Fallen Crest Home (Fallen Crest High #6)(8)

“Except maybe his own son,” I finished.

“You’re the only one in my camp who has ties to his son. Yes, you were enemies, but that kid is going to take over his father’s empire. You won’t be playing football forever, Mason. I’m aware this is your backup, but it’s here should you want it. And I need you to do this for me.”

I was wary, but he had some points. I’d have to work with people like them eventually.

“What do you want me to do? Find out what the illegal shit is?”

“You could’ve used better language, but yes—find out what the illegal shit is. Do you think you can do that?”

“Were you hoping to use Sam for this, too? Because she’s out. I’m not letting you use her like that.”

He held his hands up. “I know. Sam’s out. I agree. It’s too tricky, especially with Analise. I’ve been away, Mason. And losing the inside track with some key people in our town was one of the consequences. I need to get back in there, and information is always power.”

He had a point there for sure. Fuuuuuuck. I’d have to be cordial to Adam. I might even have to be nice.

“Seriously? Adam Quinn? It had to be him?”

“I didn’t pick the players.” My dad gave me a faint grin. “If I had, it wouldn’t be you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, be glad Logan’s not around. That’s one thing in your favor.”

He paled. “I never thought about that. You’re right. He would’ve blown it up within one day.” His hands flattened on the desk. “So you’ll do it?”

I nodded. “Any way to stick it to the Quinns, I’m in.”

“Thank you, Mason. Really.”

“When does this project start?”

“Now.”

I shook my head. “Nope. It’s gotta be tomorrow. I have to go do something.”

“You’re leaving? Are you—”

He caught my warning look and decided on a nod. He pointed to the door. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. There’s a seven o’clock meeting at the country club anyway. Go straight there. You’ll be working there most of the time anyway since it’s the closest to the hotel.”

I stood to leave.

“Mason,” he called after me.

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice to have you on board.”

That was unexpected. I held up a hand. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ve not done anything.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I knew what he meant. I just ignored it. I wasn’t working here for a better father/son relationship. I was here to fulfill a requirement, and that was it. But first, I had to deal with a different problem: the woman I loved.





SAMANTHA


The crowd doubled since my call with Mason. I assumed something came up at his internship because it’d been a while since we talked. I texted him once asking if he was still coming, and he replied that he had to make a small detour. That was two hours ago, and since then the sun was beginning to set, so a dusky feeling came over the air, mingling with the smells of beer, sweat, and greasy food. The music from a nearby stage pounded my ears, but I enjoyed it, leaning back on the bed of the truck where Heather and I sat.

Channing and his friends were talking and laughing. A couple sat in lawn chairs, holding drinks and watching the girls walk past. A few of those girls stopped to talk, then skimmed their eyes over to Heather and me. It was amusing to watch, because I could tell which girls were interested in Channing. When they saw Heather, they kept right on going.

We were set up at the corner of the parking lot with the fight tent a few yards away and a stage on the other side of that, so people were coming and going from the parking lot and checking out whoever was fighting inside the tent. As groups of guys passed, some stopped and greeted the guys with Channing. Most either nodded, pounded each other on the shoulder, or fist bumped. Some others stopped and raked Channing up and down, sneered, and kept walking.

A guy was doing that exact thing now. He had a group of seven or eight around him, but unlike the others who’d looked at Channing’s friends—and had been ignored or joked about—this guy got a different reception. Everyone lowered their drinks, and Channing stepped out in front of his friends. They came to attention behind him, ready and waiting to see what would happen. A couple had girls trying to talk to them, but when they saw the guy, the women immediately quieted, stepping away.

Heather nudged my arm, leaning close. “That’s Jared Caldron. You need to watch out for him.”

I assessed. His hair was in a blond Mohawk, and he was a little shorter than Channing, so he’d be an inch or two below Mason’s height, too. His face was round, but weathered with a deep tan. He had some scars around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. I didn’t want to think about where those had come from. He reminded me a bit of a troll I’d read about, but with a badass attitude. Sharp grey eyes smirked back at Channing. He held a 32-ouncer in his hand and wore a sleeveless and already dirtied T-shirt. It was baggy enough that as the wind moved past, it lifted the fabric and two pierced nipples peeked out. Ripped jeans completed the ensemble. Most of his friends wore something similar, and most of them were taller than this guy. A few were more muscled, but a couple were just heftier—with beer bellies. They had some girls with them, but I wasn’t paying attention to them.