The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers #2) - Lucy Leroux Page 0,63

her a minute to relax, melting into his arms as if she’d always been there.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” he whispered into her hair.

“So am I,” she said, shuddering despite the tight hold of his embrace. “Because it’s all my fault.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Laila knew what Mason was going to say before it was out of his mouth. She could tell by the way his body stiffened, growing still underneath her.

“No, it’s not. If your ex is involved—and we don’t know that for sure—it has nothing to do with you.”

Laila tried to climb off his lap, but Mason wasn’t having any of that. Collapsing against him, she shuddered, trying to absorb his warmth. When she found her voice, it sounded as if she’d gargled with rocks.

“They wouldn’t even know each other if it weren’t for me. The only time the other Night Witches set foot inside Alpha Omega house was to help another girl get back to her dorm room. They would never have stayed to drink or party there, not until I started dating Joe.”

Mason’s hand fisted in her hair before he gentled his hold, cupping the back of her neck possessively. With light pressure, he tilted her head back.

“That is not on you. You didn’t do anything wrong. Any time a woman walks into a room with a man, she is at risk, whether she knows it or not. A place full of men will never be safe—definitely not a frat. Hell, I’ve been to college. Even a sorority isn’t a safe space. Nothing you did or didn’t do would have changed that.”

Except the Night Witches did know that. Or at least they used to. As much as she wanted to deny it, she had been responsible for that line blurring.

“If I had told Jasmine about the problems I was having with Joe beforehand, she might not have gone there that night.” Laila swallowed, wondering how the hell her throat had become this raw.

“I didn’t even tell Rosamie. I was worried she’d blame herself because she encouraged me to go out with him. And because I didn’t tell her, I didn’t tell anyone. Which was stupid—if I had just been a little more open with my friends, then Jasmine might still be alive.”

“We don’t even know what happened that night. Not for sure. It’s possible she went somewhere else after the frat.”

“You don’t believe that, and neither do I. Not after the way the cops acted,” she said. “They seem fairly sure Alpha Omega is where she was last seen. And with the way Joe behaved…”

Laila pressed her cheek against his T-shirt, trying desperately to shut off her brain. The material was impossibly soft, considering how new it appeared. The only way her cotton clothing became this smooth was after a thousand washes later, usually when it was just about to fall apart.

Mason’s hand cupped the back of her head. “We’re going to figure this out.”

It was the ‘we’ that penetrated the cocoon of regret and self-recrimination.

“No, Mason. I can’t drag you into this mess. You letting me stay here is enough.”

It was more than enough, in fact, possibly too much. Mason was a good man, strong and capable. He had the training to protect himself and her. The urge to lay her problems at his feet was so tempting, but the sheer strength of her desire meant it was wrong.

She’d gotten herself into this mess.

She’d have to be the one to get herself out.

Mason didn’t want to let Laila go, but the doorbell rang, so he allowed her to push away. She sat on the farthest edge of the couch. Resisting the urge to reach out and touch her again—his perpetual struggle—he walked away with a low ‘excuse me’ to answer the door.

Rosamie blew in like a hurricane with Ransom close on her heels. The minute she and Laila saw each other, they burst into tears. They fell into each other’s arms, proceeding to have a conversation conducted in subvocal whispers.

Wary and gun-shy in the face of feminine tears, he and Ransom backed away by silent mutual agreement.

Moving to the kitchen, Ransom started ransacking Mason’s fridge. He handed him a beer before cocking his head at the women on the couch, visible though the passthrough window. “What the hell language is that?”

Mason shrugged. “It’s English with a heavy girl accent.”

Opening the beer, he clocked the mark on Ransom’s neck. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Rosamie. Although judging from the hickey on your neck, it’s not that much of