Aftermath Book Two Crash Series

Chapter Thirty-One

Aria

            It’s strange how quiet a place this big can be. How each step can echo off the far walls and high ceilings with such repetitive clarity it somehow only amplifies the silence. The expansive rooms are covered in shadows with the late hour on a quiet Sunday night in November. The air is chilled but plays no factor in my goosebumps and raised hairs.

        I know Mason is in here somewhere or Wyatt and Levi would still be by my side but I can’t shake the need to search the shadows for danger. I wish I didn’t live in a house that looked more like a museum than a home. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel as if I’m walking to my death.

        The chills that rack my body remind me why I’ve grown to appreciate my bodyguards. A very weird thought to have but it’s the one screaming through my head at the moment as my heart is held hostage in fear's firm grip.

            There are too many places someone could be lurking in wait with sick anticipation for the perfect moment to grab me. Will it happen when I cut this first corner? Or they could be hiding on the other side of the stairs. All they would have to do is wait for me to take that first step up and then come from behind. Would Mason or whichever men took over for nightshift ever make it to me in time?

            The few-minute walk that was simply inconvenient before now seems a lot like walking straight into a lucid nightmare. The problem being there’s no waking up there’s only moving forward on the dim moon-lit path to my bedroom. A bedroom upstairs and across the house because for some unknown reason Mason’s grandfather thought it necessary to live in a mansion and Mason in all his brilliant glory thought, “He had it right. Me, myself, and I should also live in this luxurious expansive mansion filled with game rooms and theaters just so I can work my life away all by myself.” Cause that makes sense.

            As soon as I get upstairs I’m going to make sure I tell him as much. If I make it upstairs that is.

            Picking up my pace I swing my head from side to side searching for any unexpected movements. My lungs scream for air but my throat is choked closed as I rush forward and jolt up the stairs. These stairs are massive and slightly curved, the railing follows either side and usually, I’m careful to go slow or hold on tightly as I skip up. But tonight the walls seem like they have eyes watching and waiting, I don’t have the luxury of time careful steps require. From the ferocity of my steps, you would think the stairs themselves had fingers ready to pull me into my own personal hell.

            It’s no surprise to anyone but myself when the sole of my boot misses the lip of the stair above me. Or how big my eyes grow when I realize in my haste I was already lifting my other foot up and now I’m walking on nothing but air for a millisecond before I go crashing headfirst into the marble steps. I don’t know how he does it or where he comes from but at the very last second, the last possible moment Mason saves the day by yanking on the back of my head with a handful of my hair in his grasp.

            My scalp is sore and achy in an instant but I only let out a brief squeak as we both stand in shock for a moment. I can see my reflection in the glossy marble that almost skims the tip of my nose. My right arm met the edge of the stairs in a collision that revibrated up to my shoulder only neutralized by the force of Mason’s grip in my hair, while my knees fought for purchase. They skid and slide for seconds that felt like minutes as the bruises mounted. If he didn’t stop me I would be at the bottom of these stairs now. Instead, my knees are forced to find the purchase I need as my left palm smacks into the hard marble with a slap that I know will sting for the rest of the night.

        All at once, my throat opens, my warm breath fans the marble, fogging over my wide eyes and slack jaw. The strangled sound that comes from me is enough to break the ice that’s frozen us in the shock of the moment.

            “Ow.” I moan under my breath, my body aches will are no longer staying silenced.

            “Are you okay?” Mason rushes out as he lets his grip go now that I’m stable enough and works on straightening himself enough so he can hook his arms under my own and scoop me off the awkward angle I’m currently sprawled out in.

            “There is no reason you need to live in this place!” I’m scared and angry and my mouth works faster than my rational mind can collect itself. My body hurts pretty much everywhere and I can still feel phantom fingers wrapped around my heart.

            We’re in the middle of the stairs with nowhere to comfortably sit and assess my real injuries but that’s no challenge for Mase, he just twists me around in his arms like I’m the size and weight of a toddler, not a grown woman and hugs me carefully to his warm chest.

            “There isn’t?” He’s not a klutz like me, he doesn’t have to be overly aware of every step he takes or watch the ground below him for random obstacles the universe only throws at your feet so he’s perfectly capable of looking down at me in his arms at the same that he successfully carries us up the stairs. Usually, I’d see amusement with a hint of concern written in his features, instead, I find more concern than I know what to do with and something else. Something new that has my breath drawing in tighter and my eyes growing thinner.

            “You’re a workaholic with a home that you never use! Of course, there isn’t!” I don’t want his concern although I’m curious about whatever else is lingering my mind and body are still in the fight and flight zone. That’s on top of dealing with Cynthia all day and being scared of my surroundings more times than I could count, I don’t have the patients and I certainly don’t have the ability to accept any more sympathy.

            There’s no reason we should have to live in a place so giant that it takes minutes to walk from the door to the bedroom, or that we need a theater room and a game room and a million other useless rooms collecting dust. I mean yeah, they’re nice but damnit if this place wasn’t so big I wouldn’t have been running in the first place. So yeah, this is all Mason’s fault right now that’s the only thought my mouth is hooked up to.    

            He doesn’t respond right away, his eyes sliding down my body, trying to take stock of my visible injuries but I’m covered in winter clothes giving him no signs and nothing to focus on but my growing irrational irritation. I cradle my arm to my pounding chest with my sore palm and relieve some of the pressure in my aching knees by relaxing into his iron hold but I hold on to my irritation.

            Apparently, he has some of his own as well. When his eyes meet mine that unknown emotion has turned from a flicker of a flame into an inferno. His gaze is so heated I can't tell what's burning. The logs of the fire could be anger or passion it makes no difference to the conflict beauty and danger of the flame. I’m so lost in the sight I hardly notice the gentle shake of his head or his gentle words.

            “Should we move? Is that what you need?” Rolling my eyes at test my sore palm by smacking it gently on his hard chest well I try to see through raging fire and figure out what’s happening in his head. I feel like we’re having two separate conversations, one with our eyes and the other out loud.

            “I didn’t say that! I just don’t understand why any one person would ever need this place!” I shrug my shoulders up wondering if we will ever make it to our room.

            “I’m not just one person now am I?” He pulls me in a little tighter well letting the question stand there in wait. It isn’t hard to hear the undercurrent of hurt in his tone.  

            “You were when you took this place over from your Grandfather!” I push back as I cling to my anger and let out a heavy breath. My arm is sore with growing bruises I can tell from the pain alone but my knees are really hurting. Even relaxed with no pressure on them and help snug in the crook of his arms they still ache with the subtle movements. I’m opening in a week, I can't afford any injury let alone one that keeps me off my feet.

            “Yes, because it was left to me in his Will, should I have refused it? Or closed it down until I meet you?” He pulls his shoulders up to his ears, shrugging with me in his arms while his voice rises. The flames behind his eyes are spreading the flames licking down his and burning into his words.

            “No! of course not! Shut up, Mason! It’s f*****g creepy as f**k in here at night! And I’m sick of having to walk a mile to get anywhere in this place!” If I was on the floor and my knees were strong enough I would stomp my feet, fortunately, he is pulling open the door to the bedroom. Soon I’ll be far enough away to give him the proper fight we both want.

            “Alright. I’ll call my real estate agent in the morning and start looking for something smaller,” he growls the words out through clenched teeth and a tight face.

“No! This is your home, Mason!” I rush out in exasperation. We’re both in terrible moods so we shouldn’t make any big decisions right now, but damn can’t a woman b***h if she wants to!

            “A home you clearly don’t enjoy Aria.” AhoMeYoUclEarLyDoN’tENjoYaRIa, I mock in my head aware that I sound like a three-year-old but again not able to calm enough to be rational.

            “I do enjoy it! Ugh! You’re not moving out of your home because of me.” At least I have enough brain cells functioning to now mock him out loud, instead, I give him my exasperation as he blends down laying me on our bed.

            “If you’re going to continue to attempt to take your own life well living here then yeah we do.” He pulls his arms out from under me as carefully as he can so as not to disturb my injuries. I sink into our mattress and slowly extend my legs from the bent position they were in. I imagine if I was a robot this is when there would be some grinding gears and rusty metal sparks flying from my joints.

            He places his fists on either side of my head as he stays leaning over me. He’s inferno now, his entire being is encased in flames, dancing across his skin and heating the air around us while the fire burns all our oxygen away.

            “I didn’t try to kill myself!” The pain in my knees feeds into my anger building it up and sparking into an inferno of my own with the spark of his words. How dare he!    

            “You didn’t? Seemed like it to me!” Seemed like it to him? Seemed like I was trying to purposefully smash my face into the steps because that’s the simplest, most humane, and least gruesome way of taking my own life?  

            “Look around Mason! It’s creepy as f**k! I was scared!” Of course, our room isn’t very creepy. It’s large but the lights are on already taking away a huge burden of fear and it’s more loved and lived in than plenty of the other rooms in this house. Mister neat freak may like everything precise and minimalistic (the rich version), but I’ve forced his hand and added it myself.

            I’ve bought a couple of lights to spruce it up a tad more and added a few decorations to the walls. Add in a few candles and accessories from online and I have the room pretty spruced up. At least enough to make this room comfortable, definitely not creepy. It doesn’t matter anyway he doesn’t glance around.

            “So you ran up the stairs? You Crash?” He leans in closer than before, his nose coming to rest just above my own, his minty breath caressing and warming my heated cheeks more as if I’m now the glossy marble floor. I wonder if he can see his rage reflected in my eyes.

            “What do you want me to say, Mase? Hmm, I’m sorry I was creeped out and I fell! Thank you for saving me once again?” Using my elbows to prop myself up I force my face closer to his hoping he’ll move back. Instead, he holds still, so now our mouths are nearly touching as our mixed heat entangles and the whole room turns to flames.

            “I want you to stop getting hurt for one goddamn second so I can f*****g catch my god damn breath! Is that too much to ask for?” He growls out his frustration his words smacking me in the face. I can swear I can taste the sparks flying off his teeth he’s grinding down on them so hard.

            “Seriously? Stop implying I’m intentionally trying to harm myself!” My left arm definitely hurts so I use my right to lean my weight on while I shove him in the chest with my left hand. Where did you even come from?” I ask in exasperation as he stays where he is, not moving an inch.

            “I watched you come in.” I squint my eyes at that, feeling my frustration build no longer knowing where my emotions stop or his start. I ignore my protesting knees and scoot myself up the bed and away from him.

            “Of course, the creepy freaking cameras!” I try to keep my mask in place so only my irritation and anger show through but I flinch with some movements and he notices. He’s faster than me and uninjured, it’s easy enough to grab me by the waist and hold me in place while his other hand works on the button of my jeans.

            I really think I’m going crazy, I’m angry, I’ve been angry but for some f****d up reason my s*x drive is taking the angry faces, heated atmosphere, and now the feel of his hands undressing me as a sign to gear up and get ready. I’m torn between moaning out his name in need and pushing him away in desperate need of space and clarity.

            “Thank god for them huh? Saved you from a concussion just now. If the cameras at Shirley’s were working the other day maybe, we would have something on Edward right now!” He lifts his hand off my hip giving me the room to lift up and assist in my jeans removal. He leaves my red stretchy underwear in place all he’s worried about is getting a good look at my knees.

            “What are you saying? You think the security system failing precisely when your father assaulted me was my fault?” He’s leaning over my knees in inspection, but I stop him. Putting my hand under his chin I turn his head my way so he can see the absurdity in his accusation.

            “No. f**k, no. Damnit.” His face falls for a second while he replays his words for a second. I get having a bad day but he’s not going to try and put something like that on me. I don’t care how bad our days get we still have boundaries we need to respect.

            His heat still mixes with mine, his emotions just as wild and out of control as my own. We’re in our personally made inferno and it’s consuming us whole. But there’s a flicker of pain he’s quick to hide away that gives me pause. His mood isn’t normal, he’s usually more in control of everything, including himself. He sits in boardrooms and banquets with perfected masks and manors that never slip.

        The only time I’ve seen him anywhere close to the state he’s in now is when I’ve pushed him there. When he’s feeling protective or scared, usually after a bout of clumsiness or my stubborn pride sticking through. Just like that my rationality snaps back into place and my brain gears up to prime functioning as I wonder what’s really happening here.

            I know I almost fell, and I did get hurt, I get his mood to a point. But this is more, it’s something different and my instincts, the ones that have been tuned for survival, they’re the perfect tool to pick up on the subtle or large changes in personality and reactions are screaming at me now to pay attention. So I do.

            Releasing his face for just a second I sit up straight and scoot next to him. He stays leaning on his side, propped up on his elbow with his head hung low, dejected. “Mase?” I work to lower my voice as I pull at his chin again. The scruff there prickling my fingertips in a comforting way. He looks at me with resignation and frustration. The inferno is still here surrounding us but I  can make out some of the ash, with just enough remaining to make out their origins. “What’s wrong?” I can’t help but trace my thumb across his lip as I ignore the day and my pain and focus solely on him.

            I watch as he battles with something in his head, his other arm coming up and around so he can tug at his hair before running his hand down his face. He settles his hand over mine, weaving his fingers in between my own. He peels my hand away from his face giving him enough room to kiss my red palm.

            “I want to kill him.” His words are so at odds with his gentle kiss that it takes me a moment to process the two. My brain spins as my body tingles. His lips trail down my palm to my the underside of my wrist. I shiver and sweat at the same time, his passion and heat calling to my own while his kiss cools me with icy tingles.

            “Who?” Slowly lifting my other arm, I’m careful not to call attention to the injury, I run my fingers through his hair, following the path I always see him take. But I dig my fingers in deep, pressing down and scraping his scalp in what I hope is a relaxing massage.

            The inferno we are in grows hotter, impossible as that is. We’re magnets meeting once more, making us whole. He looks wild and out of control, his eyes are opened wide, his hair a mess, I’m helping create. But the bags under his eyes and the droop in his mouth, are worrisome as they are fierce and determined.          

            “Edward. I’ve allowed him to get away with a lot but he went too far when he put his hands on you when he threatened you.” He shakes his head, grinds his teeth, and leans in once more. He keeps his eyes on me but pushes my sleeve up as he kisses the newly revealed skin. Once more his words, his vibe so at odds with his words. I find I’m struggling to keep up, one moment I’m filled with concern while the next I’m riding a wave of passion hoping to ride him next.

            “We’re going to get him. You just have to be patient like we talked about yesterday.” I scoot a tad closer as I slide my hand down the back of his head. Cupping his neck I rub my thumb along his skin.

            “Will we get him before he gets you? He got close enough once already, Brian got you twice. I’ve trusted that you’d be okay and see where it got us? You running through our own home because you're scared of your own f*****g shadow?” He gets louder with every word, his lips pulling away from my skin as he looks at me with anger and frustration. With a quick shake of his head, he drops my arm so he can cradle my head as he takes my lips with his own.

            “We need to get an ice pack on your knees before your limping for the next week. I’ll be right back.” He jumps off the bed quickly leaving me with more cold and concern. I’ve never seen him break but I’m pretty sure I’m about to and I don’t know how to stop it.