Page 3 of Always A Villain
Dom rushes over, guilt written all over his face.
“Rory, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he says, his hand trembling as it hovers near my shoulder. I’m still in Axe’s lap, his arms locked around me.
“Dominic,” Axe growls, venom dripping from every word. “Back the fuck up. NOW.”
Dom steps back, hands raised. “Axel, I didn’t mean—” he stammers, face turning pale.
“This is your fault.” Axe’s eyes narrow. “That net wassupposed to stop her fall.”
Dom flinches, his voice shaking. “It’s...it’s a new stage design. I didn’t know?—”
“Axe,” I cut in quietly. “The netdidcatch me. It’s not his fault.”
Jaw clenched tight, his dark eyes briefly snap to mine before flicking back up to Dom. “Get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Sight.” His voice is unnervingly calm.“Now.”
Dom doesn’t wait for another chance; he backs away. The rest of the Sirens are frozen, watching the scene unfold.
“We need to clean the wound,” he says, his voice dropping back into his usual cold tone.
Lana appears at my side, fumbling with a first aid kit. She hands it to Axe, who takes it without a glance, all his focus on me. He rummages through the kit, pulling out gauze like he’s done this a thousand times.
“Rory, tilt your head back.”
I do as he says, hating how I’m leaning into his touch. His fingers cradle the back of my head, careful, uncharacteristically soft. And damn it, I sink deeper into him, hating every second.
“You need stitches.” His fingers graze the wound, sending a dull throb through my skull. Tearing open a packet with his teeth, he applies whatever it is to the gash on my head. The cold stings, and I suck in a breath.
“Ow.” The sharp pain cuts through the fog in my head. “That hurts.”
“Hold still,” he murmurs as he wraps the bandage around my head.
In the background, Dom’s voice rings out. “Alright,everyone, back to the dressing rooms. We're done for today.”
“But what about Rory?” Trisha pipes up.
“Go,” Dom snaps, his voice tight with stress. There’s a moment of hesitation, but the footsteps fade, leaving the auditorium eerily quiet.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” Axe says. He’s still holding me, but his face is devoid of emotion. Typical. Whatever I thought I saw earlier—fear, worry,something—it’s gone now. Maybe it was never there, just something my scrambled brain made up to comfort itself.
Because Axe doesn’t do worry. He doesn’t do panic. And if he ever did…it wouldn’t be for me. He made that obvious last night.
“I can walk. Put me down,” I mutter, more stubbornness than strength.
He stands up with me in his arms like I weigh nothing. “Don’t argue.” There’s a finality in his demand that makes my blood boil. He’s telling me what to do, as usual.
I sigh, the pain beating out my pride.
We push through the doors, the cool air biting at my skin as he carries me to his car. I hate how easily he takes control, and even more how a part of me—small but undeniable—wants to let him.
Ten stitches later, she’s passed out in the passenger seat.
She looks…calm. The doc gave her something strong for the pain, and now it’s doing its job. Her dark lashes brush against her pale skin, lips barely parted, the bandage hiding the gash on her head.
Fucking hell.
I watched her fall. Watched it happen, and I froze. Me. Frozen. Like some useless fucking kid again. One second, she’s there. The next, she’s on the ground, broken and bleeding. And I just stood there, a goddamn statue. The sickening sound of her body hitting the floor still echoes in my skull, tearing through me and trying to gut me from the inside out.
It felt like…Lucas.
