Page 25 of Heart of a Villain

“Stop.”

“No.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“Sayeda,” he cupped her chin and tilted her face up toward his, “talk to me. What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

If Julien had been listening, there was no telling what else he might have heard, and there was no telling what they already knew. It made little sense to be embarrassed about things outside of her control, but there was something about the possibility that they’d witnessed her at her most helpless.

“I don’t…” She squeezed her eyelids together. “Let’s not talk about it right now.”

His thumb brushed her jaw. “Open your eyes.”

She obliged him and was hit by the full height of his presence as if it was the first time. His hair wasn’t as long as he used to wear it in Morocco, but it wouldn’t matter if it scraped his scalp or the backs of his knees. This man was the culmination of everything she’d once adored. With any luck, they weren’t still connected enough for him to read on her face what she couldn’t say out loud:

I missed you, Adrían.

I missed you so much.

You can’t begin to fathom how much.

Lorenzo and Rafael—hell, all of Chamas—might have been strong enough to break her down to her barest parts. However, none of them would be strong enough to take away Adrían and everything he’d meant to her and her life.

Still, Wren seemed like a sweet girl.

And she was too weak to fight for him.

“You’re different,” he said. “Very different. Hardened, sharp, coarse. Full of rage and terrified at the same time.”

In a way, their roles were reversed.

When they first met, he’d been a product of the gang that had manufactured his adulthood persona. Trust had been nonexistent in his view of the world and was solely based on whether he and that person shared a common enemy.

She never trusted Chamas.

Regardless, they took a combat knife and tore a rift in her mind, body, and soul. She could only imagine her and Adrían lying together in the dark, his hands grazing over her bare skin, him unable to see the hidden scars that, to her, were as palpable as marbled skin.

“Everyone here will do everything in their power to ensure you never have to go back there,” he added. “If you like, Sweden can be your home now.”

It could be, especially if she learned she had a living blood relative who wasn’t trying to kidnap or kill her. In many ways, she needed Ayesha, and as unfair as that was to someone she’d only just met, it was the unfortunate truth. Now that they’d met, something was drawing her to Ayesha. Something that appeared to be trying to convince her that they couldn’t be apart ever again.

“A long time ago, I met a girl,” he continued. “I was twenty-four. I can’t recall her name at the moment,” she smacked him in the midsection, and he smiled, “but what I remember most about her are her eyes. I knew, if I ever saw those eyes again, she could be a snowflake in the winter; I would still be able to pick her out among the crystals.”

“And what was so special about her?” she asked.

“I was hardened, sharp, coarse.”

“So, she taught you not to be?”

He cradled the side of her face. “Technically. You see, I fell in love with her.”

She bit down on the side of her tongue to send back whatever emotional demon had tried to escape from her mouth. Smiling and laughing, she could no longer do, but pain was always lying in wait, ready to spew forth like vomit.

“I didn’t know it at the time,” he said, letting his hand fall. “I didn’t think love could coexist with the hate I felt. My heart was like charcoal, querida, so it wasn’t until years later that I realized everything she’d taught me. All that she’d showed me.”

“And how did that happen?”

“I let myself experience love, and I realized that what I’d felt for her was that and so much more.”

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