Page 65 of Man of Lies

“You’re just letting him walk on the drugs, then?” I asked incredulously.

Silas didn’t flinch, but the lines of his face tightened. “I’m making sure we get the girls out before they disappear. I’ve seen those girls. Runaways who would hang out at my bar until one by one they stopped showing up. Just like that girl in Eden’s foster program—Ivy, right? They’re my focus. Nothing else matters.”

“What is Dominic going to do?” I demanded.

“I don’t know.” His eyes turned hard. “I don’t want to know—and you don’t either.”

“You’ve got no fucking clue what I want to know!” I exploded. “I want to know exactly what mess I’m going to be stuck cleaning up when this is all over! Don’t make it worse by lying to me, Silas.”

The faintest flicker of something—regret, maybe—passed through his eyes. “You already know, Mason. We both know what your brother is capable of.”

I shook my head, but there was no denying the truth. Dominic wasn’t built like the rest of us. He didn’t feel like the rest of us, and he didn’t care about playing by anyone else’s rules. He made choices every day that would keep me up at night. But even as ruthless as he was, there was one line I was sure he’d never crossed. Murder. He’d never killed anyone, and I sure as hell didn’t want him to start now. Not when we had so much to lose, and men like Sheriff Vanderhoff were looking for any excuse to destroy what we had left of the Beaufort name.

We were a family built on broken pieces, but we always found a way to hold it together, and we’d never committed a sin so bad we couldn’t confess it to Gideon.

I wasn’t about to let Dominic take it that far.

“Mason—” Silas started, but I didn’t let him finish.

I took a breath and returned to the living area, scooping my wallet and bike key off the end table, but I hadn’t even gotten halfway across the room when I felt Silas moving behind me. Before I knew it, he had me by the bicep and spun me around to face him.

“Let it go, Mason,” he warned, deadly serious. “This isn’t a game.”

I looked down at his fingers biting into my arm, then slowly met his eyes. The words that came out of my mouth were weapons, and I used them that way. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, SilasDonnelly. You don’t have the right.”

He flinched, but I wasn’t done. “No interference…remember? You made the rules.”

His grip loosened, but his gaze didn’t falter. “I’m not stopping you, Mason. But we need to talk about this. You can’t just?—”

“I need to clear my head,” I cut him off, not wanting to get into it. I turned back toward the door, hand on the handle. “You, on the other hand, need to sit down before you pass out. Wait for the doc.”

He didn’t move immediately, and for a split second, I thought he might push further. I almost wanted him to—if only so I could finally see the man behind all this calm bullshit. But Silas stayedstill, watching me with that same unblinking intensity, his jaw tight.

“Fine,” he bit out with frustrated calm. “But don’t think this is over. We’re going to talk about this—whether you’re ready or not.”

I didn’t respond, just viciously punched the elevator button and waited for the doors to slide open.

“I’ll be back,” I muttered over my shoulder, flat and dismissive. “Don’t wait up.”

I didn’t look back.

In the end, this wasn’t about him and me. It was about keeping Dominic from crossing a line he couldn’t return from. We were family. I’d always be the one who would be there when he needed pulling back.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

MASON

The sky had crackedopen twenty minutes ago, unleashing one of those punishing southern downpours that hit like judgment—loud, sudden, and mean. Heat still rolled off the pavement in waves, but now it tangled with steam and the sharp, greasy stink of oil bleeding up from the asphalt—days of buildup turned slick and deadly the second the rain hit.

Visibility had gone to hell, but I kept the throttle steady and my eyes forward, chasing the storm like I had a score to settle.

My calls to Dom went straight to voicemail, so the next call I made was to Colton. If anyone had a lead on the shitshow going down in the parish tonight, it was him. He picked up on the third ring, muttering something under his breath to someone in the background. Ben’s voice came through low and muffled, a quiet rumble that didn’t quite reach words—just enough to remind me it wasn’t a private line.

When I’d pumped him for information, all he’d given me was a heavy, exhausted breath. “I’ve been circling the Dead End for a month, trying to pin down who’s moving what. Gator Hollis is the common thread. He’s been running product for Dominic—small-scale, likely local distribution. But the other side of it?” His tone was filled with disgust. “Girls. And that pipeline’s not Beaufort’s.”

I’d gripped the throttle hard enough for my knuckles to peak white. “You sure?”

“No. That’s the problem. Whoever’s behind it knows how to keep their name off paper and their hands off the scene. No texts. No calls. Gator runs his mouth just enough to confirm what he’s doing, but not who’s pulling the strings.”

---