Page 11 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

THEO

T oday had been an absolute disaster.

Fucking Elias Ballantyne.

I’d spent the last hour alone in my office after the club had cleared out, staring at my phone like it was a live grenade. Any second now, it would ring. And on the other end, my father—disappointed, furious, controlled as ever—would let me know just how badly I’d screwed things up.

Not because Elias Ballantyne had put his hands on a member of staff. No. But because I had stopped him.

Because I’d intervened in a way that, in my father’s eyes, didn’t look like strength—it looked like weakness. Like sentiment. And that’s the one thing he couldn’t abide by.

But the call never came.

The ensuing silence was worse. It was suffocating.

The phone sat there, silently on my desk. Cold. Judgmental. And I sat opposite it, like a prisoner waiting for the verdict. My jaw ached from being clenched so tightly. My neck burned. My thoughts clawed at the inside of my skull, a storm I couldn’t outrun.

I’d done the right thing. I knew I had.

But all I could hear was my father’s voice in my head: “Don’t involve yourself in the lives of staff. Don’t lose control. Don’t forget what you’re here to protect.” And I had. I’d lost control—in front of Elias, in front of every single person in the club. Worst of all, in front of him .

God, Sinclair. Even now, hours later, I could still feel the heat of his body against mine, the softness of his lips, the way they’d begged me to kiss him. But I couldn’t because I knew I’d fall apart for him.

My walls would have come crashing down, and my life would have imploded. But just for a moment, I’d needed it more than I needed air to breathe. I just wanted a moment to taste what it might feel like to want something for myself.

I’d never let myself do that before and I couldn’t now, especially when the stakes were this high. I had to lock down every errant desire no matter how hot it burned.

I’d always followed the rules. Always dressed the part. Spoken the part. Been the golden son in the golden cage. I wore my legacy like a perfectly tailored suit and told myself it was enough.

But it wasn’t. Not anymore. Because when Sinclair looked at me, I didn’t feel like an Astor.

I felt like a man.

A man who was starving.

A man who wanted.

And that terrified me more than anything my father could ever say or do.

I leaned forward, burying my face in my hands, and let out a sharp, bitter exhale. My skin still buzzed with the ghost of Sin’s touch. My mouth still burned from the almost kiss. And yet, if he were here now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from doing it.

What the hell was I doing even thinking about him? It wasn’t like I had anything to offer him.

He deserved better than this—than me. He wasn’t some plaything I could pull close and push away when it got too real. He wasn’t a secret I could keep buried. He was fire and hunger and freedom. Chaos. And I was the idiot standing too close with a gas can.

I sat back and stared at the ceiling. I was going to break something. Maybe myself. Maybe him. Maybe both. And yet…I couldn’t stop wanting him.

I didn’t know how.

“Screw this,” I muttered, shoving my laptop shut with more force than necessary. I had no answers, no clarity. Just the same storm twisting tighter inside my chest. I snatched my keys from the top drawer of my desk and walked out before I could stop myself.

The club was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your skin. Only the low hum of refrigeration units and the faint flicker of exit signs remained to remind me I wasn’t the last person left in the world. But it felt like it.

Like always, this place was polished, controlled—like me.

Only I wasn’t in control anymore.

Not since him.

The night air slapped me in the face as I stepped into the parking lot, cold enough to bite but not enough to shake the heat simmering under my skin.

I slid into my BMW and let the engine growl to life, headlights slicing through the darkness, catching brief glimpses of a world too calm for how unsettled I felt.

I didn’t have a destination. I just drove. Until instinct took the wheel. Sinclair, my mind whispered . I told myself it was to make sure he got home safe. That it was my responsibility. That no one else would be looking out for him tonight. But those were lies. Convenient ones.

The truth? I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not after what happened at the club. Not after the way he looked at me before I sent him away.

The headlights caught him first—alone on the side of the road, head down, arms crossed tight like he was keeping himself from falling apart. Wind tugged at his curls. His silhouette looked fragile and furious all at once.

I almost didn’t stop. I almost kept driving, told myself it wasn’t my problem. But I wasn’t that kind of monster. Not with him.

My car rolled to a stop beside him, and I lowered the window. “Sinclair.”

He turned slowly, eyes glassy, a flush high on his cheekbones. He smirked, all teeth and bruised ego. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Iceman himself.”

“Get in the car.”

“Bossy,” he slurred, but he opened the door and dropped into the passenger seat like he belonged there. Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

He smelled like smoke, liquor, and something darker—trouble wrapped in temptation.

And God help me, it smelled incredible on him.

After checking my mirrors and buying some time, willing my racing heart to calm down, I pulled back onto the road, focusing on the center lines like they could keep me from veering into disaster.

We didn’t speak for a while. I counted the seconds to distract myself from the heat radiating off him.

“You always rescue your staff like this?” he asked, voice a little slurred, a little too sharp.

“Only the ones who insist on walking home drunk in the early hours of the morning.”

“Chivalrous and judgmental. A man of contradictions.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t afford to. Words turned to ash on the tip of my tongue as dreams leaked from the vault in my mind. Dreams that could never come true.

He turned in his seat, folding one leg beneath him like he didn’t give a damn about decorum. “You keep acting like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I answered, too fast.

“But you look at me like I’m something you’re trying to resist.” He leaned in closer. “Like if you let yourself want me, everything would fall apart.”

“I’m your employer.”

He laughed, bitter and amused. “That’s a cop-out and you know it.”

“Sin—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You walk around like a man who has never let himself want anything. But I’ve seen the way you look at me. When you think I’m not watching.”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and clenched my jaw so hard I’m surprised my teeth didn’t crack.

He shifted even closer, his fingers barely grazing my arm—like a test. Like an invitation. But I felt the heat of him through every layer of clothing I wore like a brand.

“I think you want me,” he murmured. “I think that scares the hell out of you.”

The lump in my throat made it almost impossible to form words. “Where do you live?”

Sin snorted, leaning back in his seat. With his proximity no longer crushing me, I could finally draw in a full breath—though it did nothing to ease the fire curling low in my stomach.

“With my aunt. Kinda.” He dragged a hand through his wild curls. “She’s not exactly thrilled to have me. I was dumped on her after my parents kicked me out.”

He said it too fast, like he regretted the honesty the second it left his mouth. Drunken looseness made his walls soft, but the pain underneath was sharp, jagged.

I felt it like it was my own.

“And where does she live?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. I wanted to unhear it before he even spoke. Because once I knew, this—whatever this was—would end. Our little suspended moment would vanish, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that.

“Edelwood House.” He watched me carefully. “You know it?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Then you know where to take me. Just drop me at the gates—I’ll manage from there.”

I bit my lip and swallowed down the protest that was on the back of my tongue. He could barely sit upright. He sure as hell couldn’t walk that long stretch alone in the dark. But if I argued, if I let myself care too much, I’d show my hand.

So I said nothing.

The drive was silent, tension stretching between us like a tripwire. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Every minute that passed felt like we were being dragged toward something irreversible.

We pulled up in front of the wrought-iron gates of Edelwood House. I didn’t remember the turns. My body had moved like it knew . Like it had always known it would end here.

“Go inside.” My voice frayed to a threadbare whisper.

But he didn’t move.

Sin turned toward me, his eyes locked on mine with the kind of hunger that burned. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, low and rough, like gravel soaked in honey. “Say the words, Theo.”

I should have.

I wanted to.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I turned toward him—and the second our mouths collided, the rest of the world went up in flames.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was a collision of desperation and denial, teeth and tongues, breath and fire.

My hands buried themselves in his curls, pulling him in, needing him closer, closer , until there was no space between us at all.

His fingers clawed at my jacket, anchoring himself to me like I was the only solid thing left in his world.

Sin moaned against my mouth, low and desperate, and it undid me. I kissed him harder, tasting every inch of him—bourbon, smoke, salt. His lips were soft but demanding, chasing mine like he couldn’t bear the distance even when our mouths were already fused.

He sucked on my tongue, making my hips jerk forward against the console. My brain short-circuited. We weren’t just kissing—we were devouring each other. My teeth grazed his lower lip, pulling it between mine until he whimpered and surged forward to reclaim me.

I could barely breathe, and I didn’t care.

His hands slid under my shirt, fingertips dragging over skin like he was memorizing me. I was burning from the inside out. This was heat. This was what it felt like to fall apart and finally stop caring who saw the pieces.

We battled for control—his mouth, my hands, his groans, my gasps. A rhythm formed, wild and erratic. He moved over the center console, straddling me now, grinding down onto me, and I didn’t stop him.

I couldn’t.

I’d never wanted anything the way I wanted him.

But wanting didn’t make it right.

I tore myself away like I was ripping off a part of my soul, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Our foreheads stayed pressed together, lips still brushing, caught in the echo of something too raw to be undone.

“No,” I rasped. “This can’t happen.”

Sin’s eyes searched mine—storm-dark, unreadable. His lips were kiss-swollen, parted like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to yell or beg.

“Why?” he asked, voice cracking.

“Because I’ll ruin you.” Each word broke more than the last. “And worse—I’ll ruin myself .”

I fumbled for the door handle, my hands shaking, shoving him across the console and stumbled out into the night air like it might douse the inferno inside me.

I braced my palms on my knees, sucking down breath after breath, but I couldn’t slow my heart.

Couldn’t erase the taste of him from my mouth.

I’d never felt so alive.

I’d never felt so damn wrecked.

When I made it around to his door and yanked it open, Sin looked different—like the alcohol had burned off and left only the wreckage. Like a man who’d tasted the world and watched it get ripped from his mouth.

“Go,” I growled.

He didn’t argue. His gaze crawled over me like he was memorizing this version of me—the broken one, the weak one, the real one. And I hated that he saw it.

I wanted to beg him to understand.

To wait.

To try again when I wasn’t terrified of what he made me feel.

But instead, I bit it all back. I got in the car, hands trembling as I turned the key. The headlights sliced into the dark. I didn’t look back as I pulled away. Too afraid of what I might see and what it would make me do.

But just as the wheels hit the asphalt, I heard him laugh—a sound soft and sharp, full of shattered breaths and dangerous satisfaction.

He knew.

He’d cracked something open inside me. He’d taken the lid off Pandora’s box. And I would never be the same again.