Page 21 of Once a Villain
A disgruntled voice said: “How long are the Olivers going to keep us waiting?”
Joan padded silently to the edge of the building, peering around the wall.
A thrill of fear ran through her, with just a thread of relief,and she pulled back again, holding up both hands, fingers splayed.Ten guards, she mouthed to Aaron and Nick.And Ronan.
Nick drew a slow breath, expression calculating. Could he take out ten guards? Maybe. But they’d certainly draw Eleanor’s attention if he did that.
No... They had a plan. They needed to wait. On the bus, Aaron had said that Ronan would be put into a basement cell and left on his own for up to an hour while everyone waited for a Griffith to arrive. According to Aaron, there’d be no cameras in the hallway or in the cell itself—his father didn’t like his work to be recorded. That would be their chance.
Joan looked carefully around the corner again. Ronan and the guards were in a large graveled space at the end of the Oliver driveway. The five cars of the convoy were parked in a neat row, facing the house, and from the guards’ slumped postures, they were tired.
“I’m starving,” a guard said. “I missed dinner for this—going to need a feed on the way back.”
“Steak and kidney pudding,” a guard said longingly.
“I’ll knock you around with your own kidneys if you don’t shut up about food,” a third guard said. He had dark hair, closely cropped, and he stood next to Ronan, arms folded. Joan had the impression that he was the leader. The other guards were subtly canted toward him, as if waiting for his orders.
There was some space between Ronan and the lead guard. For a second, Joan wondered why Ronan hadn’t at least tried to run. And then she caught a golden gleam on his wrist. It was a tattoo of a winged lion—the handcuff of the Monster Court. Theguards could control his body with it.
The lead guard spoke again. “You know... they say there’s somethingwrongwith the head of the Oliver family. He chains human prisoners up in the basement here for any Oliver to use. It’s a slow execution.” His gaze on Ronan was taunting. “They say he does worse things.”
Joan felt sick. Edmund Oliver had once told Nick:I’ll keep you locked up in my house, available anytime an Oliver wants to travel.
She glanced back at Nick now. He shifted his weight. His expression was so familiar, so dangerous, that for a second Joan was sure she was looking at his old self. Nick had killed Edmund that night. He’d thrown a sword across a room into Edmund’s chest, accurate as a dart.
Joan had been afraid for months that Nick might revert to being the hero who’d once slaughtered her family. Right now, though, she almost wanted him to unleash himself. If any world needed a hero, it was this one.
“Iheard that the Olivers—” The guard was cut off by a door opening.
A man emerged from the house. It was Lucien Oliver—Edmund’s cousin and right-hand man. Joan recognized his long gloomy features, his raven hair. His suit was as beautiful as Aaron’s: black as ink and perfectly tailored to his narrow waist. She found herself touching her own side again, where Lucien’s blade had once sliced into her.
“I believe you have a prisoner for me?” Lucien said in his deep, dour voice.
“Uh... Yes...” The lead guard looked as intimidated asJoan felt. “We’re supposed to wait for Lord Oliver to take custody himself.”
“Lord Oliver assigned the task to me. If youwantto wait for him, though...”
The guard hesitated again. “No.”
Aaron had been pale after the guard’s words about Edmund, but now his mouth twitched slightly at the fear in the man’s voice. He might not have been on good terms with his father, but he’d always liked seeing Olivers on top. Joan understood a lot of things about Aaron, but not his steadfast loyalty toward his awful family.
The guard handed a pocket watch to Lucien. No, not a watch. The tool that controlled Ronan’s handcuff.
Lucien fiddled with it for a moment. “I never understand the mindset of traitors,” he said musingly.
“I’mnota traitor!” Ronan’s voice came out in such a terrified burst of pressure that Joan suspected the cuff had been forcing him into silence earlier; Lucien had changed a setting to allow him to speak. “Please!”
Lucien twirled a finger in a request for Ronan to turn toward the house. Ronan obeyed in a jerky, reluctant movement—the compelled motion of the cuff. Joan shuddered. She’d been cuffed like that before. She knew the terror of being under someone else’s physical control.
“Take me to the guardhouse!” Ronan said pleadingly. “Let me speak tothem!”
“Do you think we’re fools?” Lucien said to him softly. “I know you have allies everywhere. You think I’d allow you anywherenear a guardhouse? Nowcome!”
Ronan shuffled toward the door. Joan shoved down her own impatient desire to get to him now, before he was out of sight again. They needed to stick with the plan; they’d have easier access when he was in that basement cell. And she’d noted, too, the reference to allies. If they could just connect to them...
Ronan glanced around, as if trying to figure out a way to free himself. As he did, his eyes grazed over Joan, and then stopped. Joan had thought she was near invisible in the darkness, but his mouth dropped open. He’d seen her.
We’re going to help you, Joan mouthed to him, hoping he could make out the words.
