Page 1 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

I thought this would be it. The moment he’d finally break his silence, rip off that damn mask, and give me something real. Just once.

But the words never came.

His mask stayed right where it always does.

I yank on a black sports bra and tight shorts—alone. My hands tremble more than I’d like to admit, the sting of his silence still raw.

The bastard’s hurt me, yet he’s the only one who’s ever made me feel anything but invisible.

How twisted is that? I can’t lose him—hell, I don’t even know what I’d do if I did.

My chest tightens at the thought, and I clench my fists, pushing the feeling down.

Why do I always fall for men who treat me like I’m disposable?

But when I'm with him, when his arms are around me, I feel...safe. I hate that I need it. That I need him. The chaos, the pain, it all fades when he’s near, and for a few seconds, I’m not Rory Valentine, the Sovereign’s broken Slut—Axe’s toy. I’m just a girl who wants to be wanted.

I should tell him everything—about the Sovereign, Alicia, and her ultimatum. But I can’t. Not like this. Not while he’s hiding behind that mask. How can I trust him with the truth when he can’t even trust me with his face?

But…he kissed me…and damn it, I felt something. That has to mean something, right? Maybe he’s finally letting me in.

Or…maybe he’s just messing with my head like every other man who’s promised me the world and left me in the dirt.

I don’t have time to dissect the mess inside my brain. The other Sirens are heading down the hall. Throwing my hair up in a messy knot, I glance in the mirror, hoping I look tough enough to fake it. I’m not the badass I pretend to be. I’m just...tired.

Resuming practicing, Dom is ready to bark orders, demanding we run drills repeatedly.

Sweat’s pouring off me in seconds, my muscles screaming with every move.

The others look just as wrecked, but I’m not complaining.

This burn feels good—cleansing, almost. For a moment, I can shut off everything in my head and lose myself.

As music blasts through the speakers, we move in perfect sync, even though we’re all half-dead. Dom’s shouting at every little thing, not letting a single mistake slide.

“Rory, you look like shit. Fix it!” His voice booms across the stage. “Run it again! ”

I bite down on the frustration, push through the exhaustion, and go again.

Finally, he throws us a bone—if you can call it that. “We’ll run the French routine, then we’re done.”

A groan echoes from the others. Seriously? The hardest routine when we’re already close to burning out.

Lana tries her luck. “Dom, we’re exhausted. Can we be done already?”

“No. Run it,” he snaps.

I drag myself up the ladder to the trapeze platform.

Trisha follows behind me, both of us silently cursing Dom.

We assume our positions, balancing at these new heights.

The bars still feel foreign, but we’re expected to hit every mark.

I catch Jasmine’s eye across on the other platform, and we exchange a look that says it all— let’s get this over with.

“Rory, I’m exhausted,” Trisha whispers. I glance at her, forcing a reassuring smile I barely feel.

“Me too, but we’ve got this,” I whisper back.

“We should’ve been done with practice thirty minutes ago, so get this right!

” Dom shouts, and the beat kicks in—“TN” by MALTY 2BZ.

The adrenaline hits, and I’m moving before my brain can catch up.

We’re flying through the routine, muscle memory taking over, and for a second, it almost feels smooth. Almost.

Then Trisha grabs me mid-air, and something’s wrong. Her grip’s too loose, and my fingers slip from her grasp. My stomach drops. There’s no time to adjust. She’s supposed to toss me to the ring, but her strength’s gone.

“RORY!” Her voice pierces through the chaos, panic twisting in the air. My heart races as I realize I’m in free fall, plummeting toward the floor from twenty feet up. The stage rushes up to meet me, and I can already tell I won’t land on the net entirely.

I crash into the net, and pain erupts through my body, knocking the wind out of me as I bounce back into the air and land hard on the floor. Every bone screams, and the world around me turns into a blur of noise.

Lying there, disoriented, I stare at the ceiling, blood dripping down the side of my face.

“Rory!” That deep, familiar voice cuts through the haze—Axe. I want to snap back, tell him to fuck off, but I can’t even muster the energy to move.

“I’m okay,” I manage to mumble, even though my arms won’t cooperate.

“Fuck, don’t move. Rory!” I feel his hands on me, cradling my head, forcing me to focus on him. “Tell me where it hurts.”

I take a deep breath, fighting through the fog clouding my mind. The world starts to sharpen around me, and I shoot him a glare.

Why do you care?

He ignores it.

The ground still spins beneath me, and nausea churns in my stomach.

“I’m fine,” I slur. His hands are everywhere, running down my legs and arms. “The net caught me. I’m fine,” I repeat, desperately trying to convince myself. But then I feel hands lifting me, and suddenly, I’m against his chest.

A rush of conflicting emotions surges through me at his touch. I want to bolt, to put as much distance between us as possible, and at the same time, I crave the warmth and strength of his arms.

“Axe, I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” he snarls, his chest heaving. “What the fuck was that? You could’ve been killed!” Anger radiates off him, and I know it’s not concern for me—just anger that his toy almost got destroyed.

“Put me down,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”

He tightens his grip, and I want to slap his stupid face.

“Your fucking precious toy can walk. You don’t give a shit about me, anyway.”

“Stop talking.”

“Let. Me. Go.” I struggle against him, pushing at his chest with what little strength I have. “Why are you even here?” My movements are sluggish, and the pain flares, forcing a whimper from my lips.

“Your practice ran late.”

“Here.” Trisha rushes over with an ice pack.

“Put it on the back of her head,” he snaps.

Trisha nods, her eyes wide with fear as she complies.

“I’m okay,” I reassure her, casting another glare at him.

She offers a weak smile, clearly uncomfortable.

“Rory, do not test me. Stop arguing.”

Leaning in, he rests his forehead on mine, and for a split second, I almost feel something warm—tender. “Please, Rory.” His pleading tone is a surprise, and I hate how it wraps around my chest, squeezing. I missed him while he was gone, and that stings. He made it clear I’m nothing to him.

“Please what, Axe?” The words burst out before I can swallow them down. “I don’t want—” I’m cut off by his lips crashing down on mine. What the hell? I gasp, and he takes advantage of my surprise, his tongue slipping into my mouth. Head spinning, my body responds despite the pain.

The contradiction of his earlier words stabs at me; last night, he said he never cared. Yet now, he’s kissing me like I’m everything. It’s maddening.

“Rory,” he breathes against my lips before he kisses me again, slower. “Listen to me. If you’re seriously hurt, I will slaughter every person in this building.” His thumb brushes along my cheekbone.

“You’d kill people over a toy?”

“I’ve killed for less.” His fingers curl tighter around my jaw. “And you, little siren, are my favorite fucking toy.”

He pulls away slightly, scanning me. “Now, tell me where it hurts.”

“Everywhere,” I grumble, defeated.

“Where does it hurt the most?”

“My head,” I reply, reaching back to feel the sticky warmth of blood. “The left side.”

Eyes blazing, he turns to the crowd of dancers. “Someone bring me a first aid kit. Now!”

Dom rushes over, guilt written all over his face.

“Rory, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he says, his hand trembling as it hovers near my shoulder. I’m still in Axe’s lap, his arms locked around me.

“Dominic,” Axe growls, venom dripping from every word. “Back the fuck up. NOW.”

Dom steps back, hands raised. “Axel, I didn’t mean—” he stammers, face turning pale.

“This is your fault.” Axe’s eyes narrow. “That net was supposed to stop her fall.”

Dom flinches, his voice shaking. “It’s...it’s a new stage design. I didn’t know?—”

“Axe,” I cut in quietly. “The net did catch me. It’s not his fault.”

Jaw clenched tight, his dark eyes briefly snap to mine before flicking back up to Dom. “Get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Sight.” His voice is unnervingly calm. “Now.”

Dom doesn’t wait for another chance; he backs away. The rest of the Sirens are frozen, watching the scene unfold.

“We need to clean the wound,” he says, his voice dropping back into his usual cold tone.

Lana appears at my side, fumbling with a first aid kit. She hands it to Axe, who takes it without a glance, all his focus on me. He rummages through the kit, pulling out gauze like he’s done this a thousand times.

“Rory, tilt your head back.”

I do as he says, hating how I’m leaning into his touch. His fingers cradle the back of my head, careful, uncharacteristically soft. And damn it, I sink deeper into him, hating every second.

“You need stitches.” His fingers graze the wound, sending a dull throb through my skull. Tearing open a packet with his teeth, he applies whatever it is to the gash on my head. The cold stings, and I suck in a breath.

“Ow.” The sharp pain cuts through the fog in my head. “That hurts.”

“Hold still,” he murmurs as he wraps the bandage around my head.

In the background, Dom’s voice rings out. “Alright, everyone, back to the dressing rooms. We're done for today.”

“But what about Rory?” Trisha pipes up.

“Go,” Dom snaps, his voice tight with stress. There’s a moment of hesitation, but the footsteps fade, leaving the auditorium eerily quiet.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” Axe says. He’s still holding me, but his face is devoid of emotion. Typical. Whatever I thought I saw earlier—fear, worry, something —it’s gone now. Maybe it was never there, just something my scrambled brain made up to comfort itself.

Because Axe doesn’t do worry. He doesn’t do panic. And if he ever did…it wouldn’t be for me. He made that obvious last night.

“I can walk. Put me down,” I mutter, more stubbornness than strength.

He stands up with me in his arms like I weigh nothing. “Don’t argue.” There’s a finality in his demand that makes my blood boil. He’s telling me what to do, as usual.

I sigh, the pain beating out my pride.

We push through the doors, the cool air biting at my skin as he carries me to his car. I hate how easily he takes control, and even more how a part of me—small but undeniable—wants to let him.