Page 31 of Man of Lies

“Whenever I move somewhere new, I like to get a feel for the area,” he said. “Find the spots even locals don’t know about. You learn a lot about people by understanding the spaces they live in. What they value. What they don’t.”

It took a moment to remember what I’d asked. That wasn’t like me. But the way he was looking at me—dark and steady, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be—disoriented me more than I’d ever admit.

“How often do you relocate?” I asked, playing it cool despite my curiosity.

He went still, just for a beat, but I caught it. Then his fingers resumed their idle tapping rhythm on the top of my thigh. “Too much.”

His flat tone didn’t invite questions; I knew better than to push. He might’ve broken our second rule when he snuck into my bedroom, but we could still do our best to follow the rest. Especially the one to mind our own business.

I steered us back onto safer ground by asking, “What do you think of Devil’s Garden?”

He sighed, glancing out over the bluff, though it was too dark to see more than the glimmer of moonlight on the river below. Mountains weren’t a thing here, but even this little bit of elevation was probably breathtaking in daylight. “I like it,” he said slowly, weighing each word. “It’s quieter than Boston. Rough around the edges, but the kind of rough that’s honest. People here don’t pretend to be something they’re not. That’s rare, at least from what I’ve seen.”

The mention of his birthplace was so casual, I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t spent my days dissecting language for a living. “You’re from Boston?”

He hesitated, watching me with narrow eyes, like he was deciding how much of himself he felt like handing over. “Yeah,” he said finally, running his tongue over his teeth. “Big family. Noisy. I was the youngest, so one day, I figured if I wanted to build a life for myself, I’d have to start somewhere else.”

It sounded simple enough, but I sensed a truth to the words that didn’t match the delivery. That kind of logic usually came after some damage had already been done.

“It didn’t exactly go according to plan, did it?” I asked. “Seven years in federal prison, right?”

Unease flickered across his expression, but it was gone before I could identify the source. Not guilt or shame exactly. More like resistance. He didn’t want to lie, but he wasn’t about to open a door he’d spent years nailing shut. Not for me, anyway.

“The road curved,” he said finally, dry but not unkind.

“It happens.”

“Yeah.” Humor warmed his gaze. “What about you? Did you always plan on fighting the good fight in Devil’s Garden, or did life just…curve?”

The question took me by surprise. I blew out a slow breath and hung my head, staring down at the way his heavy thighs flanked mine. His knuckles were broad, sun-dark, and webbed with a pattern of thin white scars like he’d once put his fist through glass.

“Dreams weren’t really a thing when I was a kid,” I admitted ruefully. “After Boone adopted us, it started to feel like anything was possible. I decided on law school, and after that, Ben joined the Army. I don’t think either of us planned on ever coming back.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, unsure why I was still talking—or why he was listening. Really listening. It was clear in the way his eyes never left my face.

“But you can’t really outrun what you’re born to be, you know? I was always meant to be part of this place. We all were. Whether we like it or not.”

“Your brothers?” he asked in a low voice.

I nodded. “We inherited more than the Beaufort name. We took on a legacy. If we don’t fight for this place… who will?”

The teasing light in Silas’s eyes had faded, replaced by something grim. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You’d be surprised,” he said roughly, “how many people are fighting for places like this. Even if you never see them.”

I frowned. He must’ve seen the question forming on my face because his jaw tightened, and he looked away. The moment hung there, charged and uncertain, until he broke it with a low chuckle. Then he reached up, brushing his fingers along my jaw and coaxing my mouth closer to his.

“Enough talking,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave as his lips skimmed the corner of my mouth. His stubble scraped a spot where I’d nicked myself shaving, and I shivered. “We made a pact, counselor. Time to follow through.”

My hands found his shoulders, solid and muscular beneath worn leather. The scent of him, salt and leather and musk, was like a hand around my throat. I couldn’t escape.

“You gonna back out this time?” Silas asked.

“W-wasn’t planning on it,” I managed, fighting the hitch in my breath.

He chuckled like a man who knew he’d already won. He bit down on the hinge of my jaw, just enough to sting. “Good. Then hold on.”

He was on me in a second, but not my lips. That would’ve been too straightforward, and Silas didn’t do straightforward. He went for the throat. Literally. His lips sealed over my pulse point, teeth scraping the line of my Adam’s apple, as his hands skimmed beneath my shirt. His palms were rough and certain, tracing my shape, touching me like he had every right. Like he already knew I’d let him do anything he wanted.

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