Page 108 of Always A Villain
“You’re everything to me. I can’t imagine life without you. Let me prove it to you. Every day. For the rest of our lives.” His lips trail down my neck. “A home, a family, a future. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Always.”
“A red-armored Urus,” I say, flashing a grin up at him.
“Already ordered.” He laughs, a rare, genuine smile showing his teeth. My heart stumbles over itself, and before I can catch my breath, he’s pulling out a small, black velvet box.
The lid flips open, displaying a diamond ring so stunning it almost blinds me. For a second, I can only stare as the stone catches the light, throwing tiny rainbows.
“Axe…” I gasp, glancing up at him.
“I figured you might appreciate a more traditional symbol of love,” he teases, sliding the ring onto my finger. “Better than another collar,” he adds with a smirk.
I roll my eyes, unable to stop the glare that creeps up, and he just chuckles before pulling me into another kiss.
Rory’s been back home for three weeks now, slowly healing and piecing herself together one day at a time. I can see the difference every morning—she’s stronger, that fire of hers blazing brighter. She's throwing herself into planning this wedding, but this time, it's different—it'sherchoice, and hell, I didn’t expect it to hit me like this.
The Sovereign’s been crawling all over Conrad’s world. They think he and Alicia ran off together, tracking them down like bloodhounds. What they dug up in Creed’s place? Enough dirt to bury Conrad a hundred times over. A public execution—Sovereign style.
I've played nice, acted as the dutiful General, keeping up appearances with Isaac and the others. But that fucking act ends now.
Today, I’m going after Conrad myself. Alone.
The arrogant motherfucking bastard has strutted around untouched for too long, but he made one critical mistake. Marrying that cunt, Alicia.
I have something no one else has—her phone. Every message, every calendar notification, every damn breath he took is laid out for me, and I finally fucking found him.
“Rory,” I call out, finding her curled up on the couch, Kane’s big head resting on her lap. She looks up, and for a second, everything else fades.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, the edge in my voice softening—only for her.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, smiling, calm as ever. “You?”
“Good,” I mutter as I lean in to kiss her, my hand grazing her cheek. “Will you be alright if I’m out for a bit?”
“Yeah.” Her fingers brush mine before I pull back. “I’ve got calls to make and more online shopping to get done.”
“Anything you want,” I say, leaning in again for another kiss. It’s damn near impossible to leave her here.
“And don’t forget those suit measurements,” she adds, all business this time, but there’s that spark. “The Italian shop needs them for alterations.”
“Yeah, I’ll send them.” I told her I have plenty of suits, but if she wants a custom one for the wedding, who am I to argue?
In the garage, I head straight for the hidden basement entrance. No one—not even Griff—needs to know what I’m doing. The Sovereign want Conrad alive, to parade him around and make an example out of him. But that’s not fucking happening.
He dies today.
By my hand.
I shove a few essentials into my pack—just the things I’ll need to make this bastard's end as brutal as possible. A couple of blades, enough rounds to wipe out half a city block if it comes to that, and a few personal favorites. Conrad thinks he’s invincible. Thinks he can scheme and slither his way out of everything. He’s about to learn what it means to feel true terror.
The bastard forced a divorce, issued a Death Bond on her, and handed her over to the Dolore like she was his to give.
He thought he could manipulate me, use her to keep me under his thumb. He has no idea just how wrong he was. I warned him. Told him I’d gut anyone who ever tried to take her from me. And now he’ll pay. Not with a bullet in the back or a quick drop from a noose. No, I’ll be carving the life out of him, brutally.
This isn’t for the Sovereign.
This is for her.
In the garage, I slide into my car and tear out onto the street, barely noticing the road beneath me. Hours don’t matter. I’d drive to the ends of the earth if it meant putting my hands around his throat. The drive gives me time to let every fucking lie he sold me slither through my mind. Every time he pretended to be a loving father, all while plotting behind the scenes.
