Page 16 of The Villain
Guess he didn’t expect a missing finger.
Heat burns my face. Why this shames me I have never understood. It’s not like I had any control over what happened. I wait for his reaction. But he doesn’t react. Instead, he cuffs my wrist then stands to his full height and glowers down at me.
The door opens.
“Cassian?” a man asks, Enzo I guess. Then he gets a look at the blood. “Holy shit! What the fuck…” he trails off and I don’t even look over at him because I can’t drag my eyes from Cassian’s. From the insane, crazed look inside them.
“I’m fine. Get some bandages,” Cassian says without looking away from me. “You took that to heart, didn’t you?” he asks, but I don’t know what he’s talking about. He drags me toward the post at the foot of the bedand draws my arms over my head to hook the cuffs before he releases me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to pull free when he steps away.
“That whole I like a little fight,” he says more quietly, properly looking down at his wound now as Enzo returns. He flips a switch and lights go on. Cassian drops heavily into a chair and glares at me. Enzo rushes to his side.
“I don’t think she hit anything vital,” Cassian says.
Enzo rips Cassian’s bloody shirt to look at the wound. Cassian reaches back to tug the tatters of it over his head, and I watch the muscles work, his stomach tensing as he braces against the pain of the wound, chest and biceps rippling with the movement. He tosses the shirt to the floor, and I stare because this is not what normal men look like. He’s all hard muscle, scarred, inked skin. And that ink? I was right. A huge Grim Reaper holding not a sickle, but a clock in his hand. His skull face is partially hidden beneath the hood, and those black, bottomless eyes should be because I shudder to see them. When I lift my gaze to Cassian’s, I find him watching me, his expression curious, intent.
I jut my chin and look away. Is he thinking up my punishment? I may be safe for the moment, but when Enzo puts him back together, there’s going to be payback. I know that much.
“I’m going to pull it out,” Enzo says, wrapping his hand around the hilt of the letter opener. “Ready?”
“Do it.” Cassian grits his teeth. Enzo blocks my vision when he shifts his position to pull the makeshift daggerout. I see the moment he does it on Cassian’s face and there’s a part of me, the stupid part, that winces, feeling guilty or sorry or some bullshit he doesn’t deserve.
“Okay?” Enzo asks.
“Fine,” Cassian groans. He’s not fine.
“I need to clean it, but I’ll be able to glue it shut. Not gonna lie though, it’s going to hurt.”
Enzo begins to gather supplies. Cassian glances down at the spot and I follow his gaze. The letter opener wasn’t long, just about two inches maybe and half an inch wide, but it did some damage. Slowed him down a little. Hurt him.
Mostly, though, it pissed him off.
“Good,” Cassian tells Enzo, then shifts his gaze to meet mine. “It’ll be a good reminder. Do what you need to do.”
My heart begins to slow, my breath calmer now. My arms are falling asleep, though, as blood drains. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a huge antique mirror leaning against the far wall and see what that ripping sound was, my blouse. It’s hanging open, only the two bottom buttons somehow still in place. My pants are fine, but my shoes are gone. Lost in battle. My hair is a wild, dark mess around my head, but I raise my chin and I smile.
Looking at myself, it’s not a scared little girl I see. It’s not a good little victim. It’s the face of a fighter. A survivor. And that’s what I hold on to when I return my gaze to Cassian’s and lock eyes as Enzo cleans his wound. I hold his gaze and watch him grit his teeth and clench his jaw against the pain and in his eyes, I readhis promise. His payback. It’s coming. He’ll make me pay for my rebellion. Will I lose another finger tonight? I feel a familiar panic building, but I force myself to breathe. To stay calm. I tell myself if I had the chance, I’d do it again, exactly the same. I’ll fight him every step of the way. If it’s a fighter he wanted, well, then lucky him, because I meant what I said. I will never again play good little victim.
4
CASSIAN
Twenty minutes later, Allegra is still bound to one of the posts at the foot of my bed as I walk out of the closet, pulling a fresh shirt on over my jeans. The sweats and T-shirt are ruined.
Her eyes follow me, jaw jutted out stubbornly as I make my way to where my phone still lies on the dresser. I pick it up, glancing at her hands, seeing where the missing finger should be. I text Angelo:
Me: I want to know everything about Allegra Moretti.
Angelo sends me a thumbs up emoji, and I set my phone aside before moving to stand before her, just close enough to make it uncomfortable.
Enzo comes back in after washing his hands. He glances at us.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Want me to take her tothe crypt?” he asks.
Her face betrays her panic. She shifts wide eyes to Enzo momentarily before returning them to me.
