Page 55 of Man of Lies

Across the street stood the only high-rise in town, cold and unwelcoming. Seven floors wasn’t much, but Dominic kept his apartment at the top, so he could survey his kingdom from above. He owned the entire block, every inch of it. Some buildings were legitimate businesses, but the rest were facades—laundromats that never closed, offices with no listed services, and bars where more transactions happened in the back room than at the counter. Every lease, permit, and dollar passed through Dominic’s hands first. Nothing happened without his say-so.

Corrupt city officials had played king in Devil’s Garden for too long, so Dominic ensured they were playing on his gameboard.

We each had a private elevator key leading to Dominic’s apartment, a rare sign of trust from my most paranoid brother. Silas stumbled beside me, sluggish and disoriented. When his back hit the mirrored wall, he groaned, tilting his head backagainst the glass. The stench of blood flooded the small space, drowning out the usual mix of cologne and floor polish. His eyes were unfocused, heavy-lidded, and his breath came too fast.

I braced him with one hand pressed to his chest, but it wasn’t enough. His knees buckled, body slackening in a way that sent cold panic lancing through my heart.

“No, no, no—hey, I got you.” I moved quickly, grunting under his dead weight as I caught him. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, gripping the safety rail with an arm that shook. Somewhere along the way, the elastic tie had snapped, and his hair fell over his face in a dark, tangled curtain.

“Come on, Silas.” I tapped his cheek, wincing at how cold and clammy his skin felt. “Stay with me, yeah?”

His lips parted on a rough breath, and for a moment, there was nothing to stop my spiraling thoughts. Then his lashes fluttered, and his eyes lifted to mine.

There.

There you are.

His gaze was still sharp, full of that familiar humor and intelligence. His mouth curved, just slightly. “Relax, blue eyes. I’m not leaving you yet.”

He wanted me to smile, but I wasn’t that good at pretending. Not with him bleeding out beneath my hands.

“Did you know… you’ve never called me by my name?” I rasped.

His brows lifted, just the faintest flicker of reaction, but his face didn’t change. It rarely did, I realized, except when he wanted it to. He had the best poker face I’d ever seen.

“Not even once,” I added, trying for levity, but failing miserably when my breath hitched. “It’s always ‘blue eyes,’ or ‘sweetheart,’ or ‘counselor’... but never my name.”

His pupils flared with realization, and his tongue swiped across his dry lips. “Didn’t want to get too attached,” he said quietly.

My heart clenched so tight it hurt. I stared at him, taking in the tightness of his face and the exhaustion behind his eyes. He looked like he was waiting to regret saying it. Maybe he already did, but it was too late.

I heard him. Loud and clear.

His breath ghosted across my jaw as I leaned in, pressing my forehead to his, trying to anchor us both. Trying to hold him here.

With me.

Then the elevator glided to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal my older brother.

Dominic stood at the elevator’s entrance, a sleek, predatory outline against the warm glow of his apartment. His dark hair was combed neatly back, not a strand out of place, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled with meticulous precision. Despite the late hour, he was wide awake, and if he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

His gaze shifted from my face—and whatever terror he saw there—to Silas’s head lolling on my shoulder and the blood soaking us both. His jaw ticked, but all he said was, “Well, this is a fucking twist.”

“You gonna let us in?” I demanded, adjusting my grip on Silas before it slipped.

He made me wait a beat, as if considering saying no, but those games had never worked on me. With a sigh that barely qualified as exasperated, he stepped back and gestured us inside. “Don’t bleed all over my floor.”

“Thanks,” I said, shooting for dry, but the tremor in my voice gave me away.

Dominic took one long look at me, and I knew I wasn’t hiding a thing. The way he saw through everyone was infuriating. He knew I was barely keeping my panic at bay.

He knew, and as always, he was three steps ahead.

“Get his legs,” he instructed, smooth as silk, catching Silas under the other arm and powering us both toward the sofa. Between us, we lowered him onto the long stretch of buttery-soft leather.

By the time we got him horizontal, Silas was already unconscious. I fished around his jeans for the pocketknife I knew he carried, ignoring how my fingers shook as I cut the ruined t-shirt down the center.

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