Page 70 of Always A Villain
“It was after the first time I fucked you in the shower. You were so damn feisty.”
“You were being a prick,” I shoot back, but there's no real bite behind it.
“And you loved it.” He chuckles.
“I did.” The admission slips out, and his laughter fades, something deeper settling between us. “And I love this,” I add softly. “Being with you like this.”
Admitting even that much is terrifying, but I need him to understand. To know there’ssomething.
“Rory...”
I close my eyes, biting my lip. His words have shaken something loose, and now I'm on the verge of saying things I'm not sure I'm ready to admit... “Axe...I?—”
“You don't have to say anything.” His voice is a low rumble, cutting me off, but the tenderness in his tone is unmistakable.
My breath hitches, a lump forming in my throat.
His lips meet mine again, unhurried, like he’s memorizing me. When he finally pulls away, I release him reluctantly, letting him slip out of me. He rolls over and gathers me against him.
I trace the Sovereign brand on his chest, my fingers following the sharp, precise lines of the swords and skull. His tattoos cover so much—scars hidden beneath ink, marks that I’ve never asked about. But I know they hold the horrors of his childhood, the kind that shaped him into the man he is now.
My fingertips brush over the thick scar that snakes along the side of his neck, mostly hidden in the black ink, but impossible to miss once you know it’s there.
“How’d you get this?”
His muscles tense under my touch. He inhales slowly, measured.
“It was a long time ago. From my father.” His voice is flat, drained of all feeling.
I jolt upright, staring at him. “What?”
His jaw locks tight, eyes flickering with something…pain—realpain. The scar is brutal, jagged and deep. But the thought of his own father doing this? My stomach churns.
“What happened?” I ask softly, my fingers grazing the rough ridge of the scar. He flinches—just barely—but I catch it.
“It was one of his 'lessons.'” His voice is cold, bitter. “He wanted to mold me into the perfect killer.”
I swallow hard. “And this was supposed to teach you what, exactly?”
“To not fear death.” His breath hitches before he exhales sharply. “He said the best Sovereigns don’t fear dying. So to prove it, he slit my throat.”
I freeze.
“And he just...left you?”
“Left me to bleed out. Wanted to see if I’d beg. When I didn’t, he stitched me up.”
“Jesus, Axe. How old were you?”
“Sixteen. He did worse.”
“Worse than slitting your throat?”
His jaw tics, a muscle jumping near his temple.
“Yeah. A lot worse. The shit he did to Lucas and I…” he trails off. His fingers tighten on the sheets, knuckles going white. “But that was his final lesson. He died before he could inflict more. He met the end he deserved.”
“How?”
