Page 2 of The Villain's Beloved (The Villain's Duet 2)

He merely lifted a brow in a silent yet extremely fucking loud‘no.’

“Of course not,” I huffed and leaned back in the chair. “Do you know how long they’ll be? My ass is getting numb.”

No answer.

“Can I at least go to my room and take a nap while these two catch up?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Moore. But Mr. Russo and Mr. Mariano made it clear you are to remain right here.”

I scoffed. “You make it sound like these two men own me. Just,” I held up a hand, locking my gaze with his, “let it be known that even though I’m here under questionable and extremely odd circumstances, I am still my own person. I still make my own decisions whether there are two men behind that goddamn door, discussing God knows what.” I stood, my spine straightened and feet firmly on the ground, yet nowhere near to looking James in the eye. “I am a person, goddammit. And I am allowed to get my ass off this uncomfortable chair and go take a nap if I want to.”

Determination clung to my every word, my squared shoulders broad with confidence. But James remained unmoved, glancing at me like a rottweiler would a chihuahua. It took one facial expression from him to tell me exactly what I was to him.

Insignificant.

Inconsequential.

Small.

My shoulders slumped, and I glanced down, defeated. “Ugh, I’m nothing but a goldfish in this sea of sharks, aren’t I?” I sat back down in the chair, massaging my temple with my thumb. “It’s just a matter of time before I get chewed up.”

James shrugged. But he might as well have said,“Yes, you are nothing but fish bait dangling from a little hook waiting to be eaten.”

So many nights I spent staring at the ceiling of my crummy apartment, wishing that somehow, somewhere, there’d bemorewaiting for me. More happiness. More love. More life.

Within that space between when my mom died and Elijah stormed in, days were nothing more than this tiring war of survival from sunup to sundown. My life was one constant struggle to get from one moment to the next without sinking, without drowning. And what made it worse were all those thoughts of wasting away with no one out there to fight for me, to help me, to not let me lose myself.

People always said nothing was as scary as death. But I disagreed. There was nothing more terrifying than the kind of loneliness that could make you disappear without another soul even noticing you’re gone. There would be nothing left of you. No memories. No thoughts. Not even the tiny space you occupied in this world. It would be as if you never existed. Never laughed. Never loved.

Nothing was worse than the fear of not leaving a mark.

If I had to die today, would my absence leave a scar on Elijah’s heart forever? Or would it simply ache for a moment, only to be gone the next?

I let out a breath, rubbing my palm across my forehead. I was never like this. Never thought of having the kind of influence that would handicap someone else. A person who would rather be a source of another’s pain than a distant memory that would eventually fade forever.

The selfish bitch in me preferred the scar—the disfigurement of what once was an oozing open wound. But I wanted him to feel something for me. Something intense. Feral. Like I felt for him. I craved to be his blessing and his curse.

2

The door clicked closedbehind me, and I watched as Saint strolled toward his desk, the Italian fabric of his suit swooshing with every step. It was an important lesson I learned early on from my mentor. The man who saved me. Never take your eyes off a potential threat, no matter who it might be. It was within that split second of letting your guard down that a friend could turn into a foe.

He leaned back against the desk, gaze pinned on me. Two predators confined into one tiny space salivating for a fight.

I crossed my arms. “This unscheduled stop of yours wasn’t part of the plan.”

“And neither was the girl.”

“She was a complication I didn’t anticipate.”

“Wasn’t she?”

He studied me, eyes dark with suspicion while the silence pulsed with tension that could snap at any second.

Saint placed his hands on the edge of the desk, finger tapping on the wood. “I know who she is.”

“I have no doubt that you do.”

“Why her?”

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