Page 17 of Man of Lies (Vendetta Kings #2)

Chapter Seventeen

MASON

I woke to unfamiliar shadows and the dull, gnawing sense of disorientation. My body couldn't place where I was. It felt like I'd stumbled into some old, forgotten space I was never meant to revisit. The cracked plaster, the exposed wires, the thin mattress beneath me—all features of the houses where Ben and I grew up. Empty places. Cold places. Just like this one. A room that didn't try to feel like home, and never would.

My gut twisted with a low, sour churn.

But then I caught it—Silas's scent. It lingered on the pillow beside me, rich, spicy, and layered with a hint of smoke. I shut my eyes and let it slide into my lungs, and slowly, the chaos in my head quieted.

"Morning, counselor."

I caught a flash of movement from the kitchen and craned my neck. For a moment, everything stopped. Silas stood at the sink, bathed in the late morning sunlight spilling through the smudged window. He was naked and gloriously unashamed, glowing like a marble statue as he stirred a splash of milk into two chipped coffee cups.

The way he owned his space…it was enough to stop my heart for a second. I could've stared at him all day.

He crossed the room with both mugs in hand, moving with the grounded, easy confidence that only came from a man who knew his body inside and out. Silas never second-guessed his presence. He didn’t take up space. He owned it.

Our fingers brushed as he handed me a mug, the casual touch far too intimate for something so simple. It shouldn't have sent a jolt of heat straight through my stomach, but it did. And the smirk that followed, that cocky, lopsided grin I was already too familiar with, told me he knew it.

I lifted the mug to my lips, expecting the familiar warmth of something drinkable. Instead, I got a mouthful of something acrid and bitter. The thin, sour taste stuck to my tongue, and I fought the urge to spit it out.

Silas chuckled, eyes twinkling with the same amusement he'd had since I first entered his bar. It wasn't cruel, but it sure as hell wasn't aimed at making me feel comfortable. It was a constant reminder that I wasn't as in control as I liked to think, but I'd gotten used to it. There was something almost affectionate in the way he watched me squirm.

"Yeah, sorry about that." He knocked back a swallow without flinching. "I'm a Folgers guy."

"I learned to drink anything with caffeine back in law school," I muttered, screwing my face up to hide the grimace. "It's part of the deal."

Silas raised an eyebrow just enough to show he wasn't buying it. "Lying to me again, counselor? You've got a taste for the finer things."

"Quality over quantity," I shot back, letting my gaze wander over his chest, tapered waist, and thick, muscular thighs. "You may have noticed that already."

He chuckled and settled beside me on the mattress, more comfortable in his nakedness than I was even with a blanket bunched over my hips. He'd seen and touched every inch of my body the night before, yet somehow, I still felt like I'd been caught on the back foot. Silas had stripped away more than my clothes, and now I couldn't even begin to figure out what I was missing.

"I would've warned you about the coffee," he said, flashing that grin I was learning to love, "but you were too busy judging my place."

"I was just thinking how familiar it looked," I said dryly, lifting my mug again, though I had no intention of drinking it. "Not much different from the places where Ben and I grew up."

"Yeah, well, I don't really care about the scenery," Silas said with a shrug, rolling the empty coffee cup between his hands. "I've seen how easy it is to lose material things. If I've got a roof over my head and fuel in my bike, I'm living just fine."

He flashed a smirk and leaned a little closer. "You think keeping everything neat and in line will keep the chaos at bay. Doesn't work like that, blue eyes. The world won't fall apart if you let yourself live a little. Take the day off. Let me show you what you're really missing."

I paused, more tempted by the offer than I should have been. My gaze slipped to the window, taking in the morning sunlight leaking through the glass. Silas's grin was even more blinding than that.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken a whole day for myself. I was always chasing the next rung in the ladder, but no matter how far I climbed, security was always just out of reach. The thought of letting go for a few hours was strangely…freeing.

I met his eyes and smiled. "You've got yourself a deal."

Silas's fingers threaded through my hair, lifting me with a firm pull until his mouth found mine. The kiss was brief, purposeful—and familiar. His lips were warm and slightly rough against mine, tasting of coffee and mint toothpaste. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his breath lingered against my skin.

"Get dressed," he ordered. "I'm taking you to breakfast."

The shower stall was a squeeze, so cramped I jammed my elbows every time I raised my arms, but I didn't care. At least the water was hot, just this side of scalding, pounding the stiffness out of muscles that hadn't gotten such a good workout in years. Running just didn't cut it. Steam billowed up, thick enough to fog the glass door, scented with Silas's cedarwood shampoo. Definitely not my usual, but spicy enough to clear my head.

He squeezed his toothpaste from the middle of the tube. I hated when Gage did the same thing, but the sight had me grinning for some reason. It lingered in the back of my mind, like the trace of cologne on the towel hanging by the shower, the razor left in the sink, or the watermarks from where he'd shaved without bothering to wipe it down. Small details that made him more than just the sexy bad boy I'd been fantasizing about. They made him real in a way he hadn't felt before.

My heart gave a painful tug.

Silas had set out a t-shirt and jeans, faded and soft from a hundred other mornings. The clothes were too big, slung low on my hips and pooling at my ankles, but the scent of his fabric softener curling around me was strangely comforting. It felt like slipping into someone else's skin as I tugged them on.

He chuckled once he got a good look at me. "Quite the fashion statement," he teased, eyes twinkling. "Time to complete the look."

Without missing a beat, he tossed me a helmet.

The Dead End in the morning was something else entirely. Except for the trill of an eastern bluebird sitting on a nearby power line, the parking lot was eerily quiet. No bikes, no cars, no neon lights. The bar was locked up tight, and the windows were dark. It felt like a place that didn't belong in the light of day.

Silas stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching me with a half-smile ghosting one corner of his mouth. This time, I didn't hesitate. I wrapped my arm around his waist and settled behind him on the Scout, snugged up against him and bracketing his thighs with mine. Last night, riding as his backpack had left me feeling weak, but today, it was his strength infusing me, comforting me in ways I hadn't even known I needed.

Summer heat hadn't fully set in yet, but the humidity was already a hand around my throat. As Silas tore onto the highway, the breeze rolled over us, comfortably cool and scented of earth, wildflowers, and the faint tang of gasoline. The air had a certain sweetness, warming greenery and the mellow, almost musky scent of fresh-cut grass. The richness of rural Louisiana. It felt like breathing in something alive.

Orange slices of sunshine leaked through my helmet's visor, bright enough to make my eyes water, but I kept them popped wide as I rested my head on Silas's shoulder and watched the scenery fly by in a smear of deep green. When I rode alone, I was too focused on speed to absorb the sights. I must have ridden this highway a hundred times, but I'd never noticed the rolling fields broken by boggy swampland, sagging farmhouses, or barns with rusted tin roofs half-covered in moss that stretched further and further apart as the miles rolled by. At the edge of the parish, the last sign of civilization was a run-down fill station. The pumps were rusted and looked like they hadn't worked in years, and a faded red and white sign in the window promised cheap beer and boiled peanuts.

Silas gunned the bike, the engine growling in response, and I braced myself as we surged past the state line and into Mississippi. The air pushed back hard, flowing over us with the comforting summer scents of engine oil and hot asphalt.

Devil's Garden was sticky. It clung to my skin no matter how far we went or how fast we moved, but in that moment, with Silas's body warm and solid against me, it didn't seem so bad. The world felt free. The edges were softer—or maybe I was. The electric tension was still there, humming in my veins every time I looked at him, but I'd never felt so relaxed.

By the time we stopped for food, my stomach was so empty it felt like I'd swallowed a black hole. Silas must have heard it rumbling at his back, because he chuckled and pulled off at a roadside diner that sat at the edge of a sprawling, tangled stretch of kudzu. A giant rooster statue stood out front, painted bright neon pink, its beak pointed toward the sky in a squawk. Above the door, a weathered sign read 'Cluckin' Good Biscuits and Gravy' in twisted, funky letters.

The shelves behind the counter were cluttered with a bizarre mash-up of merchandise: snow globes, ceramic roosters painted in clashing shades, miniature American flags, and vintage-style soda pop bottles with labels like Mama's Home Elixir and Ragin' Cajun Cola. A menu was handwritten in chalk on an oversized blackboard, boasting "Biscuits & Grits Tacos" and something called the "Crawfish Gravy Breakfast Sundae" that I couldn't quite wrap my mind around.

It felt like a tourist trap, quirky and a little weird, but the first breath of warm, buttery, biscuit-scented air had my mouth watering.

"After that coffee, I'm not sure I trust your tastebuds anymore," I said, giving him a sideways glance as we slid into a ripped vinyl booth. "But I'm too hungry to care."

Silas grinned and sat back in his booth to make room for a waitress to set down brimming cups of coffee. "Don't judge a book by its cover," he said, scanning the room in a way that made it clear he wasn't seeing the same things I was.

"How'd you find this place?" I asked, burning my tongue on the first sip. The rich, nutty flavor of the dark roast rolled over my tongue, instantly settling my rumbling stomach.

His fingers tapped the edge of his mug, eyes drifting to the window, tracing some far-off line I couldn't see. "When I need to clear my head, I just ride," he said evasively. "I pull off wherever feels right. Discovered this place on a road trip a few months ago. It's got the best damn breakfast food I've found in any state."

Something about his familiar tone had me wondering how many mornings he'd spent here, how many quiet moments he'd taken in this odd little spot. The way he talked, like he'd just stumbled on it by chance, didn't match the ease with which he settled in, or the way the waitress winked when he caught her eye. He was trying to play it cool, like he didn't come here often, and I didn't see any reason to hide it.

"How many states have you been to?" I asked, casually fishing without pushing for anything specific. It was a tactic that didn't demand much but still allowed me to gauge how much he was hiding.

He shrugged, offering a lazy grin that didn't meet his eyes. "Everything south of the Mason-Dixon, I guess. Once I left home, I headed south and just kept going."

"That's…a lot of miles." I raised an eyebrow. "Where was your favorite place to live?"

Surprise flickered across his expression, there and gone, but I noted it because I'd never seen it before. Not from him. He was the type who always acted like he could see everyone else's cards.

The light in his eyes grew distant. "I stayed outside Baton Rouge for a few months," he said thoughtfully. "A tiny house on the bayou. Not much to look at, and my only neighbors were the gators. It was nice. Peaceful, you know? Nothing but birdsong and the sound of water lapping against the dock. Every morning, this fog would rise off the water and… shimmer …until the sun finally burned it off."

For once, the sarcastic humor that was so much a part of him dropped away, leaving rare sincerity. I imagined him barefoot on a dock, sipping his terrible coffee and enjoying the silence. It felt so far from who he was now.

I leaned forward, intrigued, and curled my hands around my mug. "What made you leave?"

His expression stiffened just a fraction, like I'd crossed some unspoken line. I thought he'd shut me down entirely for a split second, but then he pulled in a slow breath and reset his shoulders, deliberately releasing his tension. It looked like a practiced move. Something he'd learned in prison, I supposed.

"Work," he said casually, shrugging like it didn't matter. "I had to move on after a while. It wasn't exactly... legal. Not the kind of thing I make a habit of talking about."

I studied him for a second, wondering what he wasn't letting on, but he was even harder to read than my brothers. Secrecy was my bread and butter, but it didn't suit a free spirit like him.

I took a slow sip from my mug, letting the warmth seep through me, and aimed to lighten the mood a little.

"So," I began, choosing my words carefully, "Do you think you'll go back there someday? Or... you plan to stick around Devil's Garden for a while?"

It made no difference. That's what I told myself, anyway. But for some reason, I couldn't breathe while he thought it over. His fingers traced the edge of his cup, but his eyes were turned inward, running through replies I couldn't see.

In the end, he forced a relaxed smile and said, "I get bored easily. I figure I'll know it's time to leave once the excitement wears off."

Ouch.

That was a line in the sand I couldn't ignore. It wasn't like I hadn't seen it coming, not when he'd made it clear from the start that he didn't do complicated. Neither did I, but somehow, somewhere in the dark hours tucked into Silas's bed, I'd begun to wonder what if . But there was no if . No future. There was only now.

"What about you?" Silas asked, sizing me up curiously and leaving the uncanny impression that he knew exactly what I was thinking. "You ever think about getting out of here? Maybe opening your own law firm somewhere else?"

It wasn't the question itself, but the way he asked it—like he was offering me a lifeline—that had me bristling. I stared into my mug, swirling the last cold dregs, and surprised myself by telling the truth for once.

"I used to think about nothing else, but it's never really been an option, you know? Not with my brothers to look after."

"They're big boys," he drawled. "They can take care of themselves."

"Can you?" I asked, cutting him a piercing look. "Always? Or would having someone at your back have saved you seven years in federal lockup?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched, and I knew I'd scored a point. I met his eyes, lost in the swirl of darkness there, and swallowed the lump in my throat I felt whenever I thought of him and Ben trapped in cages.

"We're men," I said thickly. "This is how it's always been for us. How we all had to be, from the moment we were old enough to know better. Don't ask for help. Don't let anyone see you weak. We handle our own shit, and if we don't, that's on us. No one's got time for sympathy. My brothers… they're the best thing to ever happen to me. Like winning the fucking lottery. If I can share the weight when things get heavy? I'll do it. Gladly. I didn't choose my family either time, but once they're yours, they're yours forever. I'm not the type to walk away from that."

I sat back in the booth and blew out a long, slow breath, letting go of the tension I'd been holding for what felt like years. A lifetime. Sometimes I wanted an escape, sure, and a man like Silas to tell me what to do. But I wasn't looking to run away or waiting for someone to tell me I didn't have to carry the load. This was what I was— who I was. The one who didn't get to fall apart.

Silas winced, his grin slipping a little. "Ouch. Guess I should call my siblings, huh?" His voice was light, but I detected a sourness hiding behind the joke.

I didn't play along. "How many do you have?"

"Seven," he said without missing a beat. "Five boys, two girls. I'm the youngest. Not that it matters much now. We're all spread out, doing our own thing." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, but the way he said it gave me pause. "Not everyone gets a second shot at family."

"Never say never." Unthinking, I slid one foot between his motorcycle boots, nudging his knee with mine. The intimacy of it, and the way his leg pressed back against mine, had my pulse skipping a quick beat. "Those bonds will always be there. You've just got to pick them up."

Silas studied me, gaze softening like I'd just said something too fanciful to take seriously. "Sounds like you don't really want to leave Devil's Garden, even if you could."

It surprised me to hear it out loud. "Maybe not," I admitted, staring down at the spray of coffee grounds in the bottom dregs of my cup. "But it's not like staying is really a choice. It's more like…this place owns me. I'm tied to it whether I like it or not."

There was a long pause as he processed what I said, and when he spoke again, his voice was thoughtful. "I get that. Sometimes it's not about choosing where to go. It's about making a stand wherever you end up."

I found myself studying him closely, boring into him, trying to read behind his eyes to the parts he kept hidden.

"You ever think about something different?" I asked tentatively. "Something more permanent than a bed over a roadhouse?"

Silas's lips twitched, like he was debating whether to laugh it off like everything else. I wanted to kiss that expression right off his mouth, but I didn't get the chance. Before I could hook a hand around the back of his neck and lean across the table to plant one on him, he'd caught me by the wrist—almost like he sensed my need to touch him.

"Yeah, I think about it sometimes. But it's complicated. Doesn't mean I don't want something more, just…" he trailed off, gaze turned inward as he traced the blue map of veins beneath my wrist. "Sometimes, the life you end up with is the one that makes the most sense. Even if it's not the one you dreamed of."

My fingers spasmed as his thumb caressed the thin skin over my pulse, and there it was, that familiar sexy smirk curling his lips. The one that said he relished the effect he had on me. Then he released me—abruptly, like he was closing the door on the conversation. He threw an arm over the back of the booth and caught the waitress's eye, signaling her over with a flick of two fingers.

"Enough of the heavy shit," he announced as she made her way over. "Try the crawfish gravy breakfast sundae. It's weird as hell but worth every bite. Trust me."

I did.

That was the craziest part.