Page 22 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

H e’s the masked man.

No.

This can’t be real.

I stare, frozen for a second, as the truth slams into me.

“RUN!” he shouts again, his gaze flicking past me, frantic.

But the confusion, the pain—gone. All that’s left is rage. I force myself up, biting back a scream as pain shoots through me. Blood trickles down my legs, scrapes sting, but I don’t care.

“GO!” His voice cracks, fists pounding against the bike, but he’s trapped.

“Fuck you, Axe!”

“GO, NOW!” he screams, and all I see is red .

“No! I’m going to kill you myself!” I step closer, fist clenched.

“NOW! Fucking run, or I swear to god, I’ll fucking shoot you!”

I storm toward him, ready to rip his head off. The roar of motorcycles fills the street, but I barely hear it through the rage.

“Run, Rory!” His voice softens, pleading now. “Please...”

“Fuck you!” I shout, shoving the bike with everything I’ve got. He doesn’t get to die by anyone else's hands.

“Please! FUCK! GO!”

“No!” My scream tears through me. “Help me push!” I snap, not giving him a second. His eyes flare with rage.

“What the fuck?” he hisses, glaring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Help me fucking push, asshole!”

He grits his teeth, muscles straining as he heaves against the weight of the bike. Metal screeches, grinding forward. His face twists in pain, leg pinned beneath the bike, but he shoves again. The engines roar louder, vibrating through the street.

“Push harder!” I yell. His jaw clenches, veins bulging as he forces the bike free.

The second he’s up, he roughly grabs my arm.

“We have to go, now!” he snaps through the chaos, but I rip my arm free, glaring. He shoots me a look and shoves me toward the curb, like I’m some helpless victim.

Not a chance in hell.

“Get the fuck off me!” I shove back, every nerve ending on fire with his betrayal .

“Move your ass,” he growls, and when I don’t, he pushes me harder toward a building. “If you don’t start moving, I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”

I glare daggers at him, but he just shoves me again—the nerve. If I die now, I won’t get the chance to kill him.

Adrenaline surges in my veins as my feet pound the pavement. He’s right beside me, gripping my arm, steering me through the streets. We round a warehouse corner, and he drags me toward a side door, slamming it open against the brick.

I can’t even process the fact that Axe— my Axe—is the masked man.

My mind keeps going back to that divorce agreement he signed, sealing our fate like I didn’t matter. I can’t think straight, only seeing red.

He yanks me through a dim, narrow hallway, practically dragging me toward a staircase.

“Up,” he orders. “Now.”

I stomp up the stairs, every step a mix of agony and anger. My body resists in protest, cuts stinging, muscles aching. I swallow the tears, pushing them back, refusing to give in to the pain.

“Where the hell are we going?”

“Up.” No explanation, just that growl of his.

“I fucking hate you.”

“Noted. Now move.”

He doesn’t even want me.

At the top, he grabs me again, pulling me through another door and down a filthy, abandoned hallway. Dust and grime cover everything, the air thick with decay. It’s like the whole building is crumbling around us, just like my trust in him.

Axe is the masked man.

Everything— everything —was a lie.

He’s been playing me this entire time, manipulating me, and like a fucking idiot, I fell for it. I grit my teeth against a sob as he shoves me into a room cluttered with crates, a dirty window barely letting in light.

“Sit,” he commands.

“Fuck. You.” My voice cracks.

With anger radiating off him like heat, his grip tightens on my arm. I spit in his face. It drips down his cheek, and a sick sense of satisfaction flares inside me.

His hand clamps around my jaw, fingers biting into my skin. “I should kill you.”

“Then fucking do it,” I hiss back. “You don’t want me anyway.”

Something flickers in his eyes. His grip holds for a second longer before he shoves me back. “You’re the most difficult person on the entire fucking planet,” he snaps, wiping the spit off his face. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

I don’t have a response. My heart’s too shattered. He’s the masked man. The one who made me feel safe, protected... wanted.

It was all a fucking lie.

“Sit. The. Fuck. Down.”

I glare and cross my arms—refusing to budge. He steps closer, his chest almost touching mine.

“I don’t have time for your fucking bullshit. Sit. Down. Now . ”

Snarling, I sink onto a dusty crate anyway, arms crossed, glaring daggers.

He kneels in front of me, grabbing my chin and tilting my face. His touch makes my stomach churn.

“Who hit you?”

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I blink back tears. “You can’t be him,” I whisper.

His brow furrows. “What?”

Tears threaten again, and I hate myself for it. “The masked man. You can’t be him.”

“Rory—”

“How? You…made me feel…” The sob hits before I can stop it.

His thumb brushes my cheek, a flicker of softness, before it dissolves with frustration. “I know you’re pissed. And I’ll answer every fucking question.” His voice drops lower, harder. “But first. Who. Hit. You?”

I yank my chin from his hand. His touch is too much, too cruel in its familiarity.

“My father,” I mutter, refusing to look at him.

“He hit you?”

I nod.

“Why?”

I scoff, wiping at my face. “Stop pretending like you fucking care! I was just a game to you! You made me want you, need you, only to throw me away. I mean nothing to you.” Standing, I shove past him.

“That’s not true.”

I shake my head as rage bubbles over. “Stop, Axe. Just…stop. ”

“Tell me what the fuck happened.”

“It doesn’t matter! We’re divorced! I saw the papers. Your blood mark was on them.”

“Rory! Tell me why he hit you. NOW!” he explodes.

“Because I’m a worthless fucking whore! But you already knew that.” I inhale sharply, stepping back. “Alicia blackmailed me. She said if I didn’t sign over my mother’s villa, she’d tell my father I was?—”

“Alicia blackmailed you?” His voice turns to ice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Before or after you threw me into the basement? Maybe when you told me I was nothing but a hole to fuck?”

His face pales.

“Or should I have mentioned it when you reminded me how I’m just something you own?”

“Rory—”

“No. Don’t even talk to me. Go straight to hell, Axe.”

I turn to leave, but his hands clamp onto my shoulders, forcing me back. I shove against him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Don’t touch me!” I thrash, trying to break free. “I hate you!”

“I know.” His grip tightens.

“You can’t be him. Please, just let me go.”

“Never.”

I squeeze my eyes shut—the weight of his hold, his presence, it’s too much. “Please.”

“You can hate me. You can scream, yell, hit, kick. You can throw everything in my face.”

“Please… ”

“But you will never, ever get away from me.” His breath brushes my ear. “I’m not letting you go.”

“You don’t even want me.”

“I do want you,” he whispers.

The confession cracks something deep within me. I replay every touch. Every time he fucked me. The masked man—the first time he took me was with a knife…the night after I threw one at Axe.

How could I not have seen it? How could I have been so completely stupid?

It was him all along.

“Stop,” I cry out. “You divorced me! You don’t?—”

His lips crush against mine, cutting me off. The kiss is rough, his teeth nipping at my lip hard enough to sting. I shove at his chest, but his grip tightens, fingers tangling in my hair, forcing me deeper into it. A whimper escapes before I can stop it.

“Shut up, Rory,” he growls, sounding exasperated.

I try to jerk away, but he holds me in place, lips dragging down my jaw, hot breath skimming my skin. “There’s nothing I won’t do to keep you safe. If signing a fucking piece of paper is what it takes, so be it. No one is taking you from me.”

My breath catches. “Axel?—”

“I’m the only one allowed to hurt you.” His teeth scrape my shoulder, and my breath shudders out. “The only one who gets to fuck you.” He bites down, his hand gripping my hip. “The only one who gets to use you.”

I push against him, but he doesn’t let go. “I hate you,” I snap, shoving at his chest.

“I don’t care.” He slams me into the wall, his hand pinning me there, fingers curling around my breast, squeezing just enough to make me gasp. “I’ll take your hate, little siren. You can hate me all you want. You’re still mine.”

His hand slides into my leggings, fingers finding my clit with ease. I bite my lip hard, refusing to let him see how easily my body betrays me.

“I hate you,” I whisper, but it comes out shaky, breathless.

“Tell me again,” he taunts, dragging his fingers through my wetness, pushing two inside me.

I inhale sharply. “I hate you.”

“You always were a terrible liar.”

He presses deeper, curling his fingers just right, tearing the air from my lungs. The pleasure coils, intense and inevitable, twisting against my will. I grip his wrist, but it’s useless. He works me higher and higher until I’m clawing at his shoulders.

“I HATE YOU!” I scream as the orgasm rips through me. My legs wobble, but he holds me up, fingers still deep inside me as I convulse around him.

Then he’s spinning me, shoving me against the wall, his body caging me in.

“I. DON’T. FUCKING. CARE,” he spits.

I hear the rasp of his zipper, and before I can think, before I can protest, he yanks my leggings down, the fabric burning my ripped skin.

His hard cock presses against me. “All that matters is that you’re fucking mine.”

Gripping my hips, he shoves me forward, spreading me open for him. Then he thrusts, stretching me wide, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal motion. My breath rips from my throat, body recoiling at the sudden intrusion.

He pulls back, only to slam into me again, and I arch against the wall, fingers scrambling for something to hold.

“Christ, Rory,” he groans. His hand wraps around my throat, holding me flush against him as he fucks me harder. The pain from last night lingers, but it mixes with something vicious—something hotter.

I brace my hands on the wall, but he grips my waist, pulling me onto his cock with each thrust. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Gritting my teeth, I fight the heat spreading throughout my core. “I hate you,” I hiss brokenly.

His grip tightens. “Say it again.”

“I hate you,” I gasp, but the pleasure is twisting, spiraling, impossible to deny. His cock slams into that perfect spot, massaging me straight to the edge.

“Liar.” His hand drops between my legs, fingers pressing against my clit, and I shatter.