Page 40 of Man of Lies

"Seven," he said without missing a beat. "Five boys, two girls. I'm the youngest. Not that it matters much now. We're all spread out, doing our own thing." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, but the way he said it gave me pause. "Not everyone gets a second shot at family."

"Never say never." Unthinking, I slid one foot between his motorcycle boots, nudging his knee with mine. The intimacy of it, and the way his leg pressed back against mine, had my pulse skipping a quick beat. "Those bonds will always be there. You've just got to pick them up."

Silas studied me, gaze softening like I'd just said something too fanciful to take seriously. "Sounds like you don't really want to leave Devil's Garden, even if you could."

It surprised me to hear it out loud. "Maybe not," I admitted, staring down at the spray of coffee grounds in the bottom dregs of my cup. "But it's not like staying is really a choice. It's more like…this place owns me. I'm tied to it whether I like it or not."

There was a long pause as he processed what I said, and when he spoke again, his voice was thoughtful. "I get that. Sometimes it's not about choosing where to go. It's about making a stand wherever you end up."

I found myself studying him closely, boring into him, trying to read behind his eyes to the parts he kept hidden.

"You ever think about something different?" I asked tentatively. "Something more permanent than a bed over a roadhouse?"

Silas's lips twitched, like he was debating whether to laugh it off like everything else. I wanted to kiss that expression right off his mouth, but I didn't get the chance. Before I could hook a hand around the back of his neck and lean across the table to plant one on him, he'd caught me by the wrist—almost like he sensed my need to touch him.

"Yeah, I think about it sometimes. But it's complicated. Doesn't mean I don't want something more, just…" he trailed off, gaze turned inward as he traced the blue map of veins beneath my wrist. "Sometimes, the life you end up with is the one that makes the most sense. Even if it's not the one you dreamed of."

My fingers spasmed as his thumb caressed the thin skin over my pulse, and there it was, that familiar sexy smirk curling his lips. The one that said he relished the effect he had on me. Thenhe released me—abruptly, like he was closing the door on the conversation. He threw an arm over the back of the booth and caught the waitress's eye, signaling her over with a flick of two fingers.

"Enough of the heavy shit," he announced as she made her way over. "Try the crawfish gravy breakfast sundae. It's weird as hell but worth every bite. Trust me."

I did.

That was the craziest part.

Chapter Eighteen

MASON

The day had spundown to a hazy tangerine glow by the time the Scout rumbled down Eden's manicured drive. Deep blue shadows were starting to paint long stripes across the grass as he pulled off beneath a copse of live oaks and killed the engine. My legs were sore as I climbed off the bike and tugged off my helmet.

He took one look at me and laughed.

"Got a little something on your face there, counselor," he teased, scraping a flake of sunscreen off the bridge of my nose. His own complexion was a healthy, sun-burnished tan, but I wasn't used to spending an entire day outside. After only a few hours, my office pallor had turned pink, and then red at the edges. We'd stopped at a shop calledRisky Bob'sfor a tube of sunblock, and Silas pinned me in the grass and straddled my hips until I submitted to his scandalously thorough application. But it came in handy when we stopped in a park just outside Cypress Lake, rolled up our jeans, and went creek-wading like a couple of kids.

Except I'd never felt so carefree when I was a child. I couldn't remember a time life had felt this easy. This safe.

"You sure know how to make a guy feel special, McKenna," I said dryly, brushing his hand aside.

"I don't fuck around with trouble—and you? You're gonna cause me plenty." His eyes were twinkling in the gathering gloom. A sarcastic retort was on the tip of my tongue, but before I could unleash it, he slid a hand around the back of my neck and reeled me closer, brushing his lips across my cheek in that casual, infuriatingly intimate way he had. "Yeah, you're special," he murmured against my skin.

His kiss was soft at first, the featherlight skating of his lips down my jaw to my mouth, a lingering taste of him that made it too easy to forget the rest of the world. The house was lit up like a Holiday Inn through the screen of my half-closed lashes, and an extra car was parked at the base of the porch, but I didn't have enough neurons to link together to wonder why. I didn't care about anything but the satin texture of Silas's lips and the way his hand rested warmly against the back of my neck.

We broke apart just long enough for a sip of air, and I took a reluctant step backward, but Silas caught my wrist, pulling me right back in.

"Not done yet," he whispered.

We kept kissing, sweet and languid, like we were teenagers again, standing on the edge of our first time, knowing that we'd experienced something that was ours alone. Nobody else could touch it. Each kiss was another link in the chain tying me to him, pulling me deeper into this bubble we'd created where nothing else mattered but him. The world around us faded. It was just the two of us, the breeze in the oaks, and the quiet hum of the summer evening.

For once, I could forgive myself for ignoring the rest of the world. I didn't want anything to interrupt the way he made me feel. Yeah, special—though I'd never admit it.

When I finally pulled away for real, the ache in my chest told me I was leaving something important behind. But Silas's eyes were still locked on mine, like he was waiting for me to say something?—

Just as I opened my mouth, a loud crack pierced the air, followed by the wind-chime-in-a-hurricane sound of shattering glass.

Our heads jerked toward the house just as Dominic flew through the front window in a jagged spray of shards. His body hit the ground hard. Gage followed a split-second later, leaping through the gaping maw of the centuries-old broken window and landing on Dominic like a crashing meteor. The sickening, wet-sounding crack of knuckles striking bone followed, loud enough to reach us at the end of the driveway.

Silas was the first to move, all instinct, racing down the driveway like a damn bullet.

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