Page 23 of Man of Lies (Vendetta Kings #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

MASON

The phone was in my hand before I’d made a conscious decision to reach for it. Except for the ragged pace of Silas’s breathing, the lot was dead silent. Even the crickets were quiet. Silas was bleeding, slumped against the building as if he just needed a second to catch his breath, but the darkness couldn’t hide the slick, wet sheen soaking through his shirt, or the way his fingers were pressed against his side, as if sheer force of will alone could keep the blood inside him.

I had 911 pulled up and my thumb hovering over the call button when his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.

“No.”

The strength in his grip should have been reassuring, but there was an edge in his voice that bordered dangerously close to desperation.

I searched his expression, waiting for an explanation, but he didn’t offer one. He was pale beneath the dim glow of the neon sign. Sweat slicked his dark hair against his temples and gleamed in the hollow of his throat. He was making an effort to control his breathing, but control only went so far when a man was actively bleeding out.

“Silas, you need a hospital.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. Not even a grimace, just a set jaw and a look in his eyes that dared me to argue. “Not happening.”

I didn’t take my thumb off the screen. Not yet. My pulse was pounding like a jackhammer at the back of my skull, my mind instinctively slotting pieces together faster than I could follow. A man might refuse medical attention out of pride, but not when a bullet hole was leaking through his shirt. He did it because he had something to hide.

And that slow, mercurial smile of Silas McKenna’s always had so much to hide.

I clenched my teeth, forcing down the urge to demand answers that wouldn’t come. Later. I could pick him apart later.

I let out a shaky breath. “You’re bleeding all over the fucking ground, and you’re telling me you’d rather sit here and wait to pass out than call an ambulance?”

“Not gonna pass out.”

That wasn’t an answer—and it was a damn lie. He was sagging against the brick, stiff-arming it to keep from collapsing. His fingers were curled in a white-knuckled fist over the wound, but blood was oozing between his fingers with every breath, black and wet-looking in the darkness.

“Silas.” His name came out deathly calm despite the fear crawling through me. “Why don’t you want the cops involved?”

A shadow passed across his face, barely a fraction of a second, but I caught it. It vanished instantly, so quickly I might’ve doubted it was ever there. But I wasn’t in the habit of doubting myself.

“You ever met a man like me who wanted cops in his business?” He tried to smirk, but it morphed into a pained twist. “I’ve had enough run-ins with badges. Can’t say any of them ever went in my favor. We just need to get out of here.”

Deflection, and a shit one at that, but I let it slide. All I cared about was getting him safe.

It felt like an eternity since the bullets started flying, but it must have been less than sixty seconds. The muffled strains of the jukebox threaded through the seams of the walls, and the low murmur of conversation drifted with it, barely audible. Even with the music, there was no way they hadn’t heard the gunshots, yet there was no rush of footsteps and no cry of alarm. Not even a whisper of curiosity.

A slow, creeping certainty settled over me. Gator had known before the first shot was fired, and he hadn’t even glanced out the window to see how it played out.

Silas tracked my gaze. “You think any of them are stupid enough to stick their heads out?” he asked, darkly amused despite the pain grinding his teeth together.

I twisted and swept the parking lot, thinking quickly. There weren’t many places to hide in a town like Devil’s Garden. Eden wasn’t an option. Gideon defended the foster kids, tooth and nail. I’d never bring danger to his door. Colton and Ben had enough to deal with, and even if they welcomed us with open arms, the last thing I needed was a state investigator asking questions Silas refused to answer.

That left one person.

Dominic.

“Can you ride?” I asked, tucking the phone into my pocket and climbing to my feet.

“Depends.” Silas studied me through half-lidded eyes. “You gonna let me drive?”

Before he could protest, I grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. He’d been on top of me, inside me, and still, he was heavier than I remembered. Pure muscle.

His breath stuttered, hissing through his teeth as I hooked an arm around his waist, high enough to avoid the soggy part of his shirt, and steered him toward my Ducati. Silas swayed with his first step and caught me by the shoulder, bracing himself as he shoved one leg over the pillion seat.

A shiver crept down my spine.

“Hold on tight,” I said grimly, twisting the throttle and tearing out of the parking lot.

The highway was a blur of dark asphalt, and the wind bit through my thin clothes, but I barely felt it. All I felt was the heat of him against my back and the slow, insidious damp seeping through the fabric of my shirt too quickly. There was no end to it.

I knew this bike like the back of my hand and was used to pushing it to the limit, but panic had me cornering harder than I should. His grip weakened, and he slumped, head dipping so low I could feel his hot breath against the back of my neck. Gravity was pulling him down, and he didn’t have the strength to fight it.

Panic slithered under my ribs until I felt like I was about to puke. I tried to convince myself I’d survived worse, that I’d lost more, but it didn’t feel the same. This wasn’t about something I’d already lost—it was watching it slip away while I was still reaching for it. And I didn’t know how to stop it.

Unlike the rest of us, Dominic had exited Eden the moment Boone died. His crown jewel was Saxa Fracta, a sleek, upscale restaurant in the heart of Devil’s Garden. Imported tile, low lighting, and a wine list so expensive it could bankrupt a man with a wrong sip. It was a haven for the elite and untouchable, where deals were made over rare steak and aged whiskey at a steep price.

Across the street stood the only high-rise in town, cold and unwelcoming. Seven floors wasn’t much, but Dominic kept his apartment at the top, so he could survey his kingdom from above. He owned the entire block, every inch of it. Some buildings were legitimate businesses, but the rest were facades—laundromats that never closed, offices with no listed services, and bars where more transactions happened in the back room than at the counter. Every lease, permit, and dollar passed through Dominic’s hands first. Nothing happened without his say-so.

Corrupt city officials had played king in Devil’s Garden for too long, so Dominic ensured they were playing on his gameboard.

We each had a private elevator key leading to Dominic’s apartment, a rare sign of trust from my most paranoid brother. Silas stumbled beside me, sluggish and disoriented. When his back hit the mirrored wall, he groaned, tilting his head back against the glass. The stench of blood flooded the small space, drowning out the usual mix of cologne and floor polish. His eyes were unfocused, heavy-lidded, and his breath came too fast.

I braced him with one hand pressed to his chest, but it wasn’t enough. His knees buckled, body slackening in a way that sent cold panic lancing through my heart.

“No, no, no—hey, I got you.” I moved quickly, grunting under his dead weight as I caught him. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, gripping the safety rail with an arm that shook. Somewhere along the way, the elastic tie had snapped, and his hair fell over his face in a dark, tangled curtain.

“Come on, Silas.” I tapped his cheek, wincing at how cold and clammy his skin felt. “Stay with me, yeah?”

His lips parted on a rough breath, and for a moment, there was nothing to stop my spiraling thoughts. Then his lashes fluttered, and his eyes lifted to mine.

There.

There you are.

His gaze was still sharp, full of that familiar humor and intelligence. His mouth curved, just slightly. “Relax, blue eyes. I’m not leaving you yet.”

He wanted me to smile, but I wasn’t that good at pretending. Not with him bleeding out beneath my hands.

“Did you know… you’ve never called me by my name?” I rasped.

His brows lifted, just the faintest flicker of reaction, but his face didn’t change. It rarely did, I realized, except when he wanted it to. He had the best poker face I’d ever seen.

“Not even once,” I added, trying for levity, but failing miserably when my breath hitched. “It’s always ‘blue eyes,’ or ‘sweetheart,’ or ‘counselor’... but never my name.”

His pupils flared with realization, and his tongue swiped across his dry lips. “Didn’t want to get too attached,” he said quietly.

My heart clenched so tight it hurt. I stared at him, taking in the tightness of his face and the exhaustion behind his eyes. He looked like he was waiting to regret saying it. Maybe he already did, but it was too late.

I heard him. Loud and clear.

His breath ghosted across my jaw as I leaned in, pressing my forehead to his, trying to anchor us both. Trying to hold him here.

With me.

Then the elevator glided to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal my older brother.

Dominic stood at the elevator’s entrance, a sleek, predatory outline against the warm glow of his apartment. His dark hair was combed neatly back, not a strand out of place, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled with meticulous precision. Despite the late hour, he was wide awake, and if he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

His gaze shifted from my face—and whatever terror he saw there—to Silas’s head lolling on my shoulder and the blood soaking us both. His jaw ticked, but all he said was, “Well, this is a fucking twist.”

“You gonna let us in?” I demanded, adjusting my grip on Silas before it slipped.

He made me wait a beat, as if considering saying no, but those games had never worked on me. With a sigh that barely qualified as exasperated, he stepped back and gestured us inside. “Don’t bleed all over my floor.”

“Thanks,” I said, shooting for dry, but the tremor in my voice gave me away.

Dominic took one long look at me, and I knew I wasn’t hiding a thing. The way he saw through everyone was infuriating. He knew I was barely keeping my panic at bay.

He knew, and as always, he was three steps ahead.

“Get his legs,” he instructed, smooth as silk, catching Silas under the other arm and powering us both toward the sofa. Between us, we lowered him onto the long stretch of buttery-soft leather.

By the time we got him horizontal, Silas was already unconscious. I fished around his jeans for the pocketknife I knew he carried, ignoring how my fingers shook as I cut the ruined t-shirt down the center.

The soaked cotton peeled back in damp strips beneath the edge of my knife, and I got my first good look at the wound. My ears started ringing. The bullet had torn through the muscle just above his hip, leaving a raw, mangled cavity of flesh ringed in angry red. Blood dripped sluggishly over the torn tissue before spilling over, streaking the sharp cut of his abs in glossy red. I’d expected a neat little bullet hole, but this was a jagged, cruel mess that would scar ugly if it didn’t get infected first.

I was so focused on the wound that I didn’t notice the phone in Dominic’s hand until it was too late.

“No hospitals!” I snapped, latching onto his wrist before he could lift the phone to his ear.

Dominic didn’t startle, and he didn’t lower the phone. He ignored me, speaking in a tone that sounded almost bored. “Gunshot. Through the side. Not clean, but it missed the important shit.”

There was a beat of silence as he listened to whoever the hell it was on the other end, and then he released a slow, irritated breath through his nose. “I don’t care if it’s your grandmother’s funeral. This is what I pay you for. Just bring what you need and don’t make me wait.”

He disconnected the call with a careless flick of his thumb and leveled me with a disgusted look. Like he was thankful we only shared a name and not actual blood.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Mason.” He said it with enough bite to let me know I was walking a fine fucking line. “Nobody comes to me when they want something done legally.”