Page 176 of Kiss the Villain

Jesus fucking Christ.

I need to somehow redirect that energy like I’ve been doing these past few months. Whether with sex or chess or showering him with the affection he craves.

Those calm him, more than archery. He doesn’t carry a Taser anymore, but he always has a knife strapped to his calf or in his car.Always.He stopped wielding it at me, but it’s there.

A constant reminder of his own demons.

My phone vibrates and I perk up before I see the name of the head of my security, Simone.

I’d ignore her if not for the goddamn fuckup that just happened.

“Simone, why on earth did Gareth receive a damn video of my wedding?”

“I don’t know, Sir. He texted me to find out why I lied to him and I’m reporting back to you. What should I reply?”

All this time, Simone has been Nadine—Gareth’s PI. I knew he’d be digging into me, so I needed to have control over what he could and couldn’t know, so Simone cosplayed as a PI.

As an ex-Navy SEAL and a top-notch security leader, she’s absolutely hated that mission.

She didn’t say it out loud to me, but she’s been constantly complaining to Jethro, my second in command, who, in turn, wouldn’t stop nagging me.

Like my moms, Simone grew uncomfortable lying to Gareth, but I’m her boss, so she’s doing what I ask, including only giving him information I approve of.

“Don’t reply,” I say. “Tell Jethro to hack into his phone and trace who sent him the video.”

“Will do.” She pauses. “Also, Boss, you need to return as soon as possible. I received info that Grant will be sending men over. I’ll arrange pickup.”

“Not yet. I’ll call back in a bit.”

The last thing I need is my goddamn brother.

I jerk the car to a halt in front of the building and hurry to the apartment, cursing the elevator for taking too long.

When I arrive at my apartment, I pause at the entrance, a metallic scent hitting my nostrils.

Blood.

It’s everywhere.

Dark, sticky droplets dot the floor, trailing toward the hallway. My heart pounds, each step making the sight more real. I follow the trail, the crimson stain smeared across the wood, pooling in the center of the room, a red mess that stands out against the cold, clean space.

My stomach drops when I see Gareth’s bloody knife lying on the floor.

Moka steps in the blood, her paws leaving prints wherever she goes. She meows softly, bumping against me, but I’m shaking.

Hehurthimself.

Was that slashing the sound of his knife in his own fucking skin?

I’ve never seen him do that, and I studied his body—all of it. There was no sign of self-harm. I know he bit his finger until it bled a couple of times, but I didn’t think any more of it.

I should have. I really should’ve considered he could be self-destructive.

That’s a lot of blood.

On the counter, the stool, the floor.

Fucking fuck!

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