Page 57 of The Heart of a Villain

With him, we learned to use our darkness for good—never becoming saints, of course, because killing rapists and other dirt of this world didn’t absolve us from the crimes.

No matter what side you’re on, killing is still killing, and there is no justification for that.

I wholeheartedly believed him and respected him with everything in me, seeing a brother in him who gave me a new family, ready to stand by me through anything.

One who never leaves you or lets you suffer in loneliness.

The family I turned my back on when the truth came to light and destroyed me in ways nothing else did because Lachlan wasn’t just anyone.

He was a man I admired and respected above everyone else.

A man who showed me kindness in order to hide a despicable secret from the past, which my uncle uncovered.

And I have no other choice but to fulfill my revenge.

Because if just for a second I let myself question the truth, then what does that make me?

Aileen

Ouch.

That’s the first thought in my mind as I roll to the side and bury my face in the pillow, the ache spreading through me in spades, and I snap my eyes open, only to close them again when the intense throbbing in my head makes me almost scream.

“Oh my God,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes and then opening them up again, blinking several times to adjust to the dim light in the room.

Fisting the wool blanket thrown over me, I rise a bit on the bed, rubbing my forehead and clearing my throat, only to wince when the soreness makes it impossible to breathe for a second.

Glancing at the nightstand, I see a glass of water along with aspirin and a note attached.

Drink it. Don’t be stubborn

Still disoriented and confused, I follow the instruction and sigh heavily when the cold liquid does little to ease my pain.

“You’re awake,” a soft voice speaks up, and my head turns to the left, where William sits in a chair, a newspaper on his lap. “Would you like some tea?”

Wrapping my hands around my throat, I nod while looking around and realizing I’m in Rush’s room.

Why in the…?

Then all memories come crashing back at me, punching me straight in the gut and awakening the desperation within me.

I must have blacked out after finding out my dad—

No.

My hold on the blanket tightens as I refuse to think about it. I will exist in my make-believe bubble for now just to not lose myself in madness.

A girl can only take so much before she succumbs to the darkness calling her name every single day.

William gets up, pours tea into the mug, and then gives it to me. “It’s with honey.”

Welcoming the warmth in my hands as sudden chills travel through me in waves, I take a tentative sip and sigh again, but this time in relief from the pain. “Thank you,” I croak, and he nods and goes back to sit down as silence falls on us.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say anyway.

Ever since coming here, all I did was preach about my father and what a sick psycho Rush was.

What are my defenses now?

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