Page 63 of Always A Villain
Tears threaten, but I blink them back.
Griffen, oblivious to the storm inside me, laughs. “Don’t let him fool you. Axe is a big baby,” he says, leaning back. “The biggest pussy you'll ever meet.” He shoots Axe a mischievous grin.
Axe glares, his eyes narrowing. “You cried like a bitch when I broke your arm,” he fires back, causing the nurse to stifle a laugh.
“You didn’t have to break my fucking arm, and I was nine,” Griffen mutters, arms crossed.
“You should’ve blocked it,” Axe snaps, not missing a beat.
“I wasn’t expecting you to throw a damn brick at me.”
Their back-and-forth is a welcome distraction, something to drown out the chaos in my head, if only for a moment.
I let out a long breath and rest my head against the wall, my body slowly giving in to the weight of the day. Axe’s grumbling, Griffen’s muttering, it all fades into white noise. I can feel the tremor in my hands as my muscles unwind, the fight draining out of me. I just need a minute to shut my eyes…
“I’m almost done,” the nurse says softly.
“I didn’t ask.” Axe’s voice is cold, the words biting. But I don’t open my eyes as sleep pulls me under, tugging at the edges of my consciousness.
I don’t even realize I’ve dozed off until I feel Axe’s hand shaking me gently.
“Rory, we’ve gotta go.”
I groan, trying to blink away the fog of sleep, but my eyelids feel like they’re made of lead. He kneels in front of me.
“Wake up, little siren.” I hate how his voice, that stupid, smooth, infuriating voice, stirs something inside me.
“I’m awake,” I mumble.
“C’mon.” Axe pulls me up from the chair with a firm but tender touch. My legs protest immediately, wobbly and weak, and before I know it, his arm is around my waist,steadying me.
“Easy, you're okay.”
I hate how much I lean into him, but my legs won’t stop shaking.
“Griffen, jacket. Now,” Axe snaps, and Griffen quickly removes his jacket, handing it over without a word. Axe wraps it around me, the warmth seeping into my freezing skin. I tug the sleeves over my hands, grateful for the extra layer. His arm stays on me, guiding us down the hall.
We step outside, and the cool night air slaps me in the face. I shiver harder, teeth practically chattering. He opens the door to the Range Rover, helping me in like I’m some delicate princess. I watch him talk briefly with Griffen, probably giving him orders or warnings—typical—and then he slides into the driver’s seat.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, pulling out of the parking lot.
“No,” I mutter, staring out the window. Food is the last thing on my mind, and my stomach is still doing somersaults.
“When was the last time you ate?”
I shrug. I don’t even know. Could’ve been yesterday, could’ve been three days ago. “I don’t remember,” I say, still avoiding his gaze.
“We're stopping for something.” His voice has that edge that says he’s made up his mind, and I know better than to argue. The car falls into silence, save for the hum of the engine. We veer off the main road, onto a smaller highway, passing gas stations and fast-food chains.
I catch him scanning the rear-view mirror, checking for people following us. The tension in his muscles is visible, like he’s one wrong move from snapping.
“What would you eat?” he asks again, and I shrug, not in the mood for the interrogation.
“I’m not sure,” I mumble, but he’s not letting it go.
“Okay. What’s your favorite food?” he pushes, eyes still glued to the road.
“Why does it matter?” I snap, more annoyed than I should be.
