Page 19 of Man of Lies

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 ofy'allhanging 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.

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.

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