Page 19 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

I wake slowly, every inch of my body sore, a dull ache that reminds me of everything that happened. His room. His arms. I can feel his naked body against mine, his warmth wrapping around me.

Our legs are tangled, his grip possessive, holding me close. It feels incredible.

Moonlight filters in, casting faint shadows over the room, making it hard to see clearly. The memories start flooding back—every raw, intense moment in the woods. The roughness, the heat. The bath? Yeah, I vaguely remember him cleaning me, putting me to bed afterward.

He took care of me.

It hits me like a punch to the gut—the way he’s been.

The way he always seems to know when I need him, just like when I fell from the trapeze.

Who is this guy, and what the hell is he doing to me?

My head’s a mess, thoughts spinning in a tangled knot of confusion and something else I’m not ready to face.

But god, what he did to me tonight. It was insane. He was savage, brutal, and so damn primal. And I wanted it.

Every second.

Fear and pleasure twisted together until I couldn’t tell the difference.

He fucked me like a wild animal.

And I loved it.

Never in my life have I felt so alive, so on edge. Nothing comes close. His hands, his cock, the way he made me feel—completely and utterly dominated. It was absolutely terrifying, and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

His arm moves, fingers lazily tracing along my skin. There’s something tender in the way he touches me now, like he’s holding back some of that wildness. And that’s the part that really messes with me.

“Are you awake?” His voice is low, rough against my neck, his lips brushing my skin.

“Maybe.”

He chuckles, deep and throaty, the sound vibrating against my back.

I roll over, meeting those burning eyes. They’re dark, harsh, but there’s a softness too, which makes my chest tighten. His fingers graze my cheek, and I swear my heart skips a beat.

“If I liked what we did tonight...” My voice is softer than I expect, and I hate how vulnerable it sounds. “What does that mean?” I avoid his gaze for a second, embarrassed by my own question.

“It means you're perfect,” he says with no hesitation, pulling me tighter against him. “Absolutely perfect.” His voice is so damn sure, like there’s no room for argument.

Perfect? I’ve never been anyone’s perfect anything. And right now, I don’t know if I believe him. But lying here, wrapped in his arms, I want to. Just for this moment, I want to believe I could be someone’s perfect.

My face presses against his warm, hard chest. His hands drift gently over my back, tracing light patterns that make me melt against him.

I’ve never had a man touch me like this, and it feels like more than just sex.

It scares the hell out of me. I shouldn’t enjoy this.

I shouldn’t feel these things, especially not for him.

“What was that?” The question slips out. “What you did to me tonight...”

“I’ve been dreaming about fucking you like that for a long time. I knew you would like it.”

“Really?” I can’t mask the surprise in my voice. He knew, and he was right.

“Rory, you like it rough. And when you’re scared, you get wet.” His fingers smooth down my stomach till he reaches the top of my mound. I gasp as he brushes over my clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. He dips his finger inside me and my hips arch to meet him.

“You’re wet now. Just admitting you like to be fucked rough.” His teeth scrape over my collarbone.

“Axe...I'm sore,” I moan as he presses his finger deeper.

“I know, little siren, just give me one fucking more taste.” His mouth is on mine, his tongue invading. I can't pull away, and I'm not sure if I want to. I’m consumed by the kiss.

There’s no denying the way he makes my heart race, the way he makes my body ache for him. His heavy chest presses against me as he trails rough kisses down my neck before coming back to my mouth. My nipples harden, brushing against his skin, and I whimper.

“I hate how you make me feel,” I whisper against his lips, our tongues tangling together.

“Vulnerable?” he asks, breaking the kiss. “Desperate. Scared?”

“Yes.”

“Don't fight it.” He kisses me again, harder, deeper. “It's what I like best about you.”

His fingers slide in and out of me, his thumb circling my clit, teasing me until I'm gasping.

“You’re my little masochist,” he murmurs darkly, eyes locked on mine.

I shake my head. “I’m not?—”

“Yes, you are. You love the pain. You love when I bite, when I break you just to put you back together.”

“I don’t—” I gasp as he curls his fingers just right, the pressure sending sparks scattering along my spine.

“You’re soaked every time I hurt you, Rory. Don't lie to me.” His thumb presses harder, the friction making me cry out. “You crave it. And lucky for you, I love giving it.”

His confession hangs between us, filthy and true. His teeth pull at my bottom lip, and I moan at the mix of pain and pleasure. The way he's taking me again, even after everything, I'm going to combust.

“Come,” he demands, curling his finger, and I do, shattering around his hand, my body shaking. Groaning, his mouth latches onto my neck and his teeth sink deep.

“Fuck, Rory.”

His arm wraps around me, holding me tight as I ride out my orgasm. When the last of the spasms fade, he finally pulls his hand from between my legs and rolls to his back, dragging me with him. His cock is hard as steel against my stomach, but he doesn't make any effort to do anything about it.

I'm exhausted, still sore, and completely spent. But the way he's holding me, the feel of him against me—it’s more than sex. The flutter in my chest is undeniable. Tonight feels different—in his bed, in his arms, everything just feels different .

In this moment, I can’t even remember why I ever hated him.

“What have you been working on at the Iron?” I blurt out, desperate to shift the focus from the confusion swarming my mind. I need a distraction.

The Sovereign still hasn’t released a statement about the shooting. No details, no clarity. Just whispers of rumors. “Is it true you still don’t know who attacked us?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, his hand absentmindedly stroking my skin. “We’re still investigating.” His voice drops, and I can feel his body stiffen, muscles tensing under my fingertips. “It’s only a matter of time before we figure it out.”

I trace the intricate tattoos winding across his chest, “What have you found?”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “All we know is that they were amateurs,” he says, anger rising in his tone. “They had no idea what they were getting themselves into. Just a bunch of nobodies.” He pulls me tighter against him.

“What does it mean when someone’s a nobody?”

“It means they’re not connected. No criminal record, no ties to anything.” His tone is clipped as he explains. “Varying backgrounds, some with education, some with none.”

“What else? Where are they from?”

“Small towns, mostly Spain and Portugal. Most are married with kids, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“So, why would a bunch of nobodies shoot up the Sovereign?” I ask, trying to piece it all together.

“We don’t know.” His frustration is palpable.

“What else have you learned about the nobodies?” I ask, sensing the tension in his grip tightening around me.

“One was a dentist in Spain. Married, three kids, and a missing daughter. No criminal record—didn’t even have a parking ticket. The others are similar—just average folks with families and regular jobs.”

“It’s tragic about the missing daughter,” I murmur. “I doubt they’ll ever find her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She was probably trafficked. That was my mom's biggest fear whenever we traveled.” The air between us grows heavy with his silence. I glance up, a nervous churning in my stomach. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he replies, head shaking slightly. “I was thinking about another profile I looked at today, one involving a missing child.”

I lay my head back down. “Well, if I cracked the mystery connection, I want the credit,” I say with a playful smile.

He falls silent, and I can almost hear his mind whirring, thoughts racing behind those intense eyes. I press closer, and his arms tighten protectively around me.

“I’ll make sure you get the credit.” He chuckles. “We’ll uncover who did this. They’ll pay for it.” His tone darkens, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s contemplating something worse than death.

“Axe?”

“Yeah, little siren?”

“Will you tell me a story about yourself?” I whisper, uncertain if he'll open up. He remains silent, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“My stories don't make for good bedtime stories.”

“Please.”

“What do you want to know?” I think for a moment. I have a million questions, but I don't know where to start. He's never offered up information; I have no idea what he’s willing to share.

“Why do you have Kane?” It seems like an easy enough question, something I’ve been curious about since I first laid eyes on the massive dog. “He seems too gentle to just be a guard dog,” I tease, feeling his smirk against me.

“He's only gentle with you. He’s very much an attack dog.”

“I’ve never seen him attack anything.” I giggle.

“That’s because no one would be stupid enough to break into my house.”

“Okay, then why him? What’s the story behind the big, bad dog?” I watch as his smile fades and he goes quiet, thoughts racing behind his eyes.

“My brother had a dog named Zeus. Kane looks just like him.”

“Your brother?” I can’t help the surprise in my voice, especially since Griffen mentioned Axe never talks about him. I feel him tense, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah. My twin, Lucas.” Each word is measured. “He found Zeus as a puppy, starving. Lucas took him in, nursed him back to health. We were about thirteen.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Lucas was a good brother. A better brother.”

“What happened to him?” I whisper, tracing small circles over his chest. The silence stretches before he speaks again.

“My uncle, Griffen’s dad, had a house along the coastline in Maine.

Our father would drop us off there when he went on missions.

There were cliffs along the beach, and we used to climb them.

” The strain in his tone makes me nervous about what’s coming.

“One day, we were climbing as usual, probably the fiftieth time. It was getting dark. Lucas wanted to go home, but I wanted to keep going. I was fearless; the higher we climbed, the better. We argued, and I was angry, so I decided to climb alone. I knew he would follow; he always did.” He falls silent again.

“What happened?”

“It was getting dark. Wind picking up. Lucas slipped, hit the rocks, and...he was gone before he even touched the water.” His voice cracks, and for a second, the cold assassin in him vanishes, replaced by pain.

“Oh no,” I whisper, throat tightening at the image. It’s like I can see it—his brother, broken and lifeless. My heart aches for him, but also for the boy Axe once was.

“I climbed down as fast as I could, swam out. But it didn’t matter. He was already dead.” His guilt clings to every word.

“Axel, I’m so sorry.” My voice feels small, useless against the weight of it all.

“Don’t be.” He sighs, bitterness clinging to each word. “It was my fault. I should’ve listened. I shouldn’t have pushed him.”

“You were just a kid.” I try to soothe him, though I can tell it’s not what he wants to hear. There’s a sharpness in his eyes, like the blame is carved into him, impossible to remove.

“I was an asshole,” he retorts bluntly. “The next day, my father killed Zeus. Said there was no need for him now that Lucas was dead.”

“He...he killed your dog?” I gasp.

“Yeah. He told me to do it. And when I refused, he dragged Zeus outside, right in front of me. Made me watch him put a bullet through his skull.” His voice is detached, but there’s an edge underneath, like it still cuts him deep.

“That’s...horrible.” Who the hell does that to their own kid? To an animal?

“That was a warm-up for him.”

“Axe...” I try to find something, anything to say, but words feel too small, too shallow for the level of cruelty he endured.

“My childhood wasn’t normal, and it sure as hell isn’t something you want to hear before bed.

” His grip tightens around me, pulling me closer.

“Get some sleep,” he says firmly, signaling the end of the conversation.

I don’t argue; I can feel the topic closing like a door.

He kisses the top of my head, his lips brushing softly against my hair.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, almost inaudibly .

I rest my head on his chest. His heartbeat echoes steadily beneath me. He wraps his arms around me, and silence settles between us.

I can’t even wrap my head around what Axe went through, what he and his brother endured. Questions swirl in my mind, begging to be asked, but his breathing’s deep, steady. He’s asleep.

My fingers trail over the scars hidden beneath the ink of his tattoos—so many of them etched into his skin. Griffen’s voice creeps in, reminding me that most of those scars are courtesy of his father.

I tilt my head, eyes tracing the jagged scar along his neck, protruding through the ink. Is that from his father too?

Resting my head back against his chest, I sink into him, letting his warmth surround me. In this moment, I don’t want to move. I want to stay wrapped in this strange safety—his body heat, his strength—it feels almost like...being cherished.

A small, ridiculous smile tugs at my lips.

His voice cuts through the silence, low and rough, like he’s speaking through a dream. “What’s your favorite color?”

I blink and glance up. His eyes are still closed, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Red,” I whisper, still smiling faintly. “What’s yours?”

His lips barely move. “You.”

My breath catches, a sharp tug pulling at something deep in my chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t say anything else.

Just holds me tighter, like he means it.

Like maybe, for a second, he needs me too.

I know Axe doesn’t love me. He’s not built for that.

But damn it...a part of me still wishes he did.