Page 12 of Man of Lies

I wanted him.Bad.The kind of want that ruined my focus and left me running on blind instinct. I wanted him wrecked and stripped of that tight control he clung to like a life raft. I wanted him back on his knees. I wanted to see how far he'd fall if I kept pushing.

"Didn't think you'd be back so soon, slick," I drawled, tossing the rag in a bucket. "I'm starting to think you're a glutton for punishment."

He raised a brow, coolly amused, but I caught the flicker in his eyes. He was pissed. Pissed at himself for coming back. Pissed at me for making him want to.

"Don't flatter yourself, McKenna. I'm not here for you."

"Sure looks that way." I shrugged like it cost me nothing. "You're too straight-edge to have developed a taste for the swill we serve."

His jaw flexed, just once, but that tic at his temple gave him away. "I'm here to offer a friendly warning."

Oh, good. One ofthose.

"Lay it on me," I said, grinning as I spread my arms wide in mock welcome. "I'm all ears."

He glanced toward the Dead End, and I followed his gaze, stiffening when I caught movement near the back door.

A girl—thin, twitchy, maybe seventeen if you squinted—was slinking through the shadows like she belonged here. She didn't. Not even close. Too young, too brittle, the kind that got swallowed whole in places like this. Her fake ID was trash, but she didn't come for the drinks. Just a street kid looking for somewhere to disappear. The cot in the back room was safer than whatever waited out there. For now.

I didn't have the heart to turn her away. Not yet. But I'd seen too many girls like her turn into ghost stories—and the kind of men who liked that look were already sniffing around.

Gator's people were circling. Names I knew, faces I didn't trust, and a smell I recognized. Rot wearing cologne.

Mason's mouth flattened. When he turned back to me, his eyes had gone ice cold.

"Look, I'm not blind," he said in a low, clipped voice. "I know what kind of people crawl out of the woodwork here after dark. I've seen the money changing hands, and I've kept my mouth shut."

"Yeah?" I met his stare, all humor gone. "Keep doing that."

"I tried, but now it's drawing attention you don't want." He stepped close, crowding me, and for a second, I thought about pushing back. Just to feel him flinch. But nah. Anger was rolling off him in waves, and that took the fun out of it.

So, I let it go, settling my ass on the seat of my bike and stretching my legs out in front of me, as casual as I could fake it.Let him come closer if he wanted. Let him pretend I didn't make him shake with a single touch.

"What kind of attention?" I asked, tongue in cheek. "Health inspector? Because I shut down the kitchen for a reason when I bought the place."

He gave me that look—the one that said he wasn't buying the act. “Don’t play coy, Silas.”

I sighed through my nose. "What do you want me to say? Trouble shows up. Doesn't mean I invite it."

"And when that trouble hurts people who didn't ask for it?" he said, searching my eyes. Lord knows what he expected to find there. Most days, I couldn't even look in the mirror without wondering who the hell I was.

I forced a lazy shrug. "People make their own choices. I don't get a vote in that."

His eyes narrowed. There it was—that flicker of judgment dressed up in clean lines and legal distance. I'd seen it last night too, in the way he looked at me like he couldn't decide whether to fuck me or throw me in a cell.

"What about when they don't have a choice?"

"Maybe ask the sheriff," I said, lip curling. I didn't bother hiding my disgust. "He's the one playing blind. This place is what it is. I'm not here to play hero."

"You've got a hell of a way of justifying things."

"Andyou'vegot a hell of a way of shoving your nose where it doesn't belong," I said, but there wasn't any fight behind it. Just truth. After fourteen months of rot and sleaze, he was the onlything that'd cut through it. First flicker of light I'd seen. Shame it was already fading.

"Go home, counselor," I said quietly. "You're not built for what's coming."

Mason's shoulders went stiff. Sweat beaded at his temples, and his black hair, usually all neat and polished, was starting to curl at the edges. The heat was getting to him. I had the sudden impulse to drag my fingers through it and mess him up even more. But one look at his eyes told me to keep my damn hands to myself.

Still, there was something about the way he stood there, angry and wired, refusing to back down. It made my life harder, sure. Didn't make it less impressive.

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