Page 8 of Man of Lies (Vendetta Kings #2)

Chapter Eight

MASON

With one hand, I caught Gideon square in the chest, halting his advance just short of the table. It wasn't easy to drive him back a step. Though we'd wrestled constantly as teenagers, Gideon had always restrained himself, acutely aware of his physical advantage. He outweighed the rest of us by a good thirty pounds of solid muscle; a man devoted to peace but fundamentally engineered for conflict.

Even the devil would think twice before crossing him.

Tonight, he wasn't even in uniform—just a dark T-shirt stretched across his broad chest and a pair of jeans that made him look more like a bouncer than a priest.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hissed, pitching my voice low to avoid drawing attention.

He met my gaze with his trademark calm: amused and entirely unrepentant. No man who wore a cleric's collar should take such satisfaction in making people squirm, but Gideon had a talent for it. By fifteen, he'd perfected the look: righteous on the outside, smug as hell underneath. Just a stronger version of that maddening Beaufort confidence we'd all inherited in different ways.

"I didn't like how he was looking at you," he said, as if that explanation was enough.

"He wasn't looking at me." The denial was automatic—and ridiculous.

The spark of laughter in Gideon's eyes told me he agreed. That look always meant trouble. I'd seen it too many times not to recognize the signs.

"I just want to meet the man who managed to rattle you," he said, slick as polished glass.

I huffed a quick breath through my nostrils and smoothed my features into something less transparent. "This isn't a meet-and-greet, Gideon."

He tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Sure seemed like one by the way you were both staring."

I didn't bother denying it. Lying to a priest was bad enough; lying to Gideon was downright dangerous.

"You're not helping," I said softly.

"I didn't come here to help," he replied serenely. "I came for the jazz. Everything else is a bonus."

That was the problem with my oldest brother; he was freakishly perceptive. Too attuned to human weakness. He'd cracked me open like an egg and read the messy insides at a glance. Silas hadn't helped matters, glaring at us like we owed him money.

Of course, Gideon would find it hilarious. But Silas wasn't a man to play with like that, and I wasn't in the mood to clean up the fallout.

I turned slightly, enough to put a little space between myself and the table, pretending to adjust my cuff while I focused on keeping my expression locked down. Gideon remained close, hovering in my peripheral vision like a silent rebuke, all composed amusement and quiet judgment. I could still feel his eyes on me, watching for another tell, searching for another crack.

I should've known better than to agree to dinner, but I'd been working so much that I hadn't slept more than three hours in my own bed, and it was impossible to ignore the guilt trip a priest could pull.

"Take an hour, Mason," he'd said. "You're human. You need to eat. It's not a sin to rest when you need it."

Rest felt like a foreign concept. I hadn't slept properly since Ben was arrested. How could I? He might've been the older twin by three minutes, but I'd always been the one looking ahead to keep us both safe. That was our pattern. Always had been. We were a team, even when everything else fell apart. Or at least, we had been. Now, he was out, but not free—and I was burning the candle at both ends, clawing at a system that had swallowed him whole and called it justice.

Every night Ben spent in limbo felt like a failure. Guilt had embedded itself in my bones so profoundly that I didn't know who I'd be without it.

I had no room for rest, and definitely no room for a man like Silas McKenna.

Gideon watched me for a long, quiet moment. I didn't look at him, but I felt when his mood shifted. It was like a pressure valve releasing. Gideon had pushed, testing the limit before I cracked, and now he pulled back. The usual carrot and stick.

"If you want me to leave, say the word," he said levelly. "I've got to head back to Eden anyway. I promised Loretta and Gage I'd cover the overnight shift with the kids."

I let out a slow breath, staring down at the cuff I was pretending to adjust. "It's not that."

"I know, but don't forget that you're human. Not a machine. No man can outrun his own needs forever, Mason."

The hair on the back of my neck lifted the moment he touched my arm. The air behind me started to crackle. I didn't need to turn to know the source, but impulse won out over judgment, and I glanced over my shoulder anyway.

Silas's eyes were coal-dark and fixed on me with dense, seething fury. He stood at the back of the woman's chair, one hand curled around the metal so tightly that his knuckles were blanched white. Every inch of him broadcast anger, from the hard set of his jaw to the glint of sweat at his temples, like violence and sex were just two sides of the same coin—and I couldn't tell which one he was about to flip.

I didn't know what set him off, but Christ, he looked good angry.

I glanced back at Gideon, just long enough to catch the flicker of something softer in his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or concern. I wasn't sure which was worse.

"You don't need to worry about me," I told him stiffly. "Not with Dom and Gage wreaking havoc."

He chuckled darkly. "Gage has settled down since he and Wyatt got engaged."

"What about Dom?" I asked, cutting him a look.

It was a cheap shot, and we both knew it. Dominic hadn't set foot in Eden since he put Wyatt in the hospital with a pair of brass knuckles. He'd thought he was protecting us; all the signs had pointed to Wyatt framing Ben and betraying us all. But Dominic hadn't waited for proof. He'd acted—and he'd been wrong.

Now it was a vast rift that none of us knew how to cross. Gage wouldn't even speak his name, and the rest of us were stuck pretending like our family hadn't fractured right down the center.

But Gideon had taken it the hardest. As the eldest, he carried the burden of leading the family, and he'd always had a soft spot for Dominic. Watching him hold the line between justice and loyalty was like watching a man drown on dry land.

We didn't talk about it, but if my personal life was fair game, so was his.

His mouth tightened, and his eyes went cold. "You don't have to talk to me," he said, stepping back. "But talk to someone. You're going to break soon, and I don't think you've left yourself room to come back from that."

Then he turned and walked off, past the club and down the sidewalk, like he hadn't just gutted me in public.

I watched him disappear into the darkness with long, unhurried strides. Confident that nobody was foolish enough to mess with him even in this seedy part of town.

Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe. This wasn't the place to unravel.

"Mmm." The woman at Silas's table let out a throaty hum, all faux innocence that scratched up my spine. "Shame about the blond. I was hoping he'd come over and introduce himself properly."

I turned, giving her a long, flat look.

Heavy makeup, cheap jewelry, and perfume so strong she must've rolled in it. She was younger than I'd first thought and dressed for action, legs crossed, and skirt hiked so far up that shadows were doing more privacy work than the fabric. One shoe dangled off the tip of her toe.

I didn't recognize her, but I didn't need to. She looked like dozens of regulars who warmed the barstools at the Dead End on any given night, looking for company, but for some reason, I was still surprised to see Silas with her.

I shouldn't be. But bitter jealousy filled my mouth, and no amount of pride could pretend it didn’t exist. I didn't know who she was or what she meant to him. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But he was touching her chair like he had a right, and I hated how much that got under my skin.

"Sorry for interrupting your date," I said coolly.

Silas's cheek twitched like he didn't like the sound of that. He hadn't moved, but his entire posture radiated barely leashed temper, one hand gripping the back of her chair like he needed the anchor. The woman didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she did. Maybe she liked it.

"Oh, sweetheart," she purred in a syrupy voice. "As far as I'm concerned, the more the merrier. In every sense of the word."

She winked at me over the rim of her glass, and I had to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep my expression from cracking.

"Sylvia," she said, bracelets clinking musically as she extended a hand across the table.

My upbringing had me taking her hand whether I wanted to or not. "Mason," I said brusquely. "Mason Beaufort."

"Beaufort?" She leaned back in her chair and gave a low whistle, eyes sweeping me with theatrical interest. "Well, damn. A real Beaufort in the flesh. Didn't expect to see one of y'all hanging around this side of town. Guess I should've worn nicer panties."

I grimaced, managing a thin, bloodless smile despite the sour taste in my mouth. "I doubt they were meant to stay on anyway."

She let out a bark of laughter, and a dozen heads turned toward the jagged sound. There was no joy in it.

Silas still hadn't spoken.

That unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. The silence wasn't passive—it was predatory. Every muscle in his body was clenched just short of movement. He watched me like a big cat, studying my weak points, a breath away from tearing into my throat. When those black eyes met mine, all I saw was violence.

Wanting him was the most reckless thing I'd ever done. It meant giving up control, and I'd spent a lifetime learning how to never do that again.

We stared each other down for a long, hostile moment. Even now, the air between us felt so charged it practically hummed. I could feel it in my teeth, behind my eyes, in the parts of me I didn't let anyone see. My stomach knotted, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of flinching.

Instead, I deliberately dropped my gaze, giving him a cold, dismissive once-over. I wanted him to feel it. I wanted him to know exactly how it felt to stand where I was, burning with jealousy from the inside out and forced to pretend it didn't matter.

"Well," I said, turning to Sylvia and schooling my features into something civil. I released her hand gently, straightening the cuff I couldn't stop fiddling with, and took a small step back from the table. Just enough to signal the conversation was over. "Y'all enjoy your evening."

If she replied, I didn't hear it over the ringing in my ears. I just turned on my heel and walked away, spine straight, a million drops of venom locked behind my teeth.

I didn't look back. Not once. But—God, how I wanted to.