Page 24 of Man of Lies (Vendetta Kings #2)

Chapter Twenty-Four

SILAS

Waking up in an unfamiliar place wasn’t new—hell, it came with the territory. A side effect of living the lives of a dozen different men over the years. I’d cracked my eyes open in roach motels, backseats of cars that weren’t mine, and once, an abandoned church with a bloodstain on the altar. I’d learned to keep my head down and get my bearings before signaling I was awake.

That’s the way to survive.

I was on a cushion, at least. Soft sheets brushed against my shirtless skin, a luxury I wasn’t used to. The faint smells of leather, wood polish, and something else—something distinctly Mason—drifted through the air. His cologne, that fucking expensive scent. It soothed the uneasy twist in my gut.

I cracked an eye open.

Dim light. Either the room was sealed off from the sun by some damn good blackout curtains, or I hadn’t been out long. I lifted my hand, staring at the vaulted ceiling through my spread fingers. No tremor, no weakness. That was something.

I wasn’t waking up in a safe house, a holding cell, or the back of some stolen truck with my hands zip-tied. But I still didn’t know how I’d gotten here, and it gnawed at me.

Pain slithered up my side, dull at first, then sharp enough to cut through the fog in my brain as I shifted onto my side. My breath caught. A white bandage wrapped around my torso, and the memories clicked back into place like a slideshow: the rapid crack of a semi-automatic, the bullet slamming into me and throwing me into Mason, and worst of all, the gut-wrenching terror of trying to shield him.

I’d been in my share of messes, shit that made me break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it, but nothing like that. Nothing like the fear I felt for him—and for myself, because I had something precious to lose for the first time.

The rest of it was a blur. I remembered the bike and Mason’s hands gripping too tightly, like he could keep the blood inside me with nothing more than willpower. I’d told him it was just a scratch. A lie. But I’d stuck to it.

I propped myself up on one elbow, moving slower this time. The second I tried to push up, pain shot through my stomach. Fuck. That was gonna be a problem.

I gritted my teeth, sucked in a slow breath, and finally looked around.

The apartment screamed custom luxury. A gas fireplace was set into a dark slate accent wall, its mantel bare except for a heavy-faced antique clock. The couch beneath me was wide and deep and made from buttery soft leather. The kitchen gleamed with stainless steel, deep walnut cabinetry, and enough gadgets for a showroom. A half-empty whiskey decanter sat on the island, abandoned mid-pour.

It was all too spacious and comfortable. Not the kind of place you lived alone—or if you did, it wasn’t because you wanted to. Like someone had built the life they thought they wanted, but at some point, quietly stopped trying to live it.

A change in the air caught my attention. Not a sound, or at least not one that registered in my conscious mind, but my hindbrain sensed movement.

Dominic watched me from the threshold of the balcony, remote and curious, head tilted like a bird sizing up its next meal. “You’re still breathing,” he observed, dry as dust.

I licked my lips, but it took a couple tries before I could answer without sounding like I’d crawled from a grave. “Seems that way.”

His lips twitched—close to a smile, but not quite. “Good. I would’ve hated to waste an expensive favor. Maybe now he’ll take the bed.”

He gestured, and I followed his hand.

There he was, curled on the floor at the foot of the couch.

Mason.

One arm was pillowed under his head, the other hand resting loose over his stomach. He was wearing a borrowed sweater, too baggy in the shoulders, shoes off, and glasses nowhere to be found. The hollows under his eyes were dark and bruised-looking, and his face was tight, even in sleep.

He looked like a man who’d fought sleep until it finally dragged him down right where he stood. At my side.

It shouldn’t mean anything. But there he was, so fucking vulnerable—and damn it, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I didn’t want to look away, even though it hurt in a way I couldn’t name.

I’d never felt this before. Never for anyone. A gnawing sensation had settled in deep, tethered to something inside me I’d been too damn scared to face.

But I wasn’t a fool. I may be a master liar, but I never lied to myself.

I loved him.

Everything about him, from his gentle breathing to the golden tint at the very tips of his black lashes, seemed... important. Small things, and yet they made me feel so much smaller. I hated how inescapable it felt, as if from the very beginning, I’d had no choice. Every tiny detail had become precious, like I was marking the moments I wanted to hold on to forever.

I wasn’t supposed to need anyone. Hell, I’d spent my life avoiding it. But with him? I couldn’t help myself. Without my permission, he’d come to mean everything to me—and God, the thought of walking away, of losing him, made it hard to breathe.

I braced my hand on the armrest and swung my legs over the side of the couch, trying to sit up, but the second I engaged my core, pain flared white-hot through my stomach, like someone had shoved an iron poker into my side. A grunt slipped out before I could stop it.

Mason bolted awake. In an instant, he was kneeling beside me, wide-eyed and wired, his bloodshot eyes locked on me like I was the only thing in the room. His hair was sticking up on one side and flattened to the side of his head on the other. No glasses. Just that raw, intense focus.

“Stop moving,” he ordered, voice rough with sleep. His hands, steady and careful, pressed against my shoulder, easing me back onto the cushions. “You’ll bust your stitches.”

I ignored him. “Where’s my gun?”

Mason’s lips tightened, like I’d crossed some line, but Dominic spoke up before he could reply.

“In the safe. I don’t allow weapons in my home.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his loose, expensive-looking slacks, smiling thinly. “Unless they’re mine.”

I didn’t do vulnerable. It made my skin crawl. But here I was, unarmed and half-naked in an unfamiliar space, stripped down to a pair of boxers that weren’t even mine. Every breath felt like a knife to the gut.

Mason’s touch was the only thing keeping me from breaking out in a nervous sweat. His hands roamed my chest and shoulders, gentle and soothing, like he needed to reassure himself that I was whole.

“We’re at Dom’s place,” Mason murmured. “I didn’t know where else to take you.”

My brain felt like soft pudding, cloudy at the edges.

“What’d you give me?” I grunted, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Just something to take the edge off the worst of it,” Mason explained, guiding me down onto the pillows. I had no core strength to fight it, and the truth was, I didn’t want to.

I trusted Mason’s judgment.

And that scared the hell out of me.

I sank back into the cushions, letting gravity take more of my weight. My limbs felt like dead weight, and my throat was raw and dry as hell. Swallowing didn’t help much, but Mason must have sensed it. His hands moved to the knotted muscles at the base of my throat, rubbing gently, trying to work out the tension.

He looked wrecked.

My job had almost gotten him killed.

I’d kissed Mason Beaufort with a gun in my hand and a target on my back, knowing exactly what it would cost me, and I’d still taken the risk. Because he needed me, and goddammit, I needed him just as much.

Before I could talk myself out of it, my fingers brushed lightly against the sharp line of his cheekbone. Rough. Warm. Alive.

Thank God.

“You okay?” I whispered.

His breath stuttered, soft enough to miss if I weren’t already hanging on to every move he made.

“I almost—” He shook his head, exhaling hard through his nose, trying to shut it all down like he always did. A flicker of misery flashed across his face, and without thinking, I cupped the back of his neck, pulling him into my arms.

He resisted for a second. Maybe two. Long enough for his pride to make a fight. Then his hands fisted in the sheet, and with a sharp, shaky breath, he gave in. His elbows stayed braced, keeping his weight off me, but his body curled into mine, forehead pressed against my neck.

“God,” he whispered. Just that, a single, gutted syllable pulled from somewhere deep and broken.

“Mason,” I whispered, turning my face into his hair and breathing him in.

He shuddered at the sound of his name.

“Mason, look at me.”

He ignored me, breathing hot against my skin. “I just found you, goddammit. It felt like you were slipping through my fingers, and there was nothing… n-nothing I could?—”

His jaw tensed where it pressed against my collarbone, but he couldn’t swallow the aborted gasps. He was close to losing it, and no matter how much I wanted to let him, I couldn’t allow it. Not in front of Dominic. We were too exposed.

I stroked his nape, brushing my thumb over the ridge of bone, and turned my lips to his ear so Dominic couldn’t overhear. This was ours. “I know, baby. I know. It’s the loss of control that eats at you. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have time to fall apart, and when you do, I’ll be the one to catch the pieces. But right now, all you need to do is breathe.”

A door clicked somewhere in the apartment, then the soft chime of the elevator as Dominic left. Probably trying to avoid a messy scene, but it didn’t matter. My world was all Mason.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he gasped, voice ragged with fear and frustration. “You can’t—Silas, you can’t fucking do that to me.”

I kept my palm at the nape of his neck, fingers sliding through his hair, grounding him in the only way I knew. “I know,” I admitted, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

But his breath hitched again, and I could feel his struggle. He wanted to give in and let himself feel, but he couldn’t. He was too afraid of what would happen if he did.

I wasn’t like that, never had been, and now, with everything between us laid bare, I realized he needed me to unlock it for him. He wanted it—needed it—but he couldn’t force himself to ask for it.

He needed me to give him the key.

I pulled back slightly, just enough to catch his eyes, and held him there. “What do you need, Mason?” I asked, steeling myself to push him. “Tell me.”

He flinched, eyes flickering to mine, and then quickly darting away. “You,” he said, voice cracking. “I tried to fight it, but I can’t anymore. You make me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in years. Maybe ever.”

I grabbed his chin and held him still, forcing him to meet my eyes. We both needed this. We needed to let go.

“Say it,” I demanded, not giving him a choice.

His lips thinned, and his expression turned mutinous. He hated this, but I wasn’t going to back down. He didn’t get an out, not when I needed to hear it as badly as he needed to say it.

“I need to hear it,” I growled, leaning in to ghost my breath across his lips. “Say it.”

Mason swallowed hard and finally met my eyes. He was close—so close to breaking.

“Please,” I added softly.

His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. “I love you, Silas McKenna.”

The name hit me with a brutal clarity. The pleasure of hearing it was eclipsed by a knot of guilt I couldn't ease. Mason’s love was a gift, but it was built on a lie, and now I had no idea how to untangle myself from it.

The mess I’d made of us wasn’t something I knew how to fix.

“I love you too,” I said fiercely. “So goddamn much, Mason. You’ve got no idea what you’ve done to me.”

Whatever happened next, this was real. This was us.

And I’d fight to the death for it.