Page 54 of Man of Lies

The strength in his grip should have been reassuring, but there was an edge in his voice that bordered dangerously close to desperation.

I searched his expression, waiting for an explanation, but he didn’t offer one. He was pale beneath the dim glow of the neon sign. Sweat slicked his dark hair against his temples and gleamed in the hollow of his throat. He was making an effort tocontrol his breathing, but control only went so far when a man was actively bleeding out.

“Silas, you need a hospital.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. Not even a grimace, just a set jaw and a look in his eyes that dared me to argue. “Not happening.”

I didn’t take my thumb off the screen. Not yet. My pulse was pounding like a jackhammer at the back of my skull, my mind instinctively slotting pieces together faster than I could follow. A man might refuse medical attention out of pride, but not when a bullet hole was leaking through his shirt. He did it because he had something to hide.

And that slow, mercurial smile of Silas McKenna’s always had so much to hide.

I clenched my teeth, forcing down the urge to demand answers that wouldn’t come. Later. I could pick him apart later.

I let out a shaky breath. “You’re bleeding all over the fucking ground, and you’re telling me you’d rather sit here and wait to pass out than call an ambulance?”

“Not gonna pass out.”

That wasn’t an answer—and it was a damn lie. He was sagging against the brick, stiff-arming it to keep from collapsing. His fingers were curled in a white-knuckled fist over the wound, but blood was oozing between his fingers with every breath, black and wet-looking in the darkness.

“Silas.” His name came out deathly calm despite the fear crawling through me. “Why don’t you want the cops involved?”

A shadow passed across his face, barely a fraction of a second, but I caught it. It vanished instantly, so quickly I might’ve doubted it was ever there. But I wasn’t in the habit of doubting myself.

“You ever met a man like me who wanted cops in his business?” He tried to smirk, but it morphed into a pained twist. “I’ve had enough run-ins with badges. Can’t say any of them ever went in my favor. We just need to get out of here.”

Deflection, and a shit one at that, but I let it slide. All I cared about was getting him safe.

It felt like an eternity since the bullets started flying, but it must have been less than sixty seconds. The muffled strains of the jukebox threaded through the seams of the walls, and the low murmur of conversation drifted with it, barely audible. Even with the music, there was no way they hadn’t heard the gunshots, yet there was no rush of footsteps and no cry of alarm. Not even a whisper of curiosity.

A slow, creeping certainty settled over me. Gator had known before the first shot was fired, and he hadn’t even glanced out the window to see how it played out.

Silas tracked my gaze. “You think any of them are stupid enough to stick their heads out?” he asked, darkly amused despite the pain grinding his teeth together.

I twisted and swept the parking lot, thinking quickly. There weren’t many places to hide in a town like Devil’s Garden. Eden wasn’t an option. Gideon defended the foster kids, tooth and nail. I’d never bring danger to his door. Colton and Ben had enough to deal with, and even if they welcomed us with openarms, the last thing I needed was a state investigator asking questions Silas refused to answer.

That left one person.

Dominic.

“Can you ride?” I asked, tucking the phone into my pocket and climbing to my feet.

“Depends.” Silas studied me through half-lidded eyes. “You gonna let me drive?”

Before he could protest, I grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. He’d been on top of me, inside me, and still, he was heavier than I remembered. Pure muscle.

His breath stuttered, hissing through his teeth as I hooked an arm around his waist, high enough to avoid the soggy part of his shirt, and steered him toward my Ducati. Silas swayed with his first step and caught me by the shoulder, bracing himself as he shoved one leg over the pillion seat.

A shiver crept down my spine.

“Hold on tight,” I said grimly, twisting the throttle and tearing out of the parking lot.

The highway was a blur of dark asphalt, and the wind bit through my thin clothes, but I barely felt it. All I felt was the heat of him against my back and the slow, insidious damp seeping through the fabric of my shirt too quickly. There was no end to it.

I knew this bike like the back of my hand and was used to pushing it to the limit, but panic had me cornering harder than I should. His grip weakened, and he slumped, head dipping so lowI could feel his hot breath against the back of my neck. Gravity was pulling him down, and he didn’t have the strength to fight it.

Panic slithered under my ribs until I felt like I was about to puke. I tried to convince myself I’d survived worse, that I’d lost more, but it didn’t feel the same. This wasn’t about something I’d already lost—it was watching it slip away while I was still reaching for it. And I didn’t know how to stop it.

Unlike the rest of us, Dominic had exited Eden the moment Boone died. His crown jewel was Saxa Fracta, a sleek, upscale restaurant in the heart of Devil’s Garden. Imported tile, low lighting, and a wine list so expensive it could bankrupt a man with a wrong sip. It was a haven for the elite and untouchable, where deals were made over rare steak and aged whiskey at a steep price.

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