MASON (Second Chance Novels Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Kemmie Michaels
it will take to get it done. We don't have to share our feelings about any of it. Dig's a good person to have around, and I appreciate that she can work, relax, and kick ass…all things crucial to my own existence, if I'm being honest with myself.
If I had to guess, I'd say she has some complexity to her own life, too. If she's got hand-to-hand combat knowledge, she went after the skill. I only got a taste this evening, but I experienced enough to know she's good…better than an average cop, that's for certain. Oh, what I wouldn't do for 20 minutes with her on a mat. She may be 5'6" and weigh about a hundred twenty pounds, but she knows how to use every ounce of her strength. She obviously has an understanding of her body and has a good sense of leverage and balance. With all of that in mind, size matters very little. She could take down a beast of a man, I have no doubt. After all, she took me down quick. Damn . I almost chuckle out loud.
After nursing our beers and chatting idly about sports, Dig announces her departure.
"Sorry, Mase," she says. "Tomorrow's going to kick me in the ass if I don't get any sleep."
"Right. I forget not everyone lives without an alarm clock. I'm on at the bar tomorrow night at seven. If you have any time before that, give me a text. You still have the burner phone?"
"Yep," she nods. "I'll be in touch."
I walk her to the door and watch as she drives away. She is one fucking hell of a woman. Working with her on this is going to kick ass. With another real smile, I walk to my bedroom and flop down to my bed while refreshing thoughts roll through my head.
For the first time since my discharge, I have a methodical plan of attack. I have a sense of duty and a discernible enemy to fight. Fighting my own frustrations with a past I can't change has done nothing but drag me down and keep me wading in all my shit. I've made a good show of being part of life with my friends at Second Chance, but the truth is this: I've been empty and frustrated and no amount of witty banter will ever cure that.
I think Ledge suspects as much. He reads people entirely too well. But Cam and Shelby? They'd never guess the darkness I'm hiding. They don't see past my overt sense of humor, and that's how I plan on keeping it. This shit is mine to work through, and mine alone.
I have a sinking feeling, though, that Dig will figure me out soon. She may already have. I spoke one charming line tonight and she called me out on my bullshit within seconds. That, too, was surprisingly refreshing. I'm able to fall asleep easily for the first time in a very long time.
Eleven hours later I'm drinking coffee and rubbing my hand across my hair trying to wake up. I slept so fucking soundly that I woke up drowsy instead of half-frayed. I stand in front of my board and stare down the expressionless face of Randal Miller. Taking that bastard down will cure half of me, I'm sure. Not only was he directly responsible for the lack of investigation into Cam's disappearance, he constantly gives Dig a hard time. Not that she's some delicate damsel in distress needing a champion, far from it. But I'd love to take down her harasser anyway. She shouldn't have to put up with that shit from him. And my next target will go straight up from there.
I figure I should simply own up to my new obsession, so I angle a low-back living room chair directly in front of the board. I sit down with my coffee and take in the big picture. I rearrange these assholes six different ways in my head trying to find the right string to pull. A few times I stand for a closer look to refresh myself on the details, but I already remember everything.
Intelligence training doesn't fade, but rather remains instinctual. Without having made any effort, I know all my neighbors' license plate numbers. I know the schedules of all delivery trucks, I know what time the sprinklers turn on across the street, and I know where every potential weapon is behind
If I had to guess, I'd say she has some complexity to her own life, too. If she's got hand-to-hand combat knowledge, she went after the skill. I only got a taste this evening, but I experienced enough to know she's good…better than an average cop, that's for certain. Oh, what I wouldn't do for 20 minutes with her on a mat. She may be 5'6" and weigh about a hundred twenty pounds, but she knows how to use every ounce of her strength. She obviously has an understanding of her body and has a good sense of leverage and balance. With all of that in mind, size matters very little. She could take down a beast of a man, I have no doubt. After all, she took me down quick. Damn . I almost chuckle out loud.
After nursing our beers and chatting idly about sports, Dig announces her departure.
"Sorry, Mase," she says. "Tomorrow's going to kick me in the ass if I don't get any sleep."
"Right. I forget not everyone lives without an alarm clock. I'm on at the bar tomorrow night at seven. If you have any time before that, give me a text. You still have the burner phone?"
"Yep," she nods. "I'll be in touch."
I walk her to the door and watch as she drives away. She is one fucking hell of a woman. Working with her on this is going to kick ass. With another real smile, I walk to my bedroom and flop down to my bed while refreshing thoughts roll through my head.
For the first time since my discharge, I have a methodical plan of attack. I have a sense of duty and a discernible enemy to fight. Fighting my own frustrations with a past I can't change has done nothing but drag me down and keep me wading in all my shit. I've made a good show of being part of life with my friends at Second Chance, but the truth is this: I've been empty and frustrated and no amount of witty banter will ever cure that.
I think Ledge suspects as much. He reads people entirely too well. But Cam and Shelby? They'd never guess the darkness I'm hiding. They don't see past my overt sense of humor, and that's how I plan on keeping it. This shit is mine to work through, and mine alone.
I have a sinking feeling, though, that Dig will figure me out soon. She may already have. I spoke one charming line tonight and she called me out on my bullshit within seconds. That, too, was surprisingly refreshing. I'm able to fall asleep easily for the first time in a very long time.
Eleven hours later I'm drinking coffee and rubbing my hand across my hair trying to wake up. I slept so fucking soundly that I woke up drowsy instead of half-frayed. I stand in front of my board and stare down the expressionless face of Randal Miller. Taking that bastard down will cure half of me, I'm sure. Not only was he directly responsible for the lack of investigation into Cam's disappearance, he constantly gives Dig a hard time. Not that she's some delicate damsel in distress needing a champion, far from it. But I'd love to take down her harasser anyway. She shouldn't have to put up with that shit from him. And my next target will go straight up from there.
I figure I should simply own up to my new obsession, so I angle a low-back living room chair directly in front of the board. I sit down with my coffee and take in the big picture. I rearrange these assholes six different ways in my head trying to find the right string to pull. A few times I stand for a closer look to refresh myself on the details, but I already remember everything.
Intelligence training doesn't fade, but rather remains instinctual. Without having made any effort, I know all my neighbors' license plate numbers. I know the schedules of all delivery trucks, I know what time the sprinklers turn on across the street, and I know where every potential weapon is behind
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