Page 9 of Man of Lies (Vendetta Kings #2)

Chapter Nine

MASON

He was hunting me.

Even without looking over my shoulder, I sensed it. The air had changed, grown dense and charged, heavy with the pressure of a pending storm. It reminded me of the moment right before a hurricane when the whole parish held its breath. But the sky was a cloudless spray of stars, clear and blameless. The storm wasn't up there.

It was behind me.

The prickling at the back of my neck wasn't my imagination. Neither was the way the shadows behind me shifted like they were pacing me. My steps echoed too loudly in the empty lot, rubber soles striking the pavement like a speeding drumbeat that bounced off the surrounding brick.

Devil's Garden always hummed after dark, deeper than insects, right down to the city's bones. But tonight, it was quiet, like the volume had been dialed down just to hear my heartbeat.

It was Silas. It had to be. He had a way of being everywhere and nowhere at once, a hunter who didn't even need to make a move to leave me feeling exposed.

My Porsche sat at the edge of the lot, its cherry-red paint barely gleaming beneath the dying streetlamp. I popped the locks and nearly jumped out of my skin at the quiet, metallic click. My instincts were screaming that he was close, but I gritted my teeth and reached for the door handle. I refused to give in to paranoia and look over my shoulder.

That's when I felt him, right behind me. Too close.

My body moved on autopilot. Before I could think twice, I drove a defensive elbow back into his ribs. But Silas was quicker. Unnervingly fast. He caught my arm mid-strike, his grip steel-tight as he twisted it behind my back in one fluid motion. Before I could draw a breath, he shoved me against the car and pinned me there, chest to back, bleeding his heat into me.

My cheek grazed the cool metal, breath fogging the finish. I couldn't turn enough to see him, just the suggestion of a shadow looming behind me, but I didn't need to. I knew him by feel alone: the strength of his hand, the drag of his rough fingertips catching the inside of my wrist, the scent of leather and whiskey filling my nose. His body was a wall of solid muscle at my back, trapping me and leaving zero wiggle room.

"You always this jumpy?" he whispered. His stubble grazed my temple, a rasp of friction that made me shudder.

Yes, because even though I wasn't a child anymore, I'd never felt safe. Not even once. But I'd rather bite off my tongue than admit it.

"Let me go," I said, but I was so breathless the command cracked. There wasn't much authority left in it. Just need.

He didn't let go. Of course, he didn't. Silas wasn't the kind of man who took orders—he was a man who made people regret giving them. His weight shifted, pinning me so hard that the door handle stabbed into my hip.

"If I didn't know better," he taunted in a dark voice, "I'd think you were scared."

I wasn't scared. Not of him. But the way my body responded, even when I was angry? That terrified me. It felt like a betrayal. My breath hitched, heat pooling low in my stomach when his grip flexed on my wrist, just enough to remind me how easily he held me still. His thumb dragged along the inside of my forearm, right over the pulse hammering beneath my skin.

No matter how I steeled myself, I couldn't hide my reaction. It was humiliating.

"Get off," I bit out, flexing my shoulders and shifting futilely for leverage. It was useless. There was no give in him.

"Say please." The heat of his breath coiled around my ear like smoke, invasive and intimate.

"Silas…"

"The way you say my name…it sounds a hell of a lot like begging." His mouth didn't touch me, but I could feel the smile shaping his words. It hovered just behind the curve of my ear. "But I think," he added, voice slipping deeper, "you can do better."

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing away the chill skating across my skin. "Why won't you let this go?" I rasped. "You've got plenty of options at the Dead End. Easier ones. People who actually want what you're offering. Hell, you had one hanging all over you five minutes ago."

His body went so still it sent a fresh ripple of tension through mine, like I'd just tripped over a wire stretched too tight.

"I didn't touch her," he said fiercely. "You think that was a date? Christ. From where I was sitting, you and Blondie looked real comfortable."

I twisted my head, trying to glimpse his face, to make sense of what I was hearing—but he shoved me back.

"You were jealous," I whispered, barely daring to believe it.

For a long moment, he didn't respond. Not with words. But his fingers flexed around my wrist, and I swore I felt him tremble, just a little. When he finally spoke, it was a single guttural syllable.

"Yes."

I froze.

Not because of the word itself, but because of how he'd said it. Like it had been torn from him against his will before he could take it back.

No smirk was hiding behind the syllable, just raw, reluctant honesty. For the first time since we met, Silas wasn't toying with me. His iron grip, the press of his chest against my back, the uneven drag of his breath against my neck…none of it felt calculated.

Whatever was happening to us, it was more than just lust. It had him by the throat, too.

"Silas—" I started.

He spun me before I could finish. Fast and angry, so fast my shoulder popped in protest. My back hit the Porsche with a thud. Suddenly we were face-to-face—and Christ, up close like this? He was lethal.

Maybe he was too rugged to stand out in a photo, but in person, Silas McKenna was a smoking hot package of sweat-slick skin and a body built for violence. All raw masculinity that lit me up from the inside out. And worse—he knew it.

We were opposites, sure, but not the kind that balanced. We combusted.

His eyes searched mine, hunting for weakness, something I'd buried that he could drag into the light. Whatever he found, I wasn't sure he liked it. His expression hardened, tightening that mouth I wanted to kiss so desperately.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, reaching out to cup the side of my neck, stroking his thumb against my jaw so softly that it felt like a threat. "Not when you show up at my place whenever it suits you, then act like I don't exist when it doesn't. Not when you keep running the second it feels like too much."

"I'm not running," I ground out, "and I'm sure as hell not scared of you. I'm just bored."

I was lying through my teeth, and we both knew it.

"Yeah?" he murmured, leaning close. His breath skimmed the shell of my ear, and my whole body lit up like the fuse on a bottle rocket. "Then why are you shaking?"

Damn him—and damn my traitorous body for giving him every cue he wanted. He wasn't wrong. My hands were trembling, and my knees were locked tight to keep from sagging against the car. But it wasn't fear. It was sheer, unadulterated desire flooding my veins until I didn't trust myself to move.

"Because you won't let me go," I snapped, deflecting the only way I knew how.

His smile curved wickedly in the dark. "Damn right. We need to burn this off before it eats us alive. All we need are a few ground rules."

"Rules?" That one word managed to cut through my defenses like nothing else. The part of me that craved control, living and breathing by negotiation, latched onto it like a lifeline. Something I could hold. If there were rules, I could stop falling.

"Yeah." The bridge of his nose skimmed along my jaw before his lips found the corner of my mouth. It was just a taste, barely a kiss, but it sparked every nerve in my body. "Rules. Boundaries. Call it whatever you want. You don't have time for this? Fine. Then we keep it simple, and we keep it clean."

There was nothing clean about the way he was looking at me. Nothing simple about his gaze drifting to my mouth, tracking every breath, like he already knew how close I was to giving in. He looked at me like I was something he wanted to ruin.

I licked my lips out of reflex, but his eyes followed the motion like he was starving, and that hunger knocked the air out of my lungs.

"I need more specifics," I said at last, squeezing the words out in a voice that didn't sound like mine anymore.

"Then let's lay them out." He stepped back just enough to give me room to breathe and held up three fingers, ticking them off individually. "First: no interfering. You don't ask about my business, and I won't pry into yours."

My lips twitched in helpless amusement. "We've already broken that one."

"Then we start now," he shot back without missing a beat. "Second: keep it quiet. Nobody needs to know about this. Not your brothers. Not whoever you've got digging around my bar."

He said it coolly, like he’d clipped any personal judgment off each word, and I gave a slow nod. Agreement on record. I wasn't ready to acknowledge how close to the truth he might be, but I didn't want to lie to him, either.

"Third: we keep it physical." His rasp skimmed over my skin, dragging goosebumps in its wake despite the heat rising off the asphalt. "No strings. No expectations. When one of us wants out, we walk. No questions asked."

It was pragmatic. Rational. Precisely the kind of simple arrangement I should've wanted. But I didn't trust easy offers, especially not when they were too good to be true. And Silas, standing there with his ponytail slipping loose and his chest rising and falling with passion, wasn't offering clarity. He was giving me disaster in stages.

I reached for the loose strand of hair and brushed it behind his ear. His eyes widened, but he didn't flinch, and he didn't pull away.

"What happens," I asked quietly, "when that's not enough?"

Something flickered in his eyes—uncertainty maybe—but it vanished before I could name it. He stepped in until our chests brushed, dipped his head, and breathed against my lips, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. No one's watching, counselor. No one's keeping score. Take what you want from me."

Just like that, I broke.

Everything I'd been holding back surged to the surface, weeks of restraint gone in an instant. I grabbed him by the neck and tugged him the final inch toward my lips.

The kiss was brutal, all teeth and hunger, obliterating every thought until there was nothing left but my need for him. Silas didn't just meet me; he devoured me, turning my own need against me until I couldn't see straight. So I closed my eyes. His warm, wicked laughter spilled into my mouth, and his arm came around my waist, pulling me tight against him.

With my eyes shut, I felt everything: his strength, his heat, and the raw, coiled power he was barely holding in check. And I wanted every inch of it.

He tasted like stout—rich, biting, with that elusive undercurrent of sweetness I'd already memorized as uniquely Silas. His tongue slid against mine, teasing, tasting, and leaving me gasping. His self-control was surgical, restrained down to every calculated breath, and it was killing me. Every inch of my skin buzzed with a current that didn't feel like mine anymore. It felt like him—like some invisible wire had bound us together and started rewiring me from the inside out.

Then my phone rang, shattering the moment.

Silas groaned into my mouth and tightened the arm around my waist. "Ignore it," he rasped against my lips.

God, I wanted to, but the second one cycle ended, a new one began: incessant and impossible to ignore.

He stilled, resting his forehead against mine. We stood like that for a few ragged breaths, both of us straining to gather what was left of our control. Slowly, reluctantly, his hands slipped away. But the heat of his touch clung to me, even as I fumbled for the phone with trembling fingers.

The moment I saw the name on the screen, my stomach dropped. If Colton was calling at this hour, it wasn't good news.

"Colt?" I answered, already bracing for the worst.

"Get over here." I'd never heard him sound so grim. "Your brother's gone."