Page 13 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

R ory looks unbelievable in that gown—neckline plunging, the back cut low, flaunting every perfect inch of her. As she settles at the banquet table, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, I watch her laugh with her nieces, her sinful lips painted red.

For weeks, I’ve been wrestling with these fucking feelings Rory’s stirred up in me.

I’ve tried pushing it down, locking it up tight like it doesn’t exist. But, seeing her—laughing, throwing those quick-witted jabs, that fire in her eyes—I realize just how far gone I am.

It’s not just the sex or how perfectly her body fits against mine.

It’s her . The way she fights back, that defiance in every word she spits.

Her strength. Hell, even her smile has me twisted inside out.

I told myself it was just a game, something I’d tire of.

But that’s bullshit. Whatever this is, it’s lodged deep, and I’ve got no clue how to rip it out.

Every time I see her, I’m right back at square one, resisting something I can’t control.

I can’t stand being near her, but I hate being away.

I’m fucked either way. I’ve spent my life not feeling a damn thing, and now. ..I can’t switch it off.

What do I even do with it? Telling her is out of the question—she’d destroy me without trying, and why shouldn’t she, after what I’ve done to her? No. She doesn’t know, and she can’t ever know.

One of Rory’s nieces climbs onto her lap, scribbling on a napkin. “Auntie, when are you having a baby in your tummy?”

The random question nearly chokes me with my drink. Rory hardly blinks.

“You’d be a great mommy,” the little girl adds.

The idea of fatherhood slams into me, hard. My father was a sadist who turned my childhood into his twisted playground. I know the damage that kind of darkness inflicts. I’ll never be a father.

“Hmmm, if I’d be a good mommy, would Uncle Axel be a good daddy?” Rory smirks.

“Trust me, kid,” Griffen butts in with a grin, “you don’t want this guy to be a dad. He can barely take care of himself.”

The girl giggles, and the topic drops—thank fuck.

“Can you imagine?” Griffen leans closer. “The Reaper, a father? You’d be terrible.”

“And you’d be a shitty uncle,” I snap, forcing the suffocating thought away.

The party trudges on, with polished elites praising Conrad for making them richer. I hate the pretense, the cloying perfume of money and fake smiles. Griffen’s got just enough fake charm to mask his psychopathic tendencies. I can’t. And I won’t.

I fucking hate being around people.

Spencer pulls Rory away to parade her around with their father.

I’m reminded of the night in the Hamptons when she showed me her scars—the scars from her past that haunt her and made her who she is today.

She claims Conrad doesn’t love her, but the pride in his eyes as he introduces her and shows her off makes me question that.

Griffen’s phone buzzes, and he steps away. “Order me another whiskey,” he calls over his shoulder, walking toward the front of the ballroom.

“Get your own fucking drink,” I shoot back.

I watch as he leans close to Rory, whispers something, and they slip out through the side doors.

What the fuck?

I’m on the verge of hunting them down when they reappear, laughter spilling out as they return to the table.

“Where’d you two go?” I ask, trying to keep my tone steady, but my nerves are shot.

“Outside,” Griffen answers, too casually.

“Thanks for rescuing me, Griffen,” Rory adds, adjusting her dress.

“Anytime, doll.” He winks and signals the waiter.

I don’t know what the fuck happened between them, but I’m seconds from snapping. My hands twitch, torn between beating the truth out of him or laying him out cold. I barely register the others returning to the table as a waiter takes orders—my focus is on the rage brewing inside me.

Then Griffen speaks, sealing his fate. “I’ll have the steak,” he says, nodding at Rory, who’s distracted by her nieces. “She’ll have the chicken, no onions. And let the kitchen know about her dairy allergy.”

Dairy allergy? I didn’t know that. How the hell does he ?

Enough.

I stand with a screech of my chair and yank him up by his arm. Surprise flashes in his eyes, then anger. I shove him into the hallway, straight out the side door and into the cold night.

“What the fuck, Axe?” he growls, wrenching his arm free. Slamming him against the wall, I fist his shirt. “What the hell is your problem?”

“ You’re my fucking problem. Tell me what happened back there—what you did with Rory.”

His calm cracks, fury sparking in his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I slam him harder, knuckles whitening around his collar. “Don’t test me, Griffen. I’ve seen how you look at her. I’ll beat the shit out of you right here.”

He huffs a breath. “You’ve lost it.”

“Are you fucking her?” The question bursts out, my vision turning red.

His jaw tightens. “No, I’m not fucking her.”

“Then what the hell was that—ordering her dinner like you’re her fucking boyfriend ?” I can feel my pulse hammering in my skull.

He laughs—low, mocking. I lose it. My fist collides with his jaw in a vicious crack. He staggers, blood dripping off his lip, spitting red onto the concrete. I brace for him to fight back, wanting it.

But he just looks at me, blood on his mouth, grinning like I’m a damn joke. He actually laughs again.

“What the hell’s so funny?”

He licks the blood off his teeth. “Seeing you jealous...it’s fucking hilarious.”

My fist clenches, every muscle screaming to hit him again. Jealous? Fuck no.

“I’m not jealous.” The words sound hollow, even to me. Hell, maybe I am. That realization just pisses me off more.

Griffen’s smirk spreads. “You are. It’s written all over your face.”

I rake a hand through my hair, stepping back to lean against the brick wall before I swing again.

“What if I am?” I mutter, glaring at him. “Doesn’t mean you’re not fucking her.”

He rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Axe. After everything we’ve been through, you think I’m that stupid? Do you really think I’d go behind your back and fuck Rory?”

I study his face, searching for any sign of a lie. There’s none, just raw annoyance.

“I’m not fucking her,” he repeats. “But I do talk to her—more than you do.”

“I’m not great at talking.”

“Oh, I know. You listen with your dick, not your ears.”

“That’s not true.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Really? When’s the last time you talked to a woman about something besides sex or death?”

“Fuck you,” I spit, and he just shakes his head and walks back inside, leaving me in the cold, stewing.

How the hell did I end up here? A few weeks ago, I only cared about my next kill. Now I’m outside some fucking birthday party—Conrad’s, of all fucking people—getting a lecture from Griffen. It’s a joke—a goddamn joke.

I shouldn’t care. I never did before. But now I want to know everything about her—her secrets, her fears, what makes her laugh, what pisses her off.

I know how to make her come, but not her biggest fear. I can make her scream, but I don’t know her favorite song. I can make her moan, but I don’t know her favorite food.

And it’s driving me insane.

She only really talks to me when I’m hiding behind that damn mask. Meanwhile, I’m obsessed with knowing her favorite things. What the fuck is wrong with me?