grumbles, his voice a low rumble that vibrates between us.

"Thank you," I murmur, fingers brushing against his in a moment that sets off sparks. My eyes lift to meet his, and there's a current there, a silent conversation that we're both too stubborn—or too scared—to have out loud. His gaze is unyielding, dark depths luring me into waters I swore I'd never navigate. But here I am, drowning in the possibility of 'what if'.

Mason's eyes don't leave me, and I feel them, heavy and heated.

"Well, thanks again for bringing this by."

"Anytime," he says, and there's a promise in those two syllables that sends a shiver down my spine.

He turns to leave, and every step he takes towards his bike feels like a mile of distance placed between us. Yet, with each step, I can breathe a little easier, and think a little clearer. But the relief is fleeting because deep down, I know there's no turning back from whatever is beginning to grow between us. I watch him go, my heart a traitorous drumbeat echoing after him.

Just as he’s about to mount his bike, Mason pivots back to me, and the air around me thickens with anticipation.

"Before I go," he starts, voice low, laced with a note that sounds suspiciously like caution. "There's something else."

My pulse hammers in my throat as I meet his gaze. "Yes?"

"The club," he says, and it's not just any word—it's an invitation, a world of leather and chrome behind it. "We're having a get-together tomorrow night at Perdition. I want you to come."

“Mason, I–”

“It will only be club members and their old ladies, it won’t be open to the public. I promise you’ll be safe there.”

The words hang between us, and damn it, the way he looks at me, all intense and raw, it's like he's reaching inside me and flipping switches I didn’t know I had. But this is Mason—Pres—president of the Iron Reapers MC. His world is one of roaring engines and brotherhood, so far removed from my classroom and storybooks.

"Mason, I don't—" My hesitation tastes like fear, but curiosity burns brighter.

"Come on, Carlie," he urges, and there's that vulnerability again, an unexpected crack in his tough exterior. It nudges at my soul, whispering, 'take a chance.' "Think about it?" he adds.

"Okay, I'll think about it," I concede, my mind already waging war with itself.

He nods, gives me one of those half-smiles that's more promise than pleasure, and strides away. I watch him get on his bike and start it before driving off.

The risks are inked onto his skin, written in the lines around his eyes—the life he leads doesn't guarantee tomorrow. Yet, when he looks at me, when he speaks my name, there's this pull, strong and undeniable. There's something in Mason's gaze that tells me he's worth that leap. Underneath the tattoos and the title, there's a man who yearns for more than what his reputation offers.

To step into his world is to dance with uncertainty, to risk the safe haven I've built. But there's something thrilling about the thought of being part of something so fiercely loyal, so tightly knit.

Tomorrow, I might step into Mason's world. I'll see where this crazy, reckless road leads. Because sometimes, the most terrifying choices lead to the most extraordinary places. And Mason Blackstone... well, he's nothing if not extraordinary.

There’s a gnaw of uncertainty coiling in my stomach. Excitement flutters inside me as images of leather jackets and chrome pipes invade my thoughts. Mason's invitation weighs heavy—temptation wrapped in mystery, an offer that feels both reckless and oh so right.

"Damn it, Carlie," I mutter, shaking my head as if to dislodge my doubts. My hands move on their own, gathering lesson plans and stray markers, slipping them into my bag. Each item is familiar, safe—a stark contrast to the leap of faith that awaits me outside these walls.

My heart beats louder, a drumbeat urging me forward. It’s the sound of crossing lines, of breaking rules I've set for myself. But then I think of Mason—Pres—his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my bones even now.

"Take a chance," he'd said, his eyes burning into mine, seeing past my mess and the polite smile to something raw and wanting.

I’m on autopilot as I walk to my SUV and get in. The whole ride home my stomach flips and turns trying to figure out what I should do. This isn’t who I am. The Carlie everyone knows wouldn’t go back to the bar where two rival motorcycle clubs got into a fight a week prior. She wouldn’t forget about school, jump in the shower, and anticipate what might happen. She wouldn’t put on her tightest pair of jeans or the new shirt she ordered, just in case she hung out with him again. She definitely wouldn’t put on dark eye makeup, paint her lips red, and do her best to tease up her hair.

"Here goes nothing," I whisper, pushing open the door. A gust of wind greets me, ruffling my hair and carrying with it the distant roar of engines. It’s a sound that promises freedom, that beckons me closer to a world where I'm no longer just Carlie Meadows, the elementary school teacher. I'm someone new, someone braver.

I take a deep breath and step out my front door locking it. The butterflies in my belly take flight. Tonight, I choose the thrill over the fear.

My heart pounds, a drumbeat syncing with the distant throb of motorcycles. The Iron Reapers—they're not just some club; they're a brotherhood, a family bonded by loyalty and the roar of their engines. And Mason, he's their leader, their soul.

"Am I ready for this?" The question hangs heavy in my chest.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I take a moment, and let the anticipation wash over me. "Here we go," I breathe out.

As I drive my gaze fixes on the road ahead, each mile bringing me closer to Mason, to the Iron Reapers, to the possibility of something real.