Running with Rogues

CHAPTER 34 - CONSPIRACY

Ah, shit. I shook my head vigorously, but in the wake of that question, his mind started pushing at mine, feeling for a way inside. The moment I felt that prickly intrusion, I slammed my walls up, and that made him pause. Those cold dark eyes blinked at me, no doubt wondering where I might have learnt to defend myself.

"Quit screwing with her, Mase," Felix murmured, finding his balls at long last. "She's the new girl - you know, the one from New Dawn."

Mason's lips twitched into a smile. His thoughts had spread out to surround my mind. They licked at the walls like waves against a cliff face, probing gently for weaknesses and then retreating again just as quickly. Either he wasn't very strong or he wasn't really trying.

After what felt like the longest minute of my life, he stepped backward. He'd lost interest. Maybe Felix had it right - maybe he'd been playing with me, finding some vicious amusement in scaring the timid little female. I let out the breath I'd been holding as quietly and discretely as possible.

"You said you were here to clean," Mason said.

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway.

"Then I suppose you'd better come in, hadn't you?" he sighed. "I want the full report by twelve, little brother. And this time, I'd appreciate if you included some punctuation."

Felix looked between us and then scratched his head. "Yeah. Sure. I'll see you at lunch."

He disappeared off down the corridor, leaving me alone with Mason, much to my horror. It wasn't that I was scared of him. Not really. If I'd been here raiding, I would have spat in his face and called him a whore without thinking twice.

But right now I wasn't a rogue, though, was I? I was one of his pack members, and he could do whatever the hell he liked to me. On Silver Lake territory, he was king. He could have ordered my execution on a whim and no one would have lifted a finger to stop him.

It wouldn't have been the brave, heroic death I'd have got as a raider. It would have been just ... pointless. I was beginning to understand flockies. Why they did what they were told. Because when push came to shove, they had everything to lose and absolutely nothing to gain from defiance. And that was what men like Mason were counting on.

He gestured for me to follow him, and then he led me into the Alpha suite. Now that the game was up and his audience was gone, I was beneath his notice, it seemed. Good.

"The mop's in there," he told me, nodding towards a closed door. "Keep the noise down."

And with that, he left me standing by the cupboard and headed towards the living room. His daughter was in there, crawling across the floor and unattended. Had he really left her alone to have an argument with his brother? The kid was only like two years old. For heaven's sake.

I watched as he scooped her up and set her on the sofa beside him. He then proceeded to ignore her in favour of his laptop, which was balanced haphazardly on his knees. I stared at them a moment longer, and then I opened the cupboard door.

The mop was in there, along with a hoover and a broom and every other piece of cleaning equipment I could ever hope for. The only problem was ... I didn't have the faintest idea how to use them. My flockie education hadn't been incredibly comprehensive, as it turned out.

I was comforted by the fact that Mason probably had no idea how to use a mop either. That thought brought a smile to my face as I stepped into the cupboard to grab the thing.

When I turned to leave, something on the skirting board caught my eye. There were scratch marks gouged into the paint. They came in sets of two or three, and they extended around two of the walls and the bottom half of the door. My stomach was free-falling as I crouched down to examine them.