Page 36 of The Heart of a Villain

Shaking my head at this and refusing to think about him, I take a shower in record time, deciding not to wash my hair, and dry myself off right before snagging a yellow dress and putting it on.

Slipping into white ballerina flats, I give my refection in the mirror one last glance before heading to the door and going out into the hallway.

Where instantly the scent of freshly baked waffles greets me, wafting into the air along with coffee, and my stomach grumbles, demanding food.

I hop down the stairs, going to the dining room, and my brows furrow when I hear a deep, unfamiliar, yet for some reason disgusting male voice. “Come here, Lavender.”

“No!” she screams, and I frown even harder at the sheer fear in her voice, quickly resuming my walk and stepping inside as the picture opens up to me.

A man who must be close to his sixties, tall and lean, with dark hair and green eyes, wearing a suit, looms over Lavender, who hides behind a curtain, trying to avoid him while he extends his hand toward her. “Come here, Lavender.” His voice drops in volume. “I’m really tired of this. You’re going to ruin everything.”

“Go! Don’t touch! Don’t touch!” she screams, moving to the side and trying to evade him, but he’s almost backed her into a corner. “Go! Go!”

My hackles rise at this exchange, and my instincts go on high alert from this, recognizing the terrified notes in her voice, which shouldn’t be so prominent in her condition.

“Come here, you little brat!” he spats, lunging after her, but she kicks him in the knee, making him bend over, and manages to run away. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she speeds up while I groan inwardly.

Will she choke me again?

“You fucking brat.” He spins around, wanting to catch her, but she escapes him once again.

Instead of attacking me, though, she grabs my shoulders from behind and hides, trembling so hard I hear her teeth chatter, and she whispers into my ear, “Bad man. Bad! Bad! Bad!”

I pat her on the hip without taking my gaze away from the man, who seems shocked when he looks at me, studying me as if I’m some bug under a microscope. I want to step away from his view, hating his invasive stare, yet I stay glued to the spot because of Lavender.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, but it doesn’t calm her down, as her trembling intensifies.

We face off with the man who probably would have shot me dead, judging by his expression, and he says, “You have your father’s eyes.” A beat passes. “Aileen Scott.” No surprise at the anger addressing me, I guess on this island no one is a fan of my dad.

I raise my chin high. “I have his character too.” He bristles at my reply, which makes me smirk. “And his resolve.”

“His confidence too.” The way he says it, though, it hardly serves as a compliment. “Two-faced piece of shit.”

Without thinking, I grab the apple nearby and throw it at him, smacking him with it on his chest, and his brows furrow, his face becoming red. “Watch your mouth, whoever the hell you are,” I scold.

Lavender giggles, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Come here!” he orders her again, taking a step toward us, and she freezes once more, her nails digging in so hard they will for sure leave bruises on my skin.

“Back off!” I warn him, not knowing who this person is and not really giving a shit either.

He’s clearly an asshole, and Lavender is terrified of him to the point of allowing herself to use me as her human shield from him.

Which speaks volumes, considering her hate toward me shown earlier.

“A captive will not order me around in my own house,” he hisses, and I frown, the resemblance clicking in my head, and my stomach drops. This monster of a man is… their father? The one who beat up their mother? “Why are you here, wearing all these clothes, anyway?” Rage practically vibrates from him, and I hear the footsteps, Jesse flying inside the dining room and gasping before spinning on her heels and running somewhere else. “You should be in the basement, naked and starved, beaten almost to death.”

Lavender weeps, pressing herself closer to me but at the same time pulling us backward the minute the man moves again.

He continues, “Begging for Rush to spare you while he films all your pain for your fucking father to see.” He clenches his hand into a fist while I mentally prepare for the attack, noticing a kitchen knife on the table nearby. “God knows he’d love nothing more. He wasn’t even kind to his own wife.”

“Spare me the speech, asshole,” I fire back at him, knowing how stupid his statement is.

My father loves his kids, but he’d never survive without my mom. She’s vitally important to him, and everyone knows it.

Be unkind to her?

He’d sooner cut off his hand than bring her any harm.

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