Page 91 of Risk

Landon hands Mason his drink. “Here, you look like you need this more than me.”

Mason takes a sip. “Jackson.”

“You’ve got fucking balls, motherfucker.”

My man doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. “You should get a pair yourself. They’re pretty great to have.”

“And so fun to play with,” I add.

Kerrington snarfs his drink. “I really love her,” he whispers loudly to Landon.

“Me too,” Landon whisper-yells back.

Someone else joins the scene. Tall, thin, jet-black hair and bright… blue… Oh my god. No way. This new guy stares right at me and all the color drains from his face.

“Carmichael.” Mason dips his head.

Jackson grabs Carmichael’s arm and steers him away. “Come on, Jon. Let’s go.”

A small bell chimes. Cocktail hour is over, time for dinner.

Except I can’t move, even as everyone else heads inside the large banquet hall.

“Hey, are you okay?” Mason grazes my arm, giving it a little squeeze. “That’s just Jonathan Carmichael. He looks scarier than he is. Trust me.”

I watch Jon escort his wife—his very pregnant wife—inside. He looks over his shoulder, pinning me with another hard look before disappearing through the door with everyone else.

My mouth runs dry. “That’s Mr. C.”

Mason tenses and we both stare at each other for several measurably slow heartbeats. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

His jaw ticks.

“Who’s Mr. C?” Landon asks.

I don’t want to answer that question.

“What do you want to do, Leah?” Mason’s hard stare hits me square in the heart. I think if I told him I want to leave, he’d take me home immediately. But we didn’t come here to tuck tail and run.

“Come on, boys. Escort me into the lion’s den. I’m starving.” Hooking Mason’s arm, I fortify my walls and remember what’s important tonight.

The ballroom is decked out in elaborate floral arrangements, crystal, gold candelabras, and embroidered cloth. It looks like a fairytale.

And I’m the princess at this ball. Dressed in vintage haute couture, my confidence is through the roof, and nothing will dampen it. Especially not Jonathon foot-fetish Carmichael.

Head high, Mason escorts me over to our table. “We’re at lucky number thirteen.” He pulls my chair out as I scan the room, feeling a lot of eyes on me at once.

Carmichael and Jackson are in an animated conversation at the table next to ours, and they both look over at us at the same time. Jackson grins this awful toothy smile right at Mason and my stomach sinks.

Fuck.

Chapter 28

Mason

Liberation is dangerous. Once you have no fucks left to give, your personality does a little reset.