Mason (Iron Reapers MC #1)

Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

CARLIE

Peering through my curtains, I see his bike roll up. That familiar rumble sends a shiver right through me. He's here. Finally. My chest is tight, heart racing like it's trying to beat right out of my skin. Been counting seconds since he called and told me he was on his way.

"Come on, Mason," I whisper to myself, willing him to hurry.

I've been stuck in this limbo, swinging between hope and dread. Every creak of the house, every gust of wind against the window pane had me jumping, thinking maybe it was him—or worse, someone else. But now, it's really him. The man who's turned my life upside down with just one look, one touch.

The front porch light throws a halo around his figure as he strides up the walkway. I can't help the flutter in my belly, the surge of something fierce and sweet that drowns out the worry. At least for a heartbeat. Then it crashes back—hard. Because I know that look in his eye, the set of his jaw. Mason Blackstone’s got something heavy on his mind, and it's got nothing to do with a sunset ride or a quiet night in.

"Mason," I breathe out, hand already on the doorknob. Gotta remind myself to stay strong, no matter what he's come to say. This isn't just about me anymore. It's about us.

MASON

The door swings open before my knuckles even graze the door. Carlie’s there, a storm of blonde curls and wide, hopeful eyes that don't miss a beat. She launches herself at me, arms thrown around my neck, and I'm swallowed up by the scent of her.

"Mason," she breathes, lips crashing against mine with a fierce urgency.

I'm frozen for a heartbeat, caught in the crossfire of what I want and what I gotta do. Her mouth is fire and comfort all at once, branding me with every desperate kiss. I should push her away, make a clean break before the chaos in my life burns her too. But damn, my body's got other ideas, answering the call of her touch, the softness of her curves pressed hard against my leather-clad chest.

"Darlin'," I manage to grunt out, voice rough as gravel, hands hovering over the silken curve of her waist. "Carlie, we—"

"Shh," she cuts me off, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer if that's even possible. She's all in, no hesitation, no holding back. And it kills me, because I'm here to put an end to whatever crazy, beautiful thing we got going.

"Stop thinking," she whispers against my lips, sensing the war raging inside me. "Just be here with me, Mason. Please."

Her plea's a siren song, luring me into the wreckage. I’m Pres, the man who leads with his gut, rides hard, lives fast. But right now, I'm just Mason – divided, conquered by this woman who sees past the ink and steel.

"Damn it, Carlie," I growl out. My lips find hers again, but it's a bittersweet symphony playing on borrowed time. I'm burning down our last bridge, and she doesn't even know it yet.

The heat of her skin seeps through the fabric of my cut, but there’s a cold dread twisting in my gut. I pull back, just enough to catch her eyes, deep pools of blue that don't deserve what’s about to happen.

"Carlie, we need to talk," I say, my voice thick with regret.

Her smile falters, lips parting as if she's about to protest, but the words die before they’re spoken. Instead, she nods, stepping back to lead me into the living room. The silence between us is heavy and suffocating.

"Talk then, Mason," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself like she could hold together the pieces of her breaking heart.

I shove my hands in my pockets, because they're itching to reach for her, to hold her close one last time. But that’s not why I’m here.

"Darlin', this thing between us..." My jaw clenches. "It's gotta end."

"End?" Her voice cracks, disbelief etched in every feature. "But I thought—"

"Thought what? That we could ride off into some fairytale sunset?" I bark out a laugh that sounds more like a growl. "There’s no happy ending for us Carlie."

"Mason, please," she steps closer, reaching for me. But I step back, putting distance between temptation and the inevitable.

"Listen to me," I insist, the words tearing at my insides. "Walker, he's gunning for me, for my brothers. And he won't hesitate to use you to get to me."

"Then let's face him together—"

"Dammit, Carlie! You think I’d ever put you into that position?" I shout, my hands balling into fists. "You're one more thing he can use against me. One more thing to lose."

"Is that what I am to you? A thing?" Tears glisten in her eyes, but there's fire there too, burning bright and fierce.

I sigh with regret. "No, Darlin'. You're everything." And that's exactly why I have to do this. "But I can't... I won't have your blood on my hands."

"I’m willing to take that risk! You don’t get to decide. I get to decide."

“God damnit, Carlie!” I slam my fist against the wall leaving a hole in its place. "I won’t let you. For once in my damn life, I'm gonna do the right thing. You have to forget me, move on with someone who isn't gonna bring you nothing but heartache."

"Mason—" The way she says my name, it's a caress, a plea, a knife all at once.

"Please, baby. For me." I lean down, press a kiss onto the crown of her head, breathe in the scent of her shampoo one last time. “Be safe. Be happy.”

Turning my back on the only light I’ve known in a life full of shadows, I walk out the door, out of her life. The roar of my bike drowns out everything else—her sobs, my conscience, the whisper of a better man dying in the night.

CARLIE

The door slams shut, and the echo feels like a cruel reminder of the empty space Mason’s departure leaves behind. I stand there, frozen, the cold from outside creeping into my bones as my world tips sideways. My legs give out, and I collapse against the wall, slowly sliding down until I’m sitting on the cold tile, hugging my knees. Sobs start to shake me, each one crashing over me like waves in a storm, pulling me further under.

“Mason,” I manage to choke out. His name is like glass scraping against my throat, but I hold on to it, even though it feels like holding onto something that’s already gone. The house, once full of warmth and laughter, now feels unbearable in its silence.

I hear the roar of his motorcycle fading away, the sound twisting the knife deeper. He’s gone. Another ghost in my life, another piece of me ripped away, leaving a wound that won’t heal.

A knock on the door jolts me. “Carlie?” The voice is familiar, worried.

“Go away,” I whisper, but the door creaks open, and Jenny walks in. Of course, it’s Jenny. No need for knocking between us—never has been. She takes one look at me and her eyes soften.

“Oh, honey.” She crosses the room in seconds and drops down beside me on the floor.

“Mason’s gone,” I say through my tears. “He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”

“Shh, I’ve got you.” Jenny pulls me into her arms, holding me tight. Her embrace is fierce, like she’s trying to hold me together with sheer force of will.

“Everything’s broken, Jenny. He broke everything.” My voice barely comes out, strained and raw from crying, from the weight of everything crumbling around me.

“Listen to me,” Jenny says, pulling back just enough to cup my face in her hands. She makes me look at her, even though I don’t want to. “You are the strongest person I know. You will get through this. We will get through this together.”

I lean into her hands, needing that strength she’s offering, needing something solid to hold onto. Jenny is the only thing keeping me from drowning.

“Remember who you are, Carlie. You’re not just some biker’s old lady. You’re Carlie Meadows. The woman who can handle anything.” Her voice is firm, like she’s trying to will me into believing her words.

“Without him…” My voice fades, the future feeling like a black hole stretching out in front of me.

“Without him, you’ll still shine. You always have.” There’s no hesitation in her voice, just certainty, the kind that only comes from years of friendship and knowing me better than anyone.

“Okay,” I whisper, feeling a small flicker of something—maybe determination, maybe just survival.

We sit there, side by side on the cold floor, the night pressing in around us. Two women, one broken heart, but an unbreakable bond. And in the darkness, I can feel something stirring inside me. Something fierce. Something that refuses to give up.

“Okay,” I say again, this time like a promise.

Eventually she stands and holds her hands out to me. Taking them, she pulls me to my feet and walks me to the couch where she wraps a blanket around my shoulders. “I’ll be right back,” she says leaving me for a few minutes.

When she returns she’s carrying two shot glasses with auburn liquid inside them. I eye the glasses knowing I’m not going to like the burn that follows, but on second thought, the burn sounds a lot better than the hurt I’m feeling.

I grab the glass she hands to me and clink it against hers before swallowing the liquid down. Yep, there’s the burn, and boy oh boy it burns so good.

“Another?” She asks.

I nod and she goes back to the kitchen and grabs the bottle of whiskey I keep around for when I get sick and need a hot tottie. Filling our glasses she lifts her to mine. “To forgetting asshole mother fuckers who break my best friend’s heart.”

I snort and give her the side eye. “Yeah, that,” I say before taking the shot.

"Talk to me, Carlie," Jenny says, sitting down beside me on the couch with the bottle in one hand and her glass in the other. “What the hell happened?”

I glance over at her and shrug. “I don’t know. I thought we were good, better than good. It’s this damn war with the Vipers MC.” I shake my head and a new wave of tears begin to flow. "It's like... there's this void, you know? He filled it up, made me whole, and now I’m just… empty." The words tumble out.

Jenny listens, her brow furrowed. "He's one hell of a guy, sure. But you're your own person, Carlie. Strong, beautiful, and brave as hell."

"Brave?" I scoff, the sound bitter. "Feels more like stupid. Believing we could make it work. Who was I kidding? He’s the president of a biker club and I’m a kindergarten teacher."

"Stop that," she says softly. "Loving someone isn't stupid. It's the bravest thing we do."

"Thing is," I start again, voice steadier, "I'm not ready to let go. Not without a fight. He’s not the only one who gets to decide we’re over."

"Fight for him, then," Jenny says. "But remember you’re fighting for yourself too. For the life you want, the love you deserve."

"Even if it means facing..." I can't bring myself to say it—the violence, the danger that follows Mason like a shadow.

"Even then." Her hand finds mine, squeezing tight. "You face it together or not at all. But you don't give up. That's not who you are."

"Who I am," I repeat, rolling the words around in my mouth, tasting the truth of them.

She nods, her expression fierce. "So what's your next move?"

I stand up, feeling the weight of her question like a challenge. "I prove to him that our love isn't a weakness. It's our damn strength. And if he thinks he can protect me by pushing me away, he's got another thing coming."

"Damn straight," Jenny says, a fire in her voice reflecting the one igniting within me.

"Whatever it takes," I say, my resolve hardening like steel. "I'm not losing him—not to the war he’s tangled in, not to his demons, and sure as hell not to this misguided notion that I’m better without him."

"Love isn’t the thing that’ll break us, Mason," I swear. "It's the damn thing that'll keep us together. And I’ll prove it to you—even if it's the last thing I do."