Page 14 of Man of Lies (Vendetta Kings #2)

Chapter Fourteen

MASON

The Scout was all muscle and fury, rattling through my bones hard enough to shake some fillings loose. My Ducati was all about precision and screaming high RPMs. This beast was chaos barely held together by steel and torque. It sounded like a pissed-off grizzly bear tearing up the asphalt.

The world blurred at the edges, a streak of dark treetops and headlight carving up the backroads. I ducked instinctively behind his shoulder, breathing in motor oil, leather, and that warm, spiced cologne I could get drunk on. I leaned into each turn with him, thighs tight against the seat, plastered to the hard muscle of his back. I’d never ridden as a backpack before. But my arms were locked around Silas’s waist, and I hadn’t let go.

I told myself that I hated letting someone else take the lead. But my pulse hadn’t settled since the engine turned over, and the hard truth was, I didn’t want it to. This was why I rode, for the rush and clarity. The illusion of freedom I’d chased most of my life. Except this time, it didn’t feel like running. It felt like exactly where I was supposed to be. A low, unguarded laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

I’d expected him to head toward the Dead End, but he veered in the opposite direction, toward the only hint of elevation in the flatland of the parish. The road curved through the dark, winding higher until the trees began to thin and the night sky spread above us.

Silas pulled off near the edge of a rocky bluff, killed the engine, and kicked down the stand. The sudden silence rang in my ears, broken only by the distant murmur of the Mississippi far below. Even at this hour, the day’s heat still radiated from the rocks beneath our boots, carrying a faint perfume of water and wildflowers. Moonlight spilled across the clearing, painting everything ghost-pale—except for Silas. He was all leather and shadow, solid and warm and real.

I glanced around the empty lookout, searching for landmarks to orient myself. Nothing clicked.

“I’ve lived here all my life,” I said quietly, “and didn’t even know this place existed.”

“Figured you wouldn’t.” Silas tugged off his helmet, shaking out his ponytail and flipping it clear of his collar. “It’s not a spot you stumble across by accident.”

I frowned, trying to catch his expression in the low light. “How did you find it?”

Instead of answering, he said, “Balance us for a second.”

I braced my boots on the ground and locked my knees. He swung a leg over to straddle the seat backward, hands planted on the pillion seat, one on either side of my thighs. The position was tight, forcing our knees to brush and shrinking the space between us to nothing. But his posture was loose and balanced, a king on his throne, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

With whom, I wondered.

“Whenever I move somewhere new, I like to get a feel for the area,” he said. “Find the spots even locals don’t know about. You learn a lot about people by understanding the spaces they live in. What they value. What they don’t.”

It took a moment to remember what I’d asked. That wasn’t like me. But the way he was looking at me—dark and steady, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be—disoriented me more than I’d ever admit.

“How often do you relocate?” I asked, playing it cool despite my curiosity.

He went still, just for a beat, but I caught it. Then his fingers resumed their idle tapping rhythm on the top of my thigh. “Too much.”

His flat tone didn’t invite questions; I knew better than to push. He might’ve broken our second rule when he snuck into my bedroom, but we could still do our best to follow the rest. Especially the one to mind our own business.

I steered us back onto safer ground by asking, “What do you think of Devil’s Garden?”

He sighed, glancing out over the bluff, though it was too dark to see more than the glimmer of moonlight on the river below. Mountains weren’t a thing here, but even this little bit of elevation was probably breathtaking in daylight. “I like it,” he said slowly, weighing each word. “It’s quieter than Boston. Rough around the edges, but the kind of rough that’s honest. People here don’t pretend to be something they’re not. That’s rare, at least from what I’ve seen.”

The mention of his birthplace was so casual, I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t spent my days dissecting language for a living. “You’re from Boston?”

He hesitated, watching me with narrow eyes, like he was deciding how much of himself he felt like handing over. “Yeah,” he said finally, running his tongue over his teeth. “Big family. Noisy. I was the youngest, so one day, I figured if I wanted to build a life for myself, I’d have to start somewhere else.”

It sounded simple enough, but I sensed a truth to the words that didn’t match the delivery. That kind of logic usually came after some damage had already been done.

“It didn’t exactly go according to plan, did it?” I asked. “Seven years in federal prison, right?”

Unease flickered across his expression, but it was gone before I could identify the source. Not guilt or shame exactly. More like resistance. He didn’t want to lie, but he wasn’t about to open a door he’d spent years nailing shut. Not for me, anyway.

“The road curved,” he said finally, dry but not unkind.

“It happens.”

“Yeah.” Humor warmed his gaze. “What about you? Did you always plan on fighting the good fight in Devil’s Garden, or did life just…curve?”

The question took me by surprise. I blew out a slow breath and hung my head, staring down at the way his heavy thighs flanked mine. His knuckles were broad, sun-dark, and webbed with a pattern of thin white scars like he’d once put his fist through glass.

“Dreams weren’t really a thing when I was a kid,” I admitted ruefully. “After Boone adopted us, it started to feel like anything was possible. I decided on law school, and after that, Ben joined the Army. I don’t think either of us planned on ever coming back.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, unsure why I was still talking—or why he was listening. Really listening. It was clear in the way his eyes never left my face.

“But you can’t really outrun what you’re born to be, you know? I was always meant to be part of this place. We all were. Whether we like it or not.”

“Your brothers?” he asked in a low voice.

I nodded. “We inherited more than the Beaufort name. We took on a legacy. If we don’t fight for this place… who will?”

The teasing light in Silas’s eyes had faded, replaced by something grim. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You’d be surprised,” he said roughly, “how many people are fighting for places like this. Even if you never see them.”

I frowned. He must’ve seen the question forming on my face because his jaw tightened, and he looked away. The moment hung there, charged and uncertain, until he broke it with a low chuckle. Then he reached up, brushing his fingers along my jaw and coaxing my mouth closer to his.

“Enough talking,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave as his lips skimmed the corner of my mouth. His stubble scraped a spot where I’d nicked myself shaving, and I shivered. “We made a pact, counselor. Time to follow through.”

My hands found his shoulders, solid and muscular beneath worn leather. The scent of him, salt and leather and musk, was like a hand around my throat. I couldn’t escape.

“You gonna back out this time?” Silas asked.

“W-wasn’t planning on it,” I managed, fighting the hitch in my breath.

He chuckled like a man who knew he’d already won. He bit down on the hinge of my jaw, just enough to sting. “Good. Then hold on.”

He was on me in a second, but not my lips. That would’ve been too straightforward, and Silas didn’t do straightforward. He went for the throat. Literally. His lips sealed over my pulse point, teeth scraping the line of my Adam’s apple, as his hands skimmed beneath my shirt. His palms were rough and certain, tracing my shape, touching me like he had every right. Like he already knew I’d let him do anything he wanted.

I curled my fingers into fists on top of my thighs, desperately struggling to ground myself. “I figured we’d be headed back to your place.”

“I live above the Dead End.” Silas’s growl vibrated against my throat, and his thumbs slipped beneath my waistband. “Drama there never quits. I closed up early, but there’s always some drunk bastard wandering the parking lot. I’m not taking any chances of getting interrupted this time.”

“So you picked a public place?” I asked, sharper than I’d intended. It was hard not to sound incredulous when he had both hands under my shirt and the fabric worked halfway up my chest.

His chuckle pulled a shiver up my spine. “You worried we’re gonna get caught?”

“We’re not exactly in the middle of nowhere.” But it felt like it. Right now, it felt like we were the only two people on the planet. “I like following the rules, you know. I made a whole career out of it.”

“Maybe that’s why you keep coming back to me. Tell me, counselor…” One hand slipped around the small of my back, dragging me hard against the slow grind of his hips. His grin was close to sinful. “How bad do you want to break the rules with me right now?”

I didn’t trust myself to answer, but Silas didn’t need it. My pulse gave me away.

His mouth curled against my throat. “That’s what I thought.”

Then his mouth crashed over mine. No warm-up or warning, just full-throttle hunger that almost matched my own. Almost. I kissed him back, matching the thrust of his tongue, opening up for him until the world narrowed to the taste of his mouth and scrape of his stubble against my chin.

He broke away just long enough to rip my shirt over my head, exposing my steaming skin to the night air. His palm skated possessively down my chest, right over my pounding heart, mapping muscle and bone like it belonged to him.

“Not what I expected under all those suits,” he murmured, tracing the cut of my stomach. “You hide this on purpose?”

I clenched my teeth against the rush of heat flooding my groin. “Never saw the point in showing off.”

Silas let out a low sound that might’ve been a laugh—or a growl. His hand slipped beneath my waistband, gliding over the length of my aching cock.

“You’re already hard,” he rasped, dragging the callused pad of his thumb over the swollen head. “Good. I don’t plan on taking this slow.”

I groaned, dropping my head and staring down at the hand moving inside my pants. His touch was maddening: light and precise and utterly fucking useless. Toying when I needed claiming.

“If you’re just going to tease, don’t bother touching me at all,” I gritted between clenched teeth.

He stilled, fingers going lax around my shaft before retreating completely. His heat lingered even after he pulled back, leaving me aching and unsatisfied, and then—like he was purposely trying to break me—he pulled away entirely. Leaning backward on his seat and propping his elbows on the handlebar, raking his eyes over my body with lazy amusement.

“Go on then, pretty boy. Show me how you want it.”

My spine snapped straight, and the bike rocked beneath us. Silas’s legs kept the kickstand steady, but I was two seconds away from launching off the bike and kicking it out from under him.

“I don’t play games, Silas. I don’t have the patience.” It came out splintered and angry. “So if that’s what this is?—”

“It’s not,” Silas interrupted, unblinking. No grin this time. No smooth deflection. Just his eyes, locked on mine, serious as a heart attack. “It’s not a game,” he repeated, softer now, and as serious as I’d ever heard him. “But it’s all I’ve got to give you.”

Fair enough. I’d agreed to the terms. Hell, I’d drawn them up. Keep it simple. Keep it clean. But as I sat there, with his heat still lingering on my skin, something restless and unsatisfied stirred deep within. I missed his touch, and I resented the void it left behind.

For once, I wanted someone else to carry the weight. I’d been holding the line all my life, plugging leaks, keeping the house of cards from collapsing. First with Ben, then Gage, and then the whole goddamn Beaufort family.

I was tired.

Silas wasn’t offering to carry any weight. Not really. I wasn’t stupid enough to mistake a hand at my throat for anything real. But I wanted the illusion too badly to walk away. If all he could give me was this, I’d take it.

I’d take him—any way I could get him.

He caught the change in my eyes the moment it happened, and the smile that flickered across his face was filled with approval. He stayed where he was, lounging like a king, legs spread, waiting for me to step into the part I’d decided to play.

“Do it,” he commanded.

This time, it wasn’t a request. It was the price of admission.