Page 61 of The Heart of a Villain

Ironically, no one understands him better right now than me.

Just as I despise myself for being powerless against my emotions toward him, he hates himself for feeling the same, as it goes against his plans.

I guess even villains have hearts craving more, even if said more will never be theirs.

“So your father was like mine?”

“No. My father must have been worse, if what Lachlan accused him of is true. And besides, Father beat Mom all the time. At the end, I can’t even remember her body without bruises.”

I tighten the lapels of the jacket, mainly due to the coldness of his words and compassion toward a woman who deserved better.

“So yeah, whatever Lachlan dished out to him, the fucker deserved it.”

What?

“I don’t understand.” He almost sounds as if he has no issue with Dad killing his father!

Why all this, then?

He gulps more whiskey before placing it on the banister with a loud clutter and leaning back so the rain soaks his hair. “I would have forgiven that. Even the lies about my past. But Mom?” He swallows hard, traces of anguish lingering around us, and my heart squeezes. “My mom became collateral damage in it all. My life turned to shit, my siblings… In the matter of one night, I became a lonely creature destined to exist in darkness.” He meets my eyes again, and I freeze at the pure hate filling them. “For that, he deserves nothing but death.” He laughs. “And isn’t that funny? He gave me all the skills to end him too. If it hadn’t been for him, I probably would’ve died a long time ago.”

Lightning graces the sky again as moonlight casts a glow on us, and I take a deep breath, preparing for the hardest conversations I’ve ever had.

I will need therapy once all this ends.

“Dad… Dad made you a murderer?” Was he grooming them into becoming serial killers?

There are sick people who have dark cravings and then see some lost kids and make them accomplices in their crimes. They prey on their weaknesses, pulling them into the dark web, only to trap them forever, until they become just like them.

But at the same time, they also become the psycho’s victims, who can never escape him.

“Lachlan comes into his protégés' lives when they’ve already committed a crime. He never takes in anyone who is innocent.”

My brows furrow in confusion. Protégés? As in students, right?

“He finds us all in the midst of despair, when darkness already consumed us enough to kill the one hurting us. And then he offers us a choice.”

Part of me wishes to cover my ears right now and not listen to it all because this will end all my hopes and show me the truth. I’m not sure I can handle more pain after the earlier discovery. But at the same time, I know I need to hear all this to have all the facts before placing judgment on anyone. “A choice?”

“We can come with him and learn how to channel our desire for blood into something good. He teaches us how to kill in the most vicious ways, how to survive in any circumstance, and how to use every weapon out there.”

The bile rises in my throat, and I swallow past it, my insides squeezing in disgust.

“And we get everything and more from him, as long as we follow the rules.”

The harsh wind whooshes over us, my hair flying all around me, and the bottle rattles on the banister, coming dangerously close to the edge. “And what are the rules?”

“If you lose your head, you’re dead.” He must read the confusion on my face, as he elaborates, “Dark protégés are allowed to kill only those who deserve it. Rapists, murderers, child molesters, abusers, and pure psychos. They don’t kill innocent people. But punish severely those who do.” Oh God. “Each one of them lived through shit, and depending on their past, they choose their favorite weapons and preferred victims.”

My hands tremble as I cross my arms, musing on his horrible yet relieving words because at least in this there is a silver lining.

At least my father is not a cold-blooded serial killer, killing people for fun, just to satisfy his despicable cravings.

Not that this knowledge gives me any kind of solace I’m willing to admit to. “So they’re vigilantes?”

He shakes his head, the water dripping all around him, and splashes fall on my skin while thunder echoes in the sky, making him look almost diabolic in this light, and yet there is this wildness that desperately seeks taming and soothing. “They are murderers. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter why you kill people. You know what all monsters have in common, no matter if they kill innocent people or not?” I just stare at him. “Their actions sustain the demons eating at them inside, wiping away any goodness, for all of us seep pleasure from the pain we inflict on our victims.”

He grabs the bottle again, the whiskey sloshing as he lifts it to his mouth and drinks it. “Dark protégés—and that includes me too, since I was essentially raised by them all—do not apologize for what they do. We don’t seek atonement because there is none for the stuff we do. Mercy, compassion, a moral code. All this depends on our mood.”

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