Page 61 of Man of Lies

He cried out, back arching as his release spilled over my hand and onto my stomach. The sight of him coming undone pushed me over the edge.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. The tension built within me like a coil wound too tight, and my vision went white. It was all for him—every part of me giving in, every bit of control slipping away. And when I came, it wasn’t just my body that broke.

I held Mason tightly as we rode out our highs together.

Mason slumped against the back of the couch, chest heaving as he caught his breath. I lay beneath his weight, so limp and satisfied that I barely felt the ache of my stitches.

After a long moment, Mason shifted, gently easing himself off me, and I let my body relax into the cushions. The cool air of the apartment brushed over my skin, but I was too spent to move. I stared at the ceiling, trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened.

Whatever my old world had been…it was gone. I couldn’t go back.

“You good?” Mason’s voice was still raspy from his release.

I couldn’t answer, but he seemed to understand. His hand found mine, fingers brushing over my skin in the quietest, most intimate way, and I laced mine between his and squeezed.

For now, that was enough.

Chapter Twenty-Six

SILAS

I was driftingin a light catnap when the elevator chimed. Mason was asleep on the floor, reaching up to keep his hand wrapped around mine, the stubborn bastard. My palm was sticky with sweat, but I didn’t feel the need to move.

I cracked one eye open as a tired-looking Dominic stepped through the door, paper coffee cup in hand. He paused at the entrance, taking in the scene with a disgusted curl to his lips, like he’d just discovered a piece of shit on his shoe.

“Smells like sex in here,” he muttered into the rim of his coffee cup as he took a sip. “Don’t know why I even bother. Nobody listens to me anyway.”

“You want me to clean the leather?” I asked dryly, pitching my voice low to avoid waking Mason.

“I’d rather burn it,” he replied, the edge of his smirk barely visible in the dim light leaking around the blackout curtains. But his eyes were grim when he looked at me. “We need to talk.”

Dominic didn’t waste a second. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his tailored shirt, flicked it open with apracticed ease, and wordlessly headed toward the balcony, like he knew I’d follow without question.

Carefully, I pried my hand from Mason’s, wincing as I braced my side with one hand and forced myself upright. The stitches pulled, but I’d taken enough damage to know when pain meant something more serious. The shot had gone straight through, carving a chunk out of the muscle in my side, but it had missed anything critical.

With less than twelve hours left before we lost our only lead on the trafficking ring, I couldn’t afford to let it slow me down.

My head was swimming when I got to my feet, but the pre-dawn air cleared the fog as I stepped onto the balcony. I was still in my borrowed cotton boxers, and the morning washed over me like a fresh start, gentle and warm against my bare skin.

It was the first breath of peace I’d felt since all this started, and I took it deep.

It felt like a lifetime since everything went sideways, but when I thought about it, it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. Dawn was just breaking, a crack of white light on the horizon, smearing the sleeping streets in blue and gray. The muffled thrum of distant traffic was starting to pick up, and the scent of exhaust and old fry grease tickled my nose.

I glanced at Dominic, leaning on the railing beside me with a cigarette dangling from his lips, taking in the view like he saw an entirely different town than I did. I couldn’t help but wonder what had driven him to exchange Eden’s green, open spaces for this—concrete and garbage and a sky that looked like it’d never seen a break.

Dominic glanced at me from the corner of his eye, squinting through a stream of smoke. “How you feeling?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you pretending you care?”

His chuckle was laced with genuine amusement, like that was the first good joke he’d heard. “I don’t. But Mason does, and that matters.”

I slid him a skeptical side-eye, but he wasn’t looking at me. He stared into the distance, detached and isolated, like a king who’d grown bored of his kingdom. The top button of his collar was undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but the weariness in his posture didn’t make him look weak. Even with the shadows under his eyes and the obvious lack of sleep from us barging in, he was poised to handle whatever came next. Guys like him were always ready, even when the hours stacked against them.

“All these investigations in my parish,” he continued, flicking ash from his cigarette, “are wrecking my bottom line. I want you out of here, but not in a body bag. Mason would never recover from that.”

“You know something.”

It wasn’t a question, but Dominic treated it as one. He finally turned his head, eyes flashing with that same cold, calculating certainty I’d seen when he nearly ran me off the road. “Oh, I do. You dodged a bullet—figuratively speaking.” He took another drag of his cigarette, smiling grimly. “If you’d gone through with that meeting last night, you’d be gator food right now. Mason’s interference saved your life.”

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