Page 52 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

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“My God, Elijah.”

I had no words after what he had just told me. The entire time I sat there listening to him, watching his expression go from angered to sad and heartbroken, was painful to witness. There was no way I could have imagined what it had to be like for him as a boy. Apart from never knowing my father, my childhood was good. Great, even. My mom and I didn’t have a lot of money, but we had each other. We had love. There wasn’t a day in my life when I felt neglected or unloved. I never went to bed with an empty stomach or a broken heart.

Elijah swallowed his last mouthful of whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. His gaze drifted everywhere but at me, actively avoiding eye contact. It was the first glimpse of vulnerability I had seen in him. The first time he was something other than a hardened man, but rather a man who felt. Who hurt. Who carried around a past heavy enough to cripple even the strongest. I cleared my throat. “Did you ever find her? Figured out what happened to Ellie?”

His gaze was fixed on the empty glass, swirling the ice around and around. “No,” he answered abruptly and poured himself another drink. “I never found her.”

My chest constricted. “Do you think Roland really—”

“I don’t know. And I don’t know which is worse—not knowing whether she’s alive, or knowing that she’s dead.” There was a faraway look in his cognac eyes, as if his thoughts drifted back to the past, to a memory of the little sister he lost yet wasn’t sure how.

“You know,” his finger played along the rim of his glass, “after listening to my story, your first question was about something that affected me rather than searching for an answer that affected you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t ask me who that man was. The man in the beret. The man who gave me the means to kill my own mother.”

Unsettled, I shifted in my seat. “I think your suffering as a child trumps my need for answers as an adult.”

“I don’t need your pity.” His words were laced with poison. “I didn’t tell you the pathetic story of my past so you can pity me.”

“I’m not—”

“I merely told you so you could understand what kind of debt I owe your grandfather. I owe him my fucking life. Everything I am today is because of him. And you know what? He never pitied me.” He tapped a finger on the table. “Not once. We walked out of that fucking hell-house that night and never spoke about it again.”

“So, my suspicions are correct. The man who helped you is my grandfather.”

He leaned forward, leveling me with his intense stare, dark eyebrows furrowed, not saying a word.

“And now you’re repaying that debt by what? Kidnapping me?”

“By keeping you safe.”

“And that’s why you stalked me.”

He raised a brow. “Observed.”

“Whatever you want to call it.” I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table, silver cutlery glinting under the dim light.

“I had to make sure you were protected.”

My insides tightened, the thought of him protecting me lighting a flicker of a flame inside my belly. “So, you’re a hitman turned babysitter, then?”

He snickered. “If that’s the way you choose to see it. No one knows my connection with your grandfather, which makes it easy for me to play both fields. To everyone else, I am The Musician—a faceless hitman with a hefty price tag and a one-hundred-percent success rate.”

“A one-hundred-percent success rate?” I slanted a brow. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I’ve never missed a target. Ever.”

Sweat beaded down my back even though the air was far from warm. My thoughts raced with images of him playing his role as The Musician, killing people without blinking. It scared me, reminded me of how easy it was for him to plant a bullet in Josh’s skull. But it also made this unexplainable attraction I felt toward him more…distorted. What kind of woman was I for being attracted to a killer? Why would I imagine having his hands all over my body when I knew those hands carried the blood of so many?

I cleared my throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Okay. So, we’re out here hiding on a yacht because the fucking mafia is after me?”

His lips pursed, his eyes searching my face. “In a nutshell, yes. Until recently, your grandfather’s identity was managed to be kept secret.”

“Until recently,” I muttered in a mocking tone. “Jesus.” I closed my eyes, rolling my head from side to side, practically feeling my muscles getting knotted by the second. “God, it feels like I’m trapped in some Al Capone movie, and I have no idea why I’m a part of all this. It sounds so…” I struggled to find the words, “so…not like me. Like it doesn’t fit into my mundane life. Can I have more wine?” I held up the empty bottle. “James. Big, scary-looking bodyguard guy.” I glanced around, James nowhere in sight. “Where is he? I need a whole crate of these bottles right about now.”

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