The Price of Mason (Forbidden Men 10)

I lifted my hands and backed away, refusing to let him make contact and not about to get into it with him, either. If anyone caught me having words with a guest of the Country Club, I’d be fired so fast my ass would smoke.

Riker pointed a threatening index finger at my nose. “Don’t fuck with my mother. I know what kind of women you associate with. And she’s not one of them.”

Well, that was for damn sure. Amanda could never reach the evil depravity of, say, someone like Patricia Garrison. Not in a million years.

I nodded respectfully because, honestly, I couldn’t blame him for his anger and suspicion. If I were Riker and had heard the rumors about me, as he’d no doubt heard, I’d worry my mom was fucking me for money too.

“Understood,” I said.

He narrowed his gaze as if he were sure I was feeding him an act. I almost sighed and rolled my eyes but held the reaction in until he turned away.

He was ten feet down the hall before I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I’m not sure what prompted me to say anything, I already knew I shouldn’t, even as I called, “Hey, Riker.”

Pausing, he glanced back, squinting in mistrust.

I cleared my throat. “Earlier, when y'all were getting out of your car and your mom spilled her purse…”

He pulled himself up even tighter. “Yeah?”

I hesitated, knowing I should shut up while I was ahead, but since I was worried about Amanda, I ended up blurting, “An empty pill bottle fell out, like maybe it needed to be refilled. You… I mean, someone should maybe check into that.”

And yep, there went the shit.

All over the proverbial fan.

Riker really did shove me this time. He stormed back to me and pummeled two palms straight to my chest hard. I stumbled backward as he snarled, “Stay the fuck out of my family affairs, Lowe.”

When he spun away and marched down the hall, away from me, I watched him go and disappear around a corner before murmuring, “Right.”

There was nothing I’d love more than to keep my nose out of his fucked-up family.

Confession #3: I lusted after a girl I shouldn’t.

The next morning, my hands shook as I tugged a ratty old messenger bag down from the top shelf in my closet. I’d rented all the books and bought all the school supplies I needed, even got myself a new laptop, yet I’d completely forgotten to purchase a new bag to carry everything in. So the one I’d used during high school would have to do.

Today was my first day of college, and I had been so sure I’d be fine and ready for this, but the tremor in my hands as I loaded the messenger bag with notebooks and pens and folders belied all that. I was flipping the fuck out inside, not sure if I should even attempt the first class or not.

I mean, what was the point? Was I really going to find something better inside a classroom? Could a degree honestly help me escape the life I’d sunk myself into?

I wasn’t even sure how to act around people my own age anymore. Felt like I’d been out of the social scene far too long, which okay, I had. And after the turn my life had taken, it was anyone’s guess how my peers would receive me. The few I had contact with at the Country Club when they came by with their families either avoided me with distaste, spread outright hate my way—as Ethan Riker had—or thought they deserved every right to my services, just like their rich mommas, but without actually paying for it.

Waterford Community College was kind of reputed for taking in all the wealthy kids who weren’t quite ready to go off to a four-year university yet, so the Country Club scene pretty much did resemble who I’d be dealing with.

Ah, hell. I was screwed, wasn’t I?

But if I wanted out of the sex business, this was the best, most honest path I could think to take. So I was going to at least try it. Trying and failing was better than just plain giving up and failing, right?

Strapping my messenger bag over my shoulder like a piece of armor, I tightened it across my chest and marched off to war, aka, the kitchen, because clearly, I needed some sustenance before tackling the trust-fund babies of Waterford.

When I entered, I found Sarah sitting in her chair, facing the closed refrigerator, just staring at it.

“Morning, kiddo,” I greeted as I passed, ruffling her hair along the way. “Practicing your psychokinesis again? Except if you’re trying to open the door with your mind, I don’t think it’s working.”

She growled out a sound of annoyance and swatted out her arm, actually whacking me in the thigh.

“Hey, hey.” I dodged away on a laugh. “Abuse.”

In all honesty, I was impressed she’d been able to tag me. With her cerebral palsy, her motor function was all fucked up. It took her more effort than most people to even get her arm to move the way she wanted it to. So I wanted to compliment her for making full contact, but I knew she liked it better when I didn’t focus on her CP at all.