Page 74 of Always A Villain
I wrap my arms around Rory, feeling the tremors straining her body.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Kane will be alright.”
Her eyes flick to where he lies across the room, bleeding.
“I’ll handle it.” My fingers run through her hair, trying—failing—to calm her.
“He’s hurt bad,” she whispers.
“He’s a fighter. He’ll pull through.”
My mind’s a storm of calculations, running through every possibility of how the breach happened.
Heavy footsteps thud through the bloodstained silence. Griffen. His face says it all before he even opens his mouth—grim, steeled, fucking furious.
“Every single one’s dead,” he confirms.
“You’re sure?”
He nods. “Counted the bodies—twelve in total.”
“Twelve.” I echo the number, the taste bitter on my tongue. “They should’ve sent more.”
I turn back to Rory. Keeping her safe comes first—always. “We’ll crash in the guest house tonight. It’s safer.”
Griffen’s gaze flicks to her. “You good, doll?”
She gives him a shaky nod, and I crouch beside Kane. His wound is deep, but survivable. If he’s lucky, he won’t need surgery.
“We’re gonna get you some help, buddy.”
He lets out a low whine, but his eyes stay locked on Rory.Even hurt, the bastard’s still watching her back. Loyal to the last breath.
Rory swallows hard. “He’s really going to be alright? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll call a vet once we’re out of here.” I squeeze her hand and lead her upstairs. Kane limps after us, determined, dragging himself through the wreckage.
The house is a fucking war zone—blood streaking the walls, spent shell casings glinting under the dim light, death heavy and present in the air.
A fucking message.
We reach the bedroom. I kick open the door, checking every shadow, every blind spot before letting her in. She moves fast, yanking open the closet, pulling out a duffel bag, stuffing clothes inside with frantic hands.
Grabbing her laptop and her phone, I toss them into the bag without a word.
This was a warning.
The Dolore won’t stop. Not until I’m dead.
And if I fuck this up?
Rory’s going to pay the price.
“How long do you think we’ll be gone?”
I glance at her, shoving more of her things into the bag. “Long enough. Just pack what you need,” I grunt, throwing more clothes in. I’ve been reckless, thinking I could keep her safe while they’re out there hunting. I should’ve known better.
We head downstairs and enter the kitchen. I grab a bottle of vodka—one of the few things that might dull the edge. I throw it into the bag, grabbing more supplies, but my focus keeps drifting back to Rory.
