Page 26 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

I step out of the shower, water still clinging to my skin as I roughly towel off.

The mirror’s fogged, but I don’t bother wiping it.

My reflection doesn’t matter. The only thing clear in my head is the burning rage from today, a fire that refuses to die down.

I need an outlet, and there’s only one way I know to get it.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a black tee, I move silently through the room.

Rory’s still curled up in bed, peaceful for once.

She doesn’t need to see this side of me right now.

Leaning down, I press a quick kiss on her forehead, then leave her to sleep.

Kane slips past me and jumps onto the bed beside her.

As I descend the stairs, the house is dark and quiet. Griffen’s slouched on the couch, laptop balanced on his stomach, eyes barely registering as I pass .

“Where you headed?” His voice cuts through the silence.

“Out,” I snap as I grab my keys and jacket.

“You’re not going after him, are you?” He shifts, setting the laptop aside, that damn knowing look on his face.

“No.”

“Then who?” he presses.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Probably not.”

Too tired to push, he rubs a hand over his face.

“Keep her safe,” I bark, already heading for the door. “I’ll be down in the basement later.”

He knows what that means. The routine's familiar.

Tonight’s going to be bloody, and I need to get my hands dirty.

“You sure that’s smart?” he calls after me, but I’m already halfway out the door.

“It’ll clear my head.”

“Well, have fun.” He’s resigned, grabbing the remote, already switching back to whatever mindless show he was watching.

I stalk to the garage, each step deliberate. The rage is still there, but it’s focused now, controlled. I pull the tarp off the Honda—plain, forgettable. It’s my ghost car, built for nights like this. No VIN, no electronics, fake plates. A stripped-down shell, as hollow as I am.

I don’t fuck around.

Midnight’s close when I finally park, deep in a secluded ditch.

Gloves on, each finger slides into place like a second skin.

The adrenaline surges, heightening everything.

Tonight, it’s not about Conrad. He’s hiding at the Iron, like the spineless bastard he is, but I’ll hit him where it hurts.

While he thinks he’s safe, I’ll tear apart what he loves.

Something he’ll never get back.

Alicia.

I pull up the hood of my black hoodie, slipping on a mask that erases any trace of humanity. No skull mask tonight—that’s too personal, too recognizable. Tonight, I’m the faceless predator, the shadow that hunts without mercy.

The front gate is laughable, security so lax it’s insulting.

The guard is slumped over the counter, drool dripping from his chin like a fucking child. He doesn't even stir when I approach.

I don’t hesitate.

A single bullet to the head.

Blood sprays the wall, his body slumps. Another useless life snuffed out. The house's security system is a joke. Conrad’s arrogance is written all over it. I skim through the cameras until I find her.

Alicia’s sprawled across her bed, tangled in sheets, her fake tits on full display. Tonight, I’ll make her feel every ounce of fear she deserves.

Their other guards are just as incompetent, asleep at their posts. Conrad doesn’t think anyone can touch him, like he’s untouchable. That ends tonight.

I cut the cameras, disabling the system with ease.

No one’s tracking me.

I’m invisible.

I slip into the house through a side entrance, the lock giving way with a soft click.

Darkness swallows the hallway, but I move through it like I was born in it.

The guards go down one by one, each shot clean.

No noise, just the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor, blood pooling beneath them.

I don’t bother hiding them. No need. By the time anyone finds them, I’ll be long gone.

Alicia’s room is up ahead. The door is cracked open, darkness spilling into the hallway. I stand at the foot of her bed, watching her. She has no idea her world’s about to end. I’ve hated her for so long, and now, I’ll get to enjoy every second of her death.

I pull a syringe from my pocket, the liquid inside ready to knock her out cold.

Grabbing her ankle, I yank her toward me.

She jolts awake, a scream caught in her throat.

Before she can fully register what’s happening, I drive the needle into her neck.

The sedative works fast, her body going slack in my grip.

The room goes silent.

Hoisting her over my shoulder, I leave the way I came. She’ll wake up soon enough, but by then, she’ll wish she hadn’t.

A glint catches my eye—Alicia's phone, still plugged into the wall, tethered by a charging cord. I yank it free, disabling the location settings in a few quick taps. No one’s tracking her now. Slipping it into my pocket, I know this little device might come in handy later.

I move down the hallway, when a floorboard creaks underfoot. That’s not the problem. The problem is the sharp intake of breath and the shriek that follows.

Fuck.

I spin around, and there’s Alicia’s little sister, Olivia, frozen, her face pale as a corpse.

Her mouth opens, about to scream again, to run.

Too slow. Before she can take another step, I raise my gun and put a bullet through her skull.

She drops like a rag doll, blood spattering the wall behind her.

I told that cunt her days were numbered.

With Alicia’s limp form still slung over my shoulder, I make my exit swift and silent.

Too easy. Almost fucking boring.

I toss Alicia’s unconscious body into the trunk like a sack of trash and slam it shut. She’s out cold, and she’ll stay that way for hours.

The garage light flicks on as I pull in. No time to waste. I hoist her from the trunk, slinging her over my shoulder again, and head to the basement through the hidden passage.

Down here, there’s no escape.

I drop her into the metal chair, her body slumping lifelessly.

Heavy steel chains snap into place around her wrists.

She’s not going anywhere. I flip the light switch, the harsh fluorescents buzzing overhead.

The room’s concrete walls feel like a tomb—three slabs of stone, the fourth a solid sheet of reinforced steel.

No windows, no air, no light except what I allow.

The metal chair is bolted to the floor, built for one purpose: confinement.

This room isn’t just a prison.

It’s her fucking grave.