The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers Book 2), page 12
He refocused on Laila. “I’m sorry you had to move out,” he said after a beat.
“You should be.” Dubey laughed. “The dorms are tiny. I can’t imagine sharing such a small space with another person in the room.” Pausing, he gave Laila a meaningful look. “Hopefully, though, she won’t have to soon, or at least I hope she won’t.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not following,” Mason said, hoping he was misreading the situation.
“It happens to be our anniversary.” Joseph waved Laila forward as if she were supposed to walk through the counter toward him. “I asked Laila to move in with me. And tonight, I’m hoping she’ll tell me yes, so we’ll really have something to celebrate.”
Obeying the causal summons, Laila lifted the flip-up counter to come around in front of the tower. A gold locket on a thin chain glinted around her neck. Matching studs adorned her ears.
Laila rarely wore jewelry. But, of course, this was a special occasion. She was dressed up to go out and celebrate her anniversary with this douchebag.
“Congratulations,” he said evenly. Inside, his mind was roiling. Had she been seeing this guy before he’d left on his ill-fated mission?
He tried to make his tone casual, but he was only moderately successful. “How long have you been dating?”
“Not long,” Dubey answered. There was a tiny smirk as if he knew the answer meant something to Mason.
“It’s the three-month anniversary of our first date,” Laila clarified, ducking under Dubey’s outstretched arm. Her voice was low, almost apologetic, as the man wrapped an arm around her. “Joseph likes to celebrate every occasion. He gave me flowers at the one-week mark, and he hasn’t stopped since.”
The mention of flowers made her face tighten as if she’d just remembered his plants. “Mason, I’m so sorry about what happened.”
He waved her apology away. “It’s all right. I’m glad you’re in one piece. I was…concerned.”
Dubey squeezed Laila, pulling her into him a bit tighter. “Babe, we have to get going if we’re going to make our reservation in time.”
“Oh, yes.” Laila winced and bit her lip, hesitating as she reluctantly met Mason’s eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. They’re just plants,” he assured her, hating the uncertainty in her expression.
“But—”
“I should get going. Let you get back to your night,” he interrupted, discarding his initial plan to linger and grab some groceries. “Congratulations on the anniversary, by the way.”
Excusing himself with a murmur, he walked away, heading to his vehicle. It was a good thing it was a sports car.
Mason couldn’t get away fast enough.
Chapter Eighteen
The next day Laila swore under her breath as a fat stream of water splattered her from the rear awning, sending water trickling down her back.
A sudden storm had rolled in during the early afternoon. She’d hoped it would clear up before she had to empty the bakery’s bins, but her shift was almost over, and the weather showed no signs of letting up.
Resigned to getting wet, Laila hauled the full waste bags to the dumpster behind the store, trying not to drag them as she went. The plastic wasn’t strong enough to survive the asphalt intact. The last thing she needed was to be forced to pick up the garbage from the ground by hand—again.
She had just heaved the first overfilled bag over the edge of the dumpster when he called her name.
Laila spun around. The second bag crashed to the ground, slipping from her nerveless fingers.
Mason stood a few feet away. He must have been waiting for her to come out for some time because he was dripping wet, his golden hair a darker shade of wheat and plastered to his head.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” Laila blinked, the moisture collecting on her long lashes, making it difficult to see.
There was a long stretch of silence. How was it possible she’d missed him? This impossibly beautiful man had hurt her so much—he shouldn’t have the power to affect her. Not anymore.
And yet, it felt like her heart was breaking all over again.
Hungrier than she should have been, Laila drank the sight of him in.
She pointed to his arm. He was still wearing a sling, but the white cast had disappeared. “Can you get that wet?” she asked in a low voice.
He glanced at his sling. “Yes, I had the plaster one removed yesterday. This is just nylon and plastic now—machine washable.”
“Oh.” Laila picked at the store apron she was wearing. “That’s good. It’s an improvement,” she added lamely.
“Yeah.” That was followed by more silence.
“Are you—”
“Why are—”
They both stopped. She smiled apologetically, but she gave up the effort when he took a few steps forward, close enough for her to feel his heat.
“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he said in a hoarse voice. “You’re seeing that guy now, but there is something you need to know.”
Laila clutched her apron tighter. “What is it?”
“That night…” Mason broke off, rubbing his face with his good hand. “Actually, the next morning is what I wanted to talk about. What you saw—that girl. Her name is Angie.”
Laila flinched. She didn’t mean to, but she did. Mason swore under his breath.
“She didn’t stay the night with me,” he said urgently. “She was there the next morning, but she wasn’t invited. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Laila suppressed a shiver. She was almost as wet as he was now, but she didn’t care. “You…you’re saying you didn’t sleep with her.”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t have. And she wasn’t after me for real—she’s getting married to Dusty, the man she really wanted, in a couple of weeks. It’s not important. My point is that I wouldn’t have done that. Not right after you and I… I know that doesn’t matter now because you’re with someone new, and he seems…great. Fine. But I needed you to know.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Was Mason asking for another chance?
He stilled, then rolled his shoulders. “I needed to clear the air. You had to know I have more honor than that.”
Her throat was too tight to speak. “I…”
“It’s all beside the point. You’ve moved on,” he repeated. “I know it’s selfish to come around again after all this time, but I didn’t want you to go on with your life thinking badly of me. Because what you think matters to me. It matters a lot.”
Pivoting abruptly, he started to leave. He was at the door of his Mustang before she could react.
“Mason!” Laila ran toward him. She stopped short at the edge of the lot. “I—I believe you.”
He nodded once. And then he got in his car and drove away.
Chapter Nineteen
Five Months Later
Mason kept his face impassive as Rainer Torsten finished the obstacle course a full fifteen seconds after the rest of the delta team. It was a pretty decent time for a playboy billionaire, but Mason still shot him a warning glance. It wouldn’t do to let the other guys think he would accept this kind of performance from them. But for someone as pampered as Torsten, it wasn’t half bad, especially in this heat.
He had to hand to the billionaire—the man had committed to the training. His counterpart, Garret Chapman, had dropped out ages ago.
But Rainer surprised him. He was here every Saturday, rain or shine. Mason didn’t take it easy on him either, refusing to tailor the routine to his level or soften it in any way. If Torsten couldn’t keep up with the others, then he had no right to be here, even if they spent the six days working here to Rainer’s one.
If the rich man’s lag widened to thirty seconds, however, Mason might discreetly ask him to tap out. But there was no real reason for it. Torsten had done his best to minimize disruption. He didn’t bring his bodyguards to the warehouse and fields where they trained, and he was always on time.
And he was friendly and strangely unobtrusive in a way Chapman, or his bosses, Ian Quinn and Elias Gardner, were not. Though he could never truly stay in the background, Rainer was one of those men who silently observed, never letting on what was going on behind those inscrutable eyes. By reputation, he was a shark in the boardroom, but he was respectful and friendly here.
“Do you have plans for the weekend?” Rainer asked after the recruits had gone off to hit the showers. “I was going to fly down to my place in the Bahamas, and I thought you’d like to come along. “
Mason gave him a sharp look. “You’re not coming back next Saturday, are you?”
Rainer appeared caught off guard. Then he shrugged. “No,” he said shortly.
He shared a hapless smile that no doubt got him far with the ladies. “Sorry, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your efforts to train me. It’s not even that I’m unwilling to do the work, but I used to travel a lot—business—and coming here every week is starting to get in the way.”
That was the reason Chapman had stopped coming. But Mason had always wondered what was keeping Torsten from dropping out. Six months was an eternity for a billionaire in business, wasn’t it?
“How did you guess?” Rainer wiped his face with a towel.
Mason shrugged. “You’ve never asked me or anyone else in the organization to socialize, not even Quinn and Gardner.”
“It’s not because I didn’t want to, but I didn’t think mixing with your bosses would be a good look while I was trying to stick to the program. But it’s past time I stopped getting in your way. Isn’t this team about to roll out soon? Don’t you need time to gel as a unit without a fifth wheel that’s never going to go out on a mission?”
“Auric has greenlit us,” Mason acknowledged. “We’re entering the rotation next month—strictly in a support capacity unless we land a softball. But you haven’t held the others back at all.”
Technically, no job was low risk, but unlike the one where he’d been hurt, some were more…predictable. They were going to start with those. In the short term, his most difficult task as a team leader was going to be making sure the guys stayed icy and on their toes.
“The fact you came on the same day every week made you part of the routine,” Mason shared. “But a team doesn’t truly gel until they get out in the field. And even though they occasionally give you shit—the guys respect the effort. As do I,” he said, putting his right hand out. “If you ever want to drop in when we’re in town, feel free.”
Rainer shook Mason’s hand, obviously realizing it was his right. “How’s the arm, by the way?”
“A hundred percent,” he said easily.
And it was true. Mason had dived into his rehab routine with a vengeance. He’d checked in with the team’s doctor religiously, and he had gone above and beyond the prescribed physical therapy regimens. He’d pushed himself much harder. Mason had been determined to get back to his peak physical condition.
When he wasn’t working on himself, he was training the new team. The recruits had been ready and waiting for him when he got back—eight elite men and two women chosen from a small but select pool of applicants. Most were former military like him, but two had come from law enforcement, including a former SWAT sniper.
Mason worked them hard, determined that his team quickly establish itself as one of the elite. But despite being the boss, Mason didn’t take it any easier on himself. Once Doc Valentine gave him the all-clear, he ran every mile, did every set of crunches, and every one-armed push-up that his team did.
“Thanks for the effort you put into my training,” Rainer continued. “I know I didn’t make it easy for you, especially in the beginning.”
“You weren’t that bad,” Mason lied, grinning. The early days of the rich man’s training had been…colorful. But his face felt abnormally stretched—a reminder that smiles were rare for him these days.
“You lasted about five months longer than I thought you would,” he added a touch more honestly.
Rainer threw his head back and laughed, cementing Mason’s good opinion of him. “You never answered my question. How does a weekend in the Bahamas sound?”
“A weekend where?” A warm weight crashed into Mason’s back as Ransom slung an arm around his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter—I’m in.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not,” Mason said, peeling his friend’s arm off. “My buddy is coming to town tonight. Ethan’s plane is due within the hour. I have to hit the showers and book it to the airport if I’m going to pick him up on time.”
“He’s welcome to come along,” Rainer offered generously. He ignored Ransom mugging aggressively over the man’s shoulder.
“I’m not sure he’s in the mood for that,” Mason said.
He didn’t know the details, but he’d heard Ethan’s tone on the phone. They had been friends long enough for him to be able to tell all was not right in Beantown, where Ethan worked as an FBI agent.
“You should go on ahead,” Mason said. “And if you feel like company, Ransom mixes a damn fine Old Fashioned. He’s also an excellent wingman.”
“You’re welcome to come along,” Rainer said, extending the invitation to Ransom instead. “Although I should warn you, I’m not looking to party this weekend. Just relax, poolside, while admiring the ocean view.”
“Sounds great to me,” Ransom enthused, nudging the older man with his shoulder. “When do we leave?”
Mason excused himself with a warm goodbye, heading to the showers. The entire way to the airport, he wondered what might be wrong with his oldest friend.
Ethan didn’t keep him in suspense long. “She got married,” he said grimly as he climbed into Mason’s mustang at LAX’s curbside pick-up area.
“Who?” Then he remembered. “Oh, that girl—Peyton.”
Ethan had mentioned Peyton Carson several times over the years. Not enough to mark an obsession, mind you, but Mason had read between the lines.
“Who did she marry?” he asked, frowning as he pulled into traffic.
“King Asshole himself—and another guy with enough money to buy Heaven itself.”
“But not Hell?” The world was full of assholes, but as far as Ethan was concerned, there was only one king—Liam Tyler, his partner Jason’s brother-in-law.
“Hell has a cheaper cover charge,” the agent said.
“So, who’s the other guy?”
“A Nordic billionaire.”
Mason chuckled. “Wow.”
Ethan slumped in the seat. “I know.”
“Two men.” Mason shook his head, whistling. “And rich guys at that. At least now you know there wasn’t ever a real shot. The girl was obviously after a fat wallet. You’re better off.”
“Nah,” Ethan grumbled. “Peyton’s not about the money. She’d be with them without the cash. But you do have a point in a way—I can’t be two men.”
Mason pulled onto the freeway. “If that’s the new standard women are setting these days, we are both shit out of luck.”
Ethan snickered. “Do we need to stop at a liquor store? I need a bourbon.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.”
There wasn’t much conversation until they pulled up at Mason’s new rental.
“When did you move?” Ethan asked, squinting at the suburban split-level.
“When I got back from Mexico.”
“I thought you were dead set on staying downtown,” Ethan pointed out when Mason gave him the grand tour. “What happened to being able to get sushi takeout at two AM?”
“Got old,” Mason said evasively. Ethan didn’t need to know that staying downtown for the best take-out didn’t seem to matter after Laila had moved out of their building.
“Well, at least it has a yard.” Ethan scowled at the bare patch of scorched grass. “I’m surprised you haven’t done anything with it.”
“I’ve been busy. Maybe later. For now, the only thing that matters is location. It’s midway between Auric’s training facility and my physical therapist office.”
“Are you still going to that?”
“Not too often. Just the occasional checkup.”
He showed Ethan to his room, letting the agent shower while he prepared the grill outside. After steaks and beer, they switched to the promised bourbon, and he showed Ethan the house’s chief attraction.
They ducked out of the second-story window on the roof of the garage. The rental was up on a hill, just high enough to get a partial view of the valley below. It was enough. The lights below them stretched out like a blanket of stars.
They took the bottle of bourbon with them.
“How are you actually doing?” Mason asked after Ethan poured himself another, much fuller glass.
“I’m fine—well, I will be fine,” he amended after a long pause. The tiniest bit of a slur was creeping into his voice.
“I suppose you think I’m behaving like a jackass—making a fool of myself over a girl I never even went out on a date with.” Ethan huffed, rubbing his face. “It’s just…did you ever meet someone and see the future? I mean not the future, but like a possible future. A really good one.”
Yes. Despite the multiple glasses of bourbon, Mason was suddenly sober. “Yes,” he repeated aloud, his voice a touch hollow. “I have.”
Fortunately, Ethan was too drunk to follow-up. His friend set his drink down before flopping on his back across the warm roof shingles. “I shouldn’t have gone to the wedding.”
Christ. “You went to the wedding?”
Ethan smirked. “I wanted to prove I was okay.”
Mason winced. “And were you?”
“I’ve done undercover work,” Ethan reminded him. “Even infiltrated drug cartels. If I didn’t have a fantastic poker face, I’d be dead.”
“I guess that’s best in the long run,” Mason conceded. Ethan was tied to Peyton’s new husband through his partner. He had to continue mixing with those people. “But it’s still a bitch.”
