Page 16 of Man of Lies

I kept my face blank.The girls.That landed like a stone in my gut.

Sylvia went on, either oblivious or pretending to be. "He's been cleaning house. Asking questions. You know Gator—he's not exactly the jump-at-shadows type. For him to get scared?" She shook her head. "It must be bad."

I leaned back, thumb drifting along the rim of my glass, and studied her closely. "That's why Gator's been keeping his distance from the bar?"

"He doesn't want to be seen anywhere too visible, especially with rumors flying." Her hand disappeared into that tiny purse she always carried, some gaudy little thing with rhinestones and a broken clasp, and came up with nothing but receipts and irritation.

I pulled the soft pack from my jacket pocket and tapped a cigarette loose, holding it out between two fingers before she could go diving again.

She hesitated before taking it with fingers that trembled just a little.

"Then you can remind him the Dead End's always been good to him," I said evenly. "I make sure of that. No cops and no questions. Just business."

The string of patio lights buzzed faintly, spotlighting us like actors mid-scene, talking pretty while the real damage happened behind the curtain.

She blew a slow stream through pursed lips, eyes narrowing as the smoke curled between us. "You really think that makes you look loyal?"

"It makes me useful." I didn't push. Didn't need to. She was a natural gossip—staying useful was how she survived. The message would get where it needed to go. "And you can tell him that too."

She opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say got swallowed by the sound of the club door creaking open. A burst of laughter spilled out with the music, loud and jarring in the hush of the patio.

I barely looked up at first. Just another pair of drunks weaving into the street—a woman in heels too high, her date clinging to her like they were on the deck of a sinking ship. A younger girl followed, clutching a sequined purse and texting with one thumb, eyes glued to the screen.

And then—him.

Mason stepped into the spill of lamplight, hair tousled and unstyled, the collar of his shirt open in a way he'd never been around me. Careless. Effortless. Like he belonged here.

But that tug I felt drawing us together was one-sided.

Because he wasn't alone.

The man at his side was blond, broad-shouldered, and built like a war monument. His face was the type I'd expect to find stamped on a Roman coin. Where Mason carried his power like a package of tightly compressed dynamite, this one moved like a caged lion: power in every step but never quite relaxed.

Their heads were bent close as they stood near the entrance, voices low and intimate, finishing whatever conversation had started inside. Even from across the patio, I caught the moment the man's fingers subtly grazed Mason's arm, like it wasn't the first time he'd touched him that way. Like it wouldn't be the last. It wasn't flirtation. It was a claim.

Something about them worked—too well. They looked like they belonged together: dark and golden, polished and powerful, like they'd been made to match under perfect lighting in some magazine spread meant to sell a lie about love.

My stomach turned.

It shouldn't have mattered. That's what I told myself. Over and over. But it did—and the lie tasted bitter on my tongue. Jealousy twisted through me, and I had to plant my hands on the arms of the chair to keep from lurching to my feet.

What the hell was I doing?

Sylvia clocked the shift instantly. "Friends of yours?" she asked dryly, following my gaze.

"Something like that," I muttered, clenching my jaw so tight I thought I'd crack a tooth. The urge to cross the patio and rip them apart beat like a drum in veins.

But what would I even say? He wasn't mine. Never was, and never would be.

He hadn't fallen for me. He'd fallen for the story.

She took a long drag from her cigarette and asked, "Which one?"

Even if I'd planned to answer, I didn't get the chance.

Because just then, Mason looked up.

Like he could feel it—feelme—his gaze cut across the patio and locked on mine, and for a moment, the street noise vanished. No music, no conversation. Just the ringing in my ears and the unblinking weight of those blue eyes. He wasn't smiling, but his lips parted like he'd forgotten how to breathe, and something in his expression pulled tight. But he didn't look away.

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