His gut churned and the acid ate away at the lining. The only thing he might come away from all of this with was an ulcer. He hadn’t seen his dad in years. Not since the marshals had ambushed him at the Mexico border and hauled him off to jail. Fifteen years. Jesus. Mason and Kieran had both been kids when Jensen’s shit finally caught up to him. Mason had tried to visit his dad once, before he’d revealed his postgraduation plans and been effectively shunned. According to his dad, working law enforcement brought the ultimate shame upon his family name. Mason snorted. Only in his fucked up life would one of his parents be ashamed that he’d decided to pursue law enforcement as a career. Carrera had orchestrated his father’s transfer to San Quentin shortly after Mason’s meeting with the task force a couple of weeks ago. Right around the same time Mason had finally been given the green light to reach out to Kieran. He should’ve felt a twinge of guilt that he was using his dad as an unsuspecting accomplice to connect with Kieran, but he couldn’t seem to muster anything but apathy.
