Page 24 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

G riffen and I linger in the sterile corridor while the nurse guides Rory into an exam room.

“You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” Griffen asks, his voice low.

“It was the Dolore,” I say, sinking into a chair. The adrenaline crash is hitting hard, exhaustion tugging at my bones.

“Fuck,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. His eyes drift to my blood-soaked pants.

“Crashed my bike. Rory’s a mess.” I exhale sharply, leaning back, the chair creaking under my weight.

“You look like shit. How’s the leg?”

“Hurts,” I admit, the pain sinking deep in my shin, but that doesn’t fucking matter. Rory comes first. I rub a hand over my face, trying to shake the fatigue. But my mind won’t stop. The rage is still there, its primary focus—Alicia.

That fucking cunt’s reckoning is overdue.

“Axe.” Griffen’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“What?”

“I’ve been digging into Rory’s mother’s case.” He lowers his voice, his eyes scanning the empty waiting area. “You were right. The police didn’t investigate.”

I sit up, every nerve on alert. “What do you mean?”

“Conrad shut it all down. No search of the property. No officers entered the house after the ambulance left. No DNA, no prints, no crime scene photos. Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” His jaw tics. “Got my hands on the files. The official report is a joke—barely a page long. And Conrad made sure there was no autopsy.”

A slow, violent realization settles in my gut. “You think he had her killed?”

“It’s a possibility. Either way, he covered it up.” His voice drops even lower. “But the coroner had already started an examination.”

“What?”

“Maybe he got Conrad’s orders too late,” he says, pulling out his phone. “But there’s a preliminary report. Toxicology, blood work—tests were already in motion.” He sends me a file, and my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I scroll through the document.

What the fuck.

“She was pregnant?”

“Almost four months,” Griffen confirms, watching my reaction .

“And there was no record of it?” My grip tightens on the phone.

“Not in her medical history.”

“So, she was hiding it.” The pieces click together. “From him.”

I keep scrolling. No drugs, no alcohol. But the coroner noted multiple injuries—broken ribs, fractured eye socket, cracked jaw, several broken fingers, vaginal trauma, and three gunshot wounds to the chest.

Jesus.

My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. Rory had to listen to that—to her mother being raped and beaten to death. And Conrad let it happen.

“I can’t believe there wasn’t an investigation,” Griffen mutters.

“Because Conrad didn’t want one. Too many questions. Especially if he was involved; he hired the Italians to kill her.”

But why threaten Rory? Why tell her they’d come back for her?

That question has my head pounding.

“If Conrad orchestrated it, then why let her think it was her fault?” I murmur, staring blankly at the report.

“Maybe she saw something. Overheard something.” He runs a hand down his face. “Could be why he shipped her off to boarding school.”

“Fuck.” I shut my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temples. “I have to talk to her about it.”

Not tonight. She’s been through enough.

Standing, I glance into the exam room. Rory lies on the table, the nurse working carefully on her wounds. She flinches when the antiseptic touches her skin. I clench my fists .

She shouldn’t have been hurt.

“Axe.” Griffen’s voice drags me back.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” I mutter, stalking away, my knuckles cracking.

“You planning to keep her somewhere else?”

The logical answer is yes —she’d be safer away from me. But that’s not an option. She’s mine.

“No,” I say flatly. “She stays with me.”

“You sure that’s smart?”

Before I can respond, Isaac’s voice booms down the hall.

“General Hawthorne!”

I turn, bracing for impact as he stalks toward me, his expression a mix of rage and control. His gaze sweeps over me, taking in the bloodstains, my ripped clothes, the exhaustion weighing me down.

Here we go.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“It's nothing,” I grunt, waving him off, but my tone says otherwise.

His eyes narrow, jaw tight. “We need to talk. Privately.”

“Fine.” I follow him into an empty room, ready for the bullshit.

He barely waits for the door to shut before whipping around. “I just got off the phone with Conrad.”

My fists curl, muscles coiled tight. “And?”

“He wants her punished. For breaking her vow.”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

I quickly close the gap between us. He flinches but forces himself to stand his ground .

“Axe—”

“Not. Gonna. Happen,” I snarl.

He exhales sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. “Listen, you’re an asset to the Sovereign, but she did break her vow. It can’t be ignored. She’s not your wife anymore.”

Those words scrape against every fucking nerve.

“She doesn’t have to be banished,” he adds, “but the punishment has to be severe.”

“No. Not a fucking chance.” I lock eyes with him. “I’m redeeming one of your Death Bonds. Right now.”

His expression shifts—surprise flickers, quickly masked by hesitation. He knows what that means.

“Consider Rory’s vows restored,” I growl.

“Axe—”

I cut him off. “The Bond will pay the debt. That’s the only way this goes down.”

He grits his teeth. “That’s not how it works.”

“You’re going to make an exception.”

The heat in my voice sears through the room. Bonds aren’t transferable, but rules don’t mean shit when it comes to Rory.

Isaac straightens, clinging to authority. “I could have you banished. Stripped of rank. Exiled.”

“Then fucking do it.” I step closer, daring him to try. “Banish me. But understand this—you’ll have to kill me first.”

“The Council won’t allow it,” he grits out, trying to hold on to control.

“I’m not asking.”

I lean in, close enough to feel his breath hitch. “I have unredeemed Bonds with every member of the Council. They are all indebted to me. So unless you want to be the idiot explaining why you exiled the Sovereign’s most lethal weapon, you’ll redeem my Bond and reinstate Rory’s vows. Today .”

His jaw works, frustration written in every line of his face. He knows I’ve got him.

Finally, he huffs, clearing his throat. “Fine,” he spits. “The Council won’t be happy.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

His eyes flicker with something close to desperation. “What about Conrad? He wants her punished.”

“Then deal with him.”

I don’t wait for a response. I turn, stride toward the door, every muscle tensing with barely contained fury.

At the threshold, I pause, throwing one last parting shot over my shoulder.

“And ask yourself—why is Conrad so fucking eager to punish his own daughter?”

The door slams behind me, rattling the frame.

I don’t stop. No more wasted breath on bureaucratic bullshit. Rory needs me.

And nothing else matters.