Page 2 of Always A Villain
Why do you care?
He ignores it.
The ground still spins beneath me, and nausea churns in my stomach.
“I’m fine,” I slur. His hands are everywhere, running down my legs and arms. “The net caught me. I’m fine,” I repeat, desperately trying to convince myself. But then I feel hands lifting me, and suddenly, I’m against his chest.
A rush of conflicting emotions surges through me at his touch. I want to bolt, to put as much distance betweenus as possible, and at the same time, I crave the warmth and strength of his arms.
“Axe, I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not,” he snarls, his chest heaving. “What the fuck was that? You could’ve been killed!” Anger radiates off him, and I know it’s not concern for me—just anger that histoyalmost got destroyed.
“Put me down,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”
He tightens his grip, and I want to slap his stupid face.
“Your fucking precioustoycan walk. You don’t give a shit about me, anyway.”
“Stop talking.”
“Let. Me. Go.” I struggle against him, pushing at his chest with what little strength I have. “Why are you even here?” My movements are sluggish, and the pain flares, forcing a whimper from my lips.
“Your practice ran late.”
“Here.” Trisha rushes over with an ice pack.
“Put it on the back of her head,” he snaps.
Trisha nods, her eyes wide with fear as she complies.
“I’m okay,” I reassure her, casting another glare at him.
She offers a weak smile, clearly uncomfortable.
“Rory, donottest me. Stop arguing.”
Leaning in, he rests his forehead on mine, and for a split second, I almost feel something warm—tender. “Please, Rory.” His pleading tone is a surprise, and I hate how it wraps around my chest, squeezing. I missed him while he was gone, and that stings. He made it clear I’m nothing to him.
“Please what, Axe?” The words burst out before I can swallow them down. “I don’t want—” I’m cut off by his lipscrashing down on mine.What the hell?I gasp, and he takes advantage of my surprise, his tongue slipping into my mouth. Head spinning, my body responds despite the pain.
The contradiction of his earlier words stabs at me; last night, he said he never cared. Yet now, he’s kissing me like I’m everything. It’s maddening.
“Rory,” he breathes against my lips before he kisses me again, slower. “Listen to me. If you’re seriously hurt, I will slaughter every person in this building.” His thumb brushes along my cheekbone.
“You’d kill people over a toy?”
“I’ve killed for less.” His fingers curl tighter around my jaw. “And you, little siren, are my favorite fucking toy.”
He pulls away slightly, scanning me. “Now, tell me where it hurts.”
“Everywhere,” I grumble, defeated.
“Where does it hurt the most?”
“My head,” I reply, reaching back to feel the sticky warmth of blood. “The left side.”
Eyes blazing, he turns to the crowd of dancers. “Someone bring me a first aid kit. Now!”
