Page 44 of Man of Lies

Feds.Fucking hell.

No slick wordplay could wiggle me out of this mess, but I still had to try. "You're out of your mind," I spat.

Dominic's slow grin was all delight. He leaned back against the Jag, arms crossing with that same languid confidence, like the gun in my hand was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing at his ear. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he wasn't rushing this. He was enjoying it. Watching me squirm.

"You really think you're the only one who knows how to lie?" he drawled, each word dripping with icy calm. "I've spent a lot of time studying people. I've watched how they move, listened to how they speak, learned how they lie." His gaze scanned me, taking me in from head to toe, and one corner of his mouth curled in disgust. "You're not that good."

Anger surged inside me, sharp and bitter, rising like acid in my throat. I took a step forward, lifting the gun a fraction, aiming right between his eyes. "You're on thin fucking ice, Beaufort," I warned through clenched teeth. "You've got no idea who you're messing with."

Dominic didn't flinch. Hell, he barely even reacted, that smug bastard. His eyes flickered briefly, as if he couldn't be bothered to care whether I pulled the trigger or not. Maybe he didn't.When he'd turned his back on his brothers and walked away, he'd looked like a man at the end of his rope.

He took a step forward, the sound of his expensive loafers crunching over the gravel too loud in the stillness, and he didn't stop until his forehead kissed the barrel of my Glock. Then he went on as if I hadn't even spoken.

"Even the best liar slips up sooner or later—and you've slipped up,Donnelly."

The name hit me like a thrown knife, an attack I'd never prepared for and couldn't dodge. But he didn't stop there, and it didn't take long for the chill of his words to crawl under my skin, each syllable a blow to the mask I'd built.

"Born Silas McKenna Donnelly, July 14th, 1987. Graduated Northwestern, class of '09, and Quantico in 2011. You bounced around field offices, in and out of CID deep cover ops for years, until the last assignment went south. New Orleans, right? Three dead bodies." He clucked his tongue mockingly. "Hell of a mess to clean up."

Cold sweat was crawling down my spine, but I couldn't let him see that. The gun in my hand felt heavier now, a ridiculous show of force when we both knew I wouldn't pull the trigger. Slowly, I lowered the damn thing, letting it hang loosely at my side.

There was no point in pretending anymore. The game was over.

"What do you want, Dominic?" I demanded harshly.

He smiled widely, showing the edge of a sharp incisor, like he'd won something. "I want you to leave my brother alone."

"You made it pretty clear with that little show back at Eden that you've washed your hands of your brothers," I scoffed, hitching my chin at him in challenge. "So what business is it of yours?"

Dominic's smile guttered. His eyes narrowed, and annoyance flashed across his face before he tucked it away like a skillful actor pulling off a flawless performance. He sighed and slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, an effortless move designed to look casual.

"Everything in this parish is my business," he said simply. He barely looked at me as he spoke, eyes focused off to the side, like he was thinking about something far more critical than this confrontation. "My brothers only think they want me out of their lives because they don't know any better. So, I'll let them think they've won. But without me, everything they love would fall apart." He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a threat—and a promise. "I'm the one standing between this parish and the rot that has a stranglehold on it, whether they like it or not."

There was no arrogance in his tone—no grandstanding. Just an unshakable, cold certainty that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"The drug-running," I said slowly, following a hunch that had been nagging at me for months. "That's your operation, isn't it?"

The dark, vicious smile that crept onto Dominic's face was all the confirmation I needed. My gut twisted. Months of Gator leading me around by the nose, and the answer had been right in front of me the whole time.

The realization was crushing. I could've wrapped this up months ago if I hadn't been so obsessed with keeping my distance from Mason. I'd stayed on the sidelines, stuck to my "no interference"rule, and now I was left watching the wreckage pile up. How many could I have saved?

"You're the one flooding meth across state lines," I growled. "Aren't you?"

His smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew more amused. The kind of smile that meant he had nothing to hide; he was walking on the edge of a knife and perfectly fine with it.

"You've got a good nose for trouble, Donnelly," he drawled mockingly. "But you're only half right."

"Screw you," I hissed. "Do you know how many people you've hurt?"

"Do you know how many people I'vesaved?" His eyes flickered briefly, eyes narrowing like I'd said something that personally offended him. "Cornering the market allows me to keep the real animals away. My product is clean of fentanyl and keeps bodies off the streets. More than you feds ever did for us."

I took another step forward, my eyes narrowing. "You got a hand in the human side of it, too? How many missing girls are you keeping for yourself?"

The change was immediate. The smile vanished like it had never existed, and what replaced it wasn't just anger, it was fury deadly enough to start wars. His eyes went flat and cold, revealing a man who could kill without a thought.

"No." The word came out like a snap of a whip, final and absolute. "Never."

I didn't buy it. Dominic had too much to lose to be this ignorant of what was happening in his own backyard. No one in his position would let something like this slide unchecked.

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