Page 12 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

I heard Axe return home last night. The first time since the attack. I stayed up, waiting, listening for the sound of his heavy boots thudding down the hall. But he never came to my room. The hours dragged on, and when I couldn't fight it anymore, sleep claimed me. Alone. Again.

Tonight’s my father’s birthday party. Another grand celebration of his ego, where the ballroom will be full of people eager to feed his narcissism with empty compliments and rehearsed smiles.

It’s all so predictable, so hollow. I’ve mastered the art of playing the Sovereign Commander’s obedient daughter.

I’ll smile, bat my lashes, and charm the hell out of everyone.

I'll play my part, like I always do. It’s exhausting, but necessary.

At least I’ll see my nieces. They’re the only bright spots in these gatherings.

Griffen will be there, but Axe never responded to my invite when I texted him. Not that I’m surprised—he’s got his own shit to deal with. Still, I wish he’d come. It’s stupid, I know. But that small, reckless part of me can't help it.

I miss him. And that terrifies me.

The gowns, the glamour, the opulence, it’s all so suffocating.

I’ve lived in this world my whole life, surrounded by privilege and excess, yet tonight it feels like I’m watching it from the outside.

None of it matters anymore. Not the diamonds, not the money, not the power. The only thing I want is him.

I exhale sharply, shaking off the thoughts as I finish applying my makeup. Once I’ve curled my hair into soft waves, I slip into the gown—a black ball gown with a plunging neckline and back. The fabric hugs every curve before it flows out dramatically at the skirt.

Bright red lipstick, a few spritzes of perfume, and I’m done. I take one last glance in the mirror, tilting my head, studying the reflection.

“Rory! Let’s go!” Griffen’s shout echoes up the stairs.

I make my way down, heels clicking against the marble. Griffen waits at the bottom, looking annoyingly perfect in his tailored tux, hair styled, face freshly shaved.

“Wow, Rory, you look?—”

“Stunning.” The word rumbles through the air, low and commanding. Axe. His voice sends a jolt straight through me, and I stop mid-step, turning toward the sound.

He’s standing at the top of the stairs, dressed in a black tux that fits him like it was made by the devil himself. Dark hair perfectly tousled, sharp jawline on display, and those eyes—locked on me, intense and unblinking. My heart trips over itself, and for a moment, I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

He starts down the stairs, his gaze never straying.

The heat of it burns into my skin, every nerve sparking under his scrutiny. By the time he reaches me, I'm frozen, unable to form a coherent thought.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

I blink, my mind scrambling. “You, uh...look great too,” I stammer, hating how my voice falters and my cheeks burn.

He stops on the same step, towering over me, his presence suffocating in the best way. I swallow hard, trying to keep my cool.

“Shall we?” He smirks, and my stomach flips. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he knows exactly how good he looks.

Bastard.

By the time we reach the venue, I’m wound tight with nerves.

A valet opens my door, and I smooth my dress, pretending I’m not a mess inside.

Griffen leads the way, Axe close behind.

The two are like night and day, one a picture of casual, carefree masculinity, the other radiating danger and intensity.

Axe offers his arm, and I take it, ignoring the spark that flicker from where we connect. He looks devastatingly handsome—not that I’d ever admit it.

“I haven’t seen you in days,” I mutter as we move through the lavish entrance, crystal chandeliers overhead.

“I know.” He pulls me closer than he needs to, lips brushing my ear. “Did you miss me, little siren?” I can feel his grin without even looking.

“No.”

He chuckles. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Rolling my eyes, I swallow a reluctant smile. The ballroom’s dripping with luxury—exactly my father’s style.

Axe’s thumb rubs slow circles on my back. “So, what does one do at events like this?”

“Make small talk, act polite,” I say, scanning for my nieces. “And for you? Try not to kill anyone.”

He pulls me closer, his lips grazing my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “I can think of much better ways to pass the time.” His teeth nip my earlobe. “You look good enough to eat,” he murmurs, and I bite my lip to keep from gasping.

I should push him away, but all I see is that dark promise in his eyes. “I want you. All of you.”

“Axe...” I breathe, the ache inside me growing. He knows it; he’s practically feeding off it.

“Relax, Rory. I’m not going to fuck you here,” he says with a low laugh.

“Public places never stopped you before,” I sass back, remembering the time he fingered me at the club.

“True,” he admits, “but that was before I knew the taste of your cunt. Before I felt you come around my cock, heard you screaming my name.”

“What is wrong with you?” I whisper, fighting the heat flushing my face.

“Everything.” A devilish grin curves his mouth. “Right now, I want to bend you over the nearest table and make you scream until your throat is raw and my cum’s dripping out of you.” His hand tightens on my hip, his erection hard against me.

“You’re such an ass.” I try to sound unaffected, but my voice trembles, betraying me.

“And you love it.” His fingers skim my lower back, and he leans in. “If I slipped my fingers into your pussy right now, would I find you wet for me, little siren?”

“Stop,” I plead as desire throbs between my legs.

“Tell me how wet you are.” His tone drips with smug confidence, the kind that makes me want to slap him—or kiss him.

“Please...”

Pulling me closer, he speaks against my ear. “Answer the fucking question, Rory. Tell me how wet your perfect, tight cunt is for me.”

The rawness in his voice unravels me. My knees go weak, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Soaked.”

“That’s my good girl.” His growl shoots straight to my core. He nips my earlobe again, then steps back, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

“Fuck you,” I snap, clearing my throat.

“Later, little siren. Save me a seat.” With a wink, he strides off, leaving me there—heart pounding, body aching, mind spinning.

I drag in a breath, tamping down my frustration. I definitely still hate him.

Spotting my nieces across the ballroom—Spencer and their mom Heather close by—I walk over. The girls, mirror images of each other in matching mini ball gowns, beam and rush over to me.

“Auntie Rory!” they squeal, flinging their arms around me.

I hug them tight as their giggles bubble against my chest. When they pull back, I catch Spencer’s stiff stance, his eyes distant.

This investigation’s devoured him, and our conversations have become clipped and cold.

We exchange a few polite words, but he’s barely listening and my gaze is already sweeping the room.

The ballroom buzzes with fake laughter and polished smiles. Banquet tables draped in silk and massive floral centerpieces sprawl across the floor, perfume and champagne masking the deeper rot beneath all the shine.

It’s all a facade—a carefully orchestrated illusion of wealth and privilege. Underneath the glamour lies a darker reality of secrets and power plays that can choke you alive.

My eyes continue to drift over the crowd, and my pulse stutters when I see two familiar faces.

Former clients.

Two men I had sworn never to see again because they refused to honor my safe word. I’m used to pushing limits, but those two crossed lines that made my skin crawl. I laid down the rules; they ignored them. And now here they are, standing in the same room as my family.

“Are you alright?” Heather’s question snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. I glance back at the two men, laughing it up in a group of wealthy socialites—predatory smirks plastered across their faces.

“I’m fine,” I lie, even though my insides are in knots. Rationally, I know they won’t risk anything in a crowded room, but fear still squeezes my chest, and the last thing I need is my family finding out about my other life.

“I need a drink,” I blurt, backing away before anyone can stop me. My legs feel like jelly as I cut through the crowd. The bartender barely sets the glass in front of me before I’m gulping half of it.

“I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” a deep voice says behind me. Creed—practically pressed against my back.

I nearly huff. “What do you want?” Sure, he saved my life, but he also dragged me away when I was trying to find Axe.

“Still mad at me?” he asks, stepping beside me and leaning on the bar.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He smirks. “I saved your life, remember? Makes me a hero, right?”

“Hardly,” I scoff. “I didn’t need saving.”

“Without me, you’d be dead,” he counters. “Spencer and your father sure seemed grateful.”

“So, what do you want? A medal?” I shoot back, my glare matching his cocky grin.

“No, but you could thank me. It’s the least you can do, given how close you were to dying.”

“Fine. Thank you,” I grind out. I hate the arrogance rolling off him.

“You’re welcome.” He flashes a flirtatious grin. “See you around, Rory. And don’t forget to text me.” His eyes linger on my chest before strolling off.