Page 227 of Kiss the Villain

“Let her go, Grant.” My voice is steady, calm, the finger on my trigger unwavering. “It’s the least you can do after your shitty timing.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t order his men to detain me or shoot.

But his eyes—those silver eyes that are identical to mine—glint with something dangerous, something calculated.

All I can see is Harrod.

The resemblance is uncanny. Same cold stare. Same dark hair. Similar facial features.

And it disgusts me.

Grant isn’t just a carbon copy of our father—heishim, to the very core.

And we all know how much I loathe that man.

Looking at Grant makes my blood boil, those same murderous thoughts bubbling to the surface, thoughts I harbored for Harrod.

Funny thing is, I much prefer Grant’s son over him.

Though, I’d have preferred a cute little niece instead.

But anyway.

“You’re not going to shoot me?” I ask, leaning back slightly.

“I don’t like killing my family members,” Grant replies evenly, his calm exterior betraying the storm brewing underneath. “You know that.”

“Oh, so this is just to scare me a little? You sure love theatrics. Must be because you were never loved. Your mom abandoned you, and I ranked first on Dad’s list.”

I’m provoking him. Need to wipe that calm off his face and keep him talking—anything to buy me more time.

Jethro and Gareth should’ve reached the open water by now. They have to be out of Grant’s reach before he realizes what’s happening.

Grant’s face contorts, his mask of composure slipping just a fraction. “I can always make an exception for you.”

“Actually, you should’ve done that a long time ago, back when your mom died. If you’d killed Dad then, he wouldn’t have forced Mom into marriage, and I wouldn’t exist. You could’ve been king of the world. But no, you craved his approval too much to come up with that plan, didn’t you?”

I glance at my watch. Five more minutes. Maybe ten—to be safe.

“Not all of us engage in patricide, Kayden.” His words are laced with something deeper than hatred.

Rage.

So he’s known all along. My grin widens. “You knew?”

“That you’d been poisoning him? Slowly, methodically? Of course I knew. Though by the time I figured it out, it was too late.” He exhales sharply, his breath heavy with bitterness. “I even told him you were killing him. You know what he said?”

“That he didn’t believe you because he loved me too much?”

Grant’s laugh is low, cold. “He said, ‘At least he has the balls to.’”

Well, that’s one way to look at it. Dear old Dad always did admire my mind. He loved that I wasn’t squeamish, that I didn’t flinch when taking a life, and that I used everything to my advantage—including my marriage.

Harrod always said I reminded him of himself. He was wrong. I’d never be the disgusting abuser he was.

Still, I’m a little bummed he wasn’t hurt by my betrayal. I wanted him to die bitter and broken, not resigned.

“Don’t be jealous you were never his favorite.” I sit on the step across from Grant, resting the rifle on the ground. Blood smears the cigarette I pull from my pocket. “Lighter?”

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