Page 2 of Villainous
They head up to the elevator, and I wait until the metal door closes before getting out of the vehicle. Both of my bodyguards trail beside me as I march to the elevator. I know exactly where she lives. Once the elevator stops, we step out and stroll slowly to the apartment with the number forty-five on the steel door.
“Pick the lock,” I murmur to Vito.
He does what I say, and the heavy door cracks open. Maya’s giggles filter from the living room. Fuck, I miss the way she used to giggle. The sound is appealing, a siren calling to me, hypnotic and captivating. Once we’re inside, I glance around. This place is…so her. A pile of black clothes is on the floor, and a hint of lavender flirts with my nostrils. Pictures of her and a young boy with auburn-reddish hair and icicle-blue eyes hang on the dark walls. As I clamp my eyes shut, I inhale deeply, then peel them open. It’s like stepping into a time machine, and memories of us dating barge through my mind. We peek around the corner, and she has her toned legs draped over his lap.
Up close, she’s as pretty as an angel. Her skin is pale but smooth, and her eyes are the color of chocolate. But they’re dull, and her smile is as fake as a blow-up doll. She doesn’t seem as happy as she was with me. But looks can be deceiving. People hide their true character so no one will judge them.
“I can’t wait until our trip to Holland, sweetheart. I can’t wait for you to meet my family,” Chuck promises against her forehead.
Though I try to remain calm, blood rushes to my ears, and my hands shake while I swallow thickly. Lifting my head up high, I dust off my expensive, dark suit jacket. “Maya, what the fuck are you doing?”
Her face pales as if she saw a ghost, and she stands up immediately, her whole body rigid. She stands behind her soon-to-be-dead boyfriend and uses him as a shield. Maya used to be fierce; now, she hides behind this dumbass.
I don’t like the new Maya, and I want the old one back.
We stare at each other for several minutes, drinking each other in. She studies my face as if she’s trying to figure out what changed between us. The air is sucked from the room, and the temperature becomes scalding hot. My heart pounds so hard that I can hear it through my ears, and my palms dampen, but I keep them by my sides.
What the hell are you doing to me, Maya Devoy? Why do you still have this hold on me? Why do I still crave you after all these years?
“What the fuck? How did you find me?” Her voice is so mature and lighter than I remember, and hearing it makes my anxiety spike.
Chuck glares at me. “Terry, sweetheart. Who is this, and who is Maya?”
Pain stabs my chest. This pisses me off. When I envisioned seeing her, she would at least be delighted to see me. I always assumed that she left because something happened to her mother. Maybe she couldn’t take me being a bastard child of a mobster, or it got back to her what my mother was doing to me while we were together. I’ve been living in a fantasy world. She never loved me the way I loved her.
I yank out my Glock from my holster, aiming it at his forehead, and he places his hands in the air.
Normally, I’d think of a way to kill him creatively. Killing is an art and a skill, a talent that must not be wasted.
Fear pebbles in his eyes. It’s the type of fear I crave right before I take someone’s life. Their mind conjures up thoughts to get them out of this situation. Survival mode kicks in, and it’s beautiful, like a sunset over the ocean. I check out this bastard. He’s wearing a cheap-ass suit, and he’s lanky and thin. He couldn’t bust a grape. I could take him out in two seconds.
“Her fiancé,” I answer. I don’t know what made me call her that or why I’m holding on to a little hope that she might still be in love with me. Pausing for several seconds, I glare at Maya. “Who gave you permission to fuck another man? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”
She’s the reason I couldn’t move on and be with someone else. I can’t even connect with any other woman.
She shakes her head, and her gaze lands on Chuck. “He’s not my fiancé.” She rolls her eyes. “I haven’t seen you in ten years. I don’t belong to you.”
The way she’s looking at Chuck with unconditional love and yearning makes me want to go apeshit on her.
“I beg to fucking differ,” I snap.
“Is your name even Terry?” Chuck demands.
Her cheeks turn rosy red, and she hangs her head low. “No, it’s Maya Devoy.”
His eyes study my tattoos and expensive suit. “How did you get caught up with this thug?”
“It’s a long story, and I can’t tell you, but after all this, I hope we can be together. We can move away from here like you wanted and be a happy family,” she suggests.
I can’t stand watching her continue to break my heart bit by bit and clarify that she doesn’t want me anymore. It doesn’t matter because she’s leaving with me whether she likes it or not.
Chuck tries to reach for something under the cream cushion of the couch.
“You move an inch and I’ll ruin your face,” I taunt.
“Do what he says,” Maya warns, clinging to him for dear life.
I tuck my Glock back into my holster, march up to her, and yank down her leather pants.
