Mason (Iron Reapers MC #1)

Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

MASON

I slam another shot, the burn trailing down my throat. Glass clinks and shatters around me, but it's just background noise—the soundtrack of my spiral. Women circle like vultures, dolled up in leather and lace, but I’m not the person they're lookin' for tonight.

"Pres," one purrs, her hand sliding up my arm, nails tracing the ink that's seen more loyalty than flesh ever has.

"Back off," I snarl, jerkin' away from her touch. The world's blurring at the edges, each shot draggin' me deeper into the abyss I'm too tired to climb out of.

"Easy, brother." Dagger’s voice cuts through the haze, his massive frame shadowing the neon lights. "You're crashing hard, man."

"Mind your own damn business," I shoot back, slamming the bottle onto the bar with enough force to make the bartender flinch. My reflection stares back from behind rows of liquor. I don’t even recognize myself.

"Dammit, Mason, this isn't you!" Dagger growls, fists clenched at his sides like he's ready to go to war. And maybe he is—against me.

"Since when do you decide who I am?" I spit out the words, venom laced with bourbon.

"Since I watched my brother turn into a goddamn train wreck!" He barks.

"Brother?" I laugh, but it's hollow, empty as the bottles lining the counter. "You think this patch makes us family?"

"Blood couldn't make us closer," he snaps, stepping into my space, the stench of sweat and oil mixing with the stale air. "But hell, Mason, if you wanna throw punches instead of talking, I’m right here!"

"Maybe I do," I say, rising to meet him eye-to-eye, toe-to-toe.

"Then bring it!" Dagger roars.

And we collide, two forces of nature bound by blood and betrayal, our brotherhood tested under flying fists and splintered loyalties.

Fists fly, knuckles crunch against jawbone. Rage fuels every punch I throw, pain and liquor sharpening each hook. My world narrows to the man before me, Dagger, brother in arms, now just another obstacle.

"Come on, Pres!" he bellows, voice rough as gravel, meeting my fury with his own relentless assault.

Blood coats my lips, but I grin through it. His punch lands square on my cheek, and I stagger back and spit blood. Then the room begisn to spin.

"Is that all you got?" I taunt, wiping a red smear across my sleeve.

"More where that came from mother fucker!" Dagger laughs, but I see it—the flash of worry behind his eyes, even as his fist comes flying toward my face.

We're a whirlwind of anger, throwing punches that speak louder than words ever could. I take one to the gut, feel the air rush out, but I give as good as I get, nailing him right in the chest.

"Fight me, not yourself," Dagger grunts, voice strained under the impact.

"Shut up," I snarl back, but there's less heat in it now, exhaustion creeping into my limbs.

Our brawl is all raw emotion stripping us down to nothing but instinct and need.

Then, suddenly, we're on the ground, the fight knocked out of us. Breath ragged, hearts hammering, we lie there amidst the wreckage. And then it happens—we laugh. A harsh roar of laughter that echoes off the walls, a release valve for the tension that's been building for too long.

"Fuck, Mason..." Dagger gasps between laughs, shaking his head.

"Damn, Dagger..." I manage, laughter stealing my breath.

On the floor, amidst spilled drinks and shattered glass, something shifts. Our laughter melds with the lingering echoes of our blows, crafting a testament to the unbreakable bond we share.

"Brothers, huh?" he says, voice still laced with amusement.

"Always," I affirm, feeling the truth of it in my battered bones.

We rise, shoulder to shoulder, our fight forgotten but not forgiven. In the end, it's the laughter that lingers, a reminder that no matter how hard we fall, we'll always pick each other back up.

CARLIE

I’m outside checking the mail after work when Jenny’s truck pulls into my driveway. I wonder what’s going on, she didn’t tell me she was dropping by. Her boots hit the pavement, urgency in her stride as she zeroes in on me. Her eyes are wide, a storm of intent swirling within them. "Carlie," she breathes out, grabbing my arm with a firmness that tells me this is no casual chat.

"Jenny?" I ask, heart hitching. My voice trembles, betraying the calm I'm not feeling. Something about her grip, her gaze—it ignites a wildfire of nerves in my belly.

"Mason and Dagger—they threw down. Hard." The words tumble from her lips, rushed and raw.

I suck in a sharp breath. "What? Why?" Images of Mason, all coiled anger and brute strength, flash across my mind. My chest tightens.

"Doesn't matter. They're good now. Better than before, even." She releases my arm but pins me with a look that's almost challenging.

I can hear it, the unspoken message in her tone. This is your moment, Carlie. I nod, steel threading through my resolve. It's time to stop being the girl who waits for life to happen to her.

"Thanks, Jenny." I don't wait for a response; my feet are already moving, carrying me towards the Iron Reapers clubhouse.

Each step feels like a drumbeat, matching the fierce rhythm of my heart. Anticipation claws at my insides, wild and desperate. I've made up my mind—I'm going to confront Mason. I need to lay everything bare, for better or worse.

Perdition looms ahead, its walls thrumming with the pulse of heavy metal and loud laughter. My hands are shaking, but there's a fire flowing through my veins that drowns out the fear. I can’t believe it was less than two months ago

"Here goes nothing," I whisper to myself, pushing open the door.

My gaze slices through the smoky haze, locking onto him. Mason Blackstone, president of Iron Reapers, commands the space around him, even seated at the bar. But it's not his leather-clad figure that snatches my breath—it's her.

A curvy brunette leans into him, her fake giggles and even faker boobs that press against him grate on my nerves. She's draped over him, a hand tracing the inked lines on his arm, her red lips parting in an invitation.

Jealousy claws up my throat, fierce and unexpected. It's like a wildfire, spreading through my veins, igniting something primal within me. Mason’s mine, even if he doesn't know it yet.

"Excuse me," I spit out. My hands are fists at my sides as I march toward them. Her eyes flick to me, sizing me up as if I'm nothing more than an inconvenience. But I don't flinch, I've had enough of waiting on the sidelines.

"Hey!" I reach out, fingers wrapping around her wrist, yanking her away from him. "He's busy."

Mason's head snaps up, surprise etching his hard features before his eyes narrow, dark and intense. He knows what this means—what I'm saying without saying it. His world, our world, it's all about actions. And right now, mine scream louder than any words could.

"Something you wanna tell me, Darlin'?" Mason's voice is gravel, low and rumbling, challenging me to lay it all on the line.

"Yeah," I say, my heart thundering in my chest. "I want to talk to you. Alone."

The woman huffs, tossing her hair indignantly, but she backs off when Mason gives her a hard stare.

"Alright, Carlie." Mason's tone softens, just a fraction, just for me. "Let's talk."

In that moment, with his gaze locked on mine, the rest of the clubhouse fades away. It's just us, the way it was always meant to be.

Mason's smirk cuts through the tension like a knife. His hands, rough and sure, grab my waist and in one swift move, I'm on his lap, his strong arms caging me in. The heat of his body sears through the fabric of my dress, branding me with an invisible mark that screams 'mine'.

"Looks like our Carlie's got some fire in her," he drawls loudly to the room, but his eyes, those dark depths, are all for me—filled with a storm of emotion. Regret crashes against love, and I'm caught, drowning in the gaze that's both a caress and a plea.

"Damn right she does," Jenny chimes in from across the room, her wink a silent cheer. Her approval wraps around me like a sister's embrace, strengthening the resolve that brought me here.

I lean into Mason, my voice a fierce whisper meant only for him. "We're not done talking."

"Never said we were, Darlin'," he replies, his lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. There's a promise in his words, a vow that this time, he'll listen. This time, things will be different.

A gritty guitar riff slices through the smoky air, the first notes of a song that feels like it's been written just for us. I stand, my heart a heavy drumbeat in my chest, and Mason's fingers entwine with mine. The world shrinks until there's nothing but him and me and the promise of something raw and real.

"Come on," he rasps, his voice gravel and honey all at once.

I let him lead me to the dance floor, where shadows play across the faces of our brothers and sisters. The clubhouse's dim lights cast a glow on Mason's inked skin, each tattoo a testament to the life he's led—a life I'm now a part of.

His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close against the hard plane of his chest. My body molds to his, instinctively finding the rhythm of his movements as we sway to the music. His scent, leather and musk, intoxicates me. It's a dance that speaks of longing, of second chances.

"Pres," I whisper, using the name only the Iron Reapers call him, "What are we doing?"

"Living, Carlie." He dips his head, his lips hovering near mine, breath hot against my skin. "We're goddamn living."

We dance, bodies in sync, and it's like we're the only two people in the world. The music throbs through us, a visceral heartbeat that echoes the wild thumping of my own.

His grip tightens, and he pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. "I've been a fool," he confesses, and I see the torment etched into the lines of his face. "I've messed up, Carlie. More times than I can count. But you... you see right through me."

The intensity in his gaze pins me, more forceful than any physical restraint. This is Mason laid bare, the man behind the myth, vulnerable and reaching out for something to hold onto.

"Every mistake, every fight—it was me pushin' away what I didn't think I deserved. But you..." His thumb traces the line of my jaw, a touch so tender it's a stark contrast to the power in his arms. "You're everything good in this screwed-up world. And I love you. God help me, I love you."

My heart stutters, hope flaring bright and hot. "Mason..."

"Say you'll stay, Carlie. Stay and be my old lady." Regret sharpens his words, carving them deep into the moment. "I swear on my life, I won't let you down again. Not you."

His declaration, rough and heartfelt, crashes over me like a wave. In his eyes, I see the future—a road stretched out before us, full of twists and turns, but traveled together. Fear and excitement tangle inside me, but one thing's crystal clear, this man, this reckless, beautiful soul, is mine.

"Mason—" My voice cracks, emotion choking me. I swallow hard, steeling myself to speak the words that might just set us both free. "I—"

The breath catches in my throat, a tangled mess of nerves and raw emotion. His confession hangs heavy between us, and I find the nerve to lay it all out.

"Mason," I start, my voice barely above a whisper, but it's enough to drown out the music. "I've been a storm of doubts, a whirlwind of second-guesses. But you... you're my anchor in the chaos." My fingers tighten around his, anchoring myself to this moment, this truth. "I love you, with every broken piece of me."

His eyes, those pools of night, widen just a fraction. It's like he can't believe the words spilling from my lips, like they're the missing parts to his soul's jigsaw puzzle.

"Despite the madness, the danger, I'm here. With you. For you." The world fades, leaving only the two of us, standing in the eye of our own personal hurricane. "I'm not going anywhere, Mason. You're stuck with me."

A strangled sound escapes his lips, halfway between a laugh and a sob. He pulls me close, so close there's no beginning or end to where we stand. "Damn, Carlie," he breathes against my hair, his voice shaking. "You're gonna be the death of me or the reason I keep breathing. Either way, I'm all in."

His arms wrap around me, a steel band of protection and warmth. I bury my face into the leather that clings to his broad chest, inhaling his scent. "Together, Carlie. Always."

"Always," I echo, sealing the vow with a kiss.