Page 14 of The Villain
“What did I say about repeating myself?” he warns.
I have to get up. I have to face him. To show him I’m not afraid.
Except that I am. I know what men like Cassian Trevino are capable of. As if I need a reminder, my thumb moves to the nub of my pinkie. It’s subconscious. Memory telling me to tread lightly. This man is dangerous.
I draw a deep breath in, and it takes all I have for me to rise to my feet. I keep my back to him. One step at a time. I can’t face him just yet. I’m looking down and I notice his feet are bare which for some reason is strange to see. Like it’s too human, too normal.
He pulls his hand away giving me just enough room to turn and face him, but I remain as I am, still holding onto the doorknob while I concentrate on breathing. He’s so close I feel the heat of his body at my back. Feel how much bigger than me he is.
I remind myself that I am collateral. He took me until my brother pays him back. I’ll be safe. He can’t hurt me.
But even as I think it, I know it’s bullshit. This man can do whatever he wants. He strolled into our house soldiers in tow. He didn’t sneak in. He stood in my father’s study like he owned the place. He drank his whiskey.
And besides, the little voice inside my head starts,what do you think will happen when Michael can’t pay him four million plus interest by the end of next week?
I ignore it. I can’t think about that now. Now, it’s me and him and I just need to survive this moment.
But I’m not defenseless, I remind myself. I am a Moretti. And I decided five years ago that I would not,would never, be a good little victim again.
Steeling my spine and setting my jaw, I turn to face my enemy.
I look up. My heart races. He must be almost a foot taller than me. He’s wearing a T-shirt and that tattoo I’d glimpsed earlier is more visible now. I don’t concentrate on that just yet. I make myself keep going, taking in the chiseled line of his jaw, a sharp contrast to full, soft lips. It helps that they’re set in a smirk. When I get to his eyes, I find they’re gleaming with amusement. If he was hideous, a beast, this would be so much easier. This though, how fucking beautiful he is? It’s just wrong.
I clear my throat, take in the wet, messy hair, the scent of soap similar to the aftershave I’d picked up from him earlier.
He took the time to shower before coming in here to get me. He’s relaxed, I guess.
My gaze shifts to his tattoo, I’d only glimpsed a small portion on the side of his neck earlier. Now, through the V-neck T-shirt, I see the head of a hooded man and what I can make out of the face peering out from beneath that hood is a skull.
The Grim Reaper.
Reaper.
That’s right. That’s what his nickname is. My father commented on it once and I must have cataloged it somewhere.
From the ink I can see, the tattoo must span both his chest and back.
He looks around me to the door. He tugs that hairpin I managed to jam in the lock out and holds it in the palm of his hand.
I stare down at it.
“What is this, the movies?” he asks.
I look up at him, but don’t bother answering. I think it’s rhetorical anyway.
“What was your plan? Break out of this roomwith a hairpin,” he starts, emphasizing that last part like it was possibly the dumbest thing anyone’s ever done. “And what, Allegra? Take on my men? Are you some sort of secret ninja warrior? Should I be worried, Little Moth?”
I clear my throat and decide to ignore that last bit. “What did you expect me to do? Sit here and play good little victim?” I ask instead.
“Actually, I’m hoping you’ll fight. Good little victim is no fun. I just didn’t know you were stupid.”
“I’m not stupid. And I’m no victim.”
“You’ve got to admit, it’s not exactly a smart move.”
“Get out of my way,” I snap. I try to scoot around him, but he sets his hand on the wall. When I try to go the other way, he cages me in, arms on either side of my head, his big body blocking me.
“I clipped your wings, Little Moth. You won’t fly away, not fromme.”
