Page 29 of Always A Villain
“What if I am?” I mutter, glaring at him. “Doesn’t mean you’re not fucking her.”
He rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Axe. After everything we’ve been through, you think I’m that stupid? Do you really think I’d go behind your back and fuck Rory?”
I study his face, searching for any sign of a lie. There’s none, just raw annoyance.
“I’m not fucking her,” he repeats. “But I do talk to her—more than you do.”
“I’m not great at talking.”
“Oh, I know. You listen with your dick, not your ears.”
“That’s not true.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Really? When’s the last time you talked to a woman about something besides sex or death?”
“Fuck you,” I spit, and he just shakes his head and walks back inside, leaving me in the cold, stewing.
How the hell did I end up here? A few weeks ago, I only cared about my next kill. Now I’m outside some fuckingbirthday party—Conrad’s, of all fucking people—getting a lecture from Griffen. It’s a joke—a goddamn joke.
I shouldn’t care. I never did before. But now I want to know everything about her—her secrets, her fears, what makes her laugh, what pisses her off.
I know how to make her come, but not her biggest fear. I can make her scream, but I don’t know her favorite song. I can make her moan, but I don’t know her favorite food.
And it’s driving me insane.
She only really talks to me when I’m hiding behind that damn mask. Meanwhile, I’m obsessed with knowing her favorite things. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Opting to stay outside for a while, I move down the alley. The distant pulse of music fades, replaced by cold night air. But the quiet’s shattered when I spot two men stepping out a side door, dragging Rory between them.
“Let go of me, you fucking assholes!” She thrashes, but one of them holds on, the other reaching out to stroke her cheek.
“Don’t be rude,” the drunk bastard slurs. “We don’t like being ghosted after all the fun we had.”
I see red. Blood rushes in my veins, every muscle primed to strike. They’re her old clients, no question—and they just signed their death warrants.
“Get your fucking hands off my wife,” I snarl, my voice low and lethal.
They whirl around, surprise flickering before giving way to smug amusement. Rory’s wide-eyed, cheeks flushed with fear and a hint of relief.
“Your wife?” the first one scoffs.
“I won’t repeat myself,” I growl, stepping in, fists twitching to unleash hell.
“Huh, did you know your wife is a?—”
I slam the handle of my Glock into his nose, feeling the crack of bone. Blood sprays, and I don’t stop. I smash him again and again, bones crunching under each blow until he collapses at my feet.
The second guy pales as my eyes meet his. I drive a brutal kick into his knee, the joint snapping with a satisfying pop.
“FUCK!” he screams, collapsing. Towering over him, I flip the Glock in my hand, grabbing him by the throat and dragging him upright. He sputters, eyes flooding with terror.
“Apologize.” I squeeze until I feel his pulse hammer. “Apologize to my wife.”
“I’m…sorry,” he chokes out.
I slam him against the alley wall, the impact rattling up my arm. Then I crack the butt of my Glock across his skull, and he crumples, blood pooling on the ground around my shoes.
I glance at Rory. She’s breathing hard, eyes wide, lips parted, leaning against the wall. I’ll finish those bastards off once she’s inside—slit their throats, dump their bodies.
