Page 28 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

His hand slides up to cradle my jaw, his thumb brushing away a tear.

“I promise, Rory. I’ll only hurt you in the best possible ways.

With my cock.” He slams his hips. “My tongue, my hands.” Another thrust. “Every part of me will be used to pleasure you.

To destroy you. To ruin you. Until you're nothing but a mess of cum, tears, and pain, in the most beautiful way.”

In a heartbeat, he’s cutting my wrists free, then sliding out of me.

Before I can blink, he’s flipping me onto my back, wedged between my thighs, and his lips crash against mine, devouring me whole. I gasp into his mouth, the sharp ache of his withdrawal mingling with arousal as he pounds into my ass again.

My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, as if I could somehow fuse us together. He fucks me slow and deep, like we've got all night, like the world is ours. Nails digging into his back, I bite down on his shoulder, grinding my clit against his pelvis.

This is new. We’ve never fucked like this. There’s no rough edge, no domination—it’s raw, pure, and terrifyingly intimate. Our bodies move in perfect sync. My body tingles, another wave of heat building in my core, my orgasm coiling tighter, ready to snap.

“Axe—” I barely manage before his lips claim mine again. His moans blend with mine, his hips jerking as I feel him pulse inside me, filling my ass with his cum .

We don’t stop kissing, not even as our bodies tremble from the aftershocks.

He stays buried, still hard, still wanting, and I don’t want to let go either.

I wrap my arms tighter around his shoulders, nuzzling my face in the crook of his neck.

His lips brush against my skin, while his fingers thread through my hair.

“Fuck, Rory,” he breathes. He starts to pull away, but I hold him in place.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Just...stay.” I hate how desperate I sound, but I can’t let him go, not yet. He freezes, then his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer.

We lie there, our bodies tangled, heat simmering between us.

“I’m crushing you,” he finally says, breaking the stillness.

“You’re not. I like it.” His weight pressing me down, his warmth sinking into my skin—it feels too good.

He huffs a low laugh. “You’ve accused me of crushing you before.” His hand tangles in my hair, and I can feel his smile against my temple.

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“It was after the first time I fucked you in the shower. You were so damn feisty.”

“You were being a prick,” I shoot back, but there's no real bite behind it.

“And you loved it.” He chuckles.

“I did.” The admission slips out, and his laughter fades, something deeper settling between us. “And I love this,” I add softly. “Being with you like this.”

Admitting even that much is terrifying, but I need him to understand. To know there’s something .

“Rory...”

I close my eyes, biting my lip. His words have shaken something loose, and now I'm on the verge of saying things I'm not sure I'm ready to admit... “Axe...I?—”

“You don't have to say anything.” His voice is a low rumble, cutting me off, but the tenderness in his tone is unmistakable.

My breath hitches, a lump forming in my throat.

His lips meet mine again, unhurried, like he’s memorizing me. When he finally pulls away, I release him reluctantly, letting him slip out of me. He rolls over and gathers me against him.

I trace the Sovereign brand on his chest, my fingers following the sharp, precise lines of the swords and skull. His tattoos cover so much—scars hidden beneath ink, marks that I’ve never asked about. But I know they hold the horrors of his childhood, the kind that shaped him into the man he is now.

My fingertips brush over the thick scar that snakes along the side of his neck, mostly hidden in the black ink, but impossible to miss once you know it’s there.

“How’d you get this?”

His muscles tense under my touch. He inhales slowly, measured.

“It was a long time ago. From my father.” His voice is flat, drained of all feeling.

I jolt upright, staring at him. “What?”

His jaw locks tight, eyes flickering with something…pain— real pain. The scar is brutal, jagged and deep. But the thought of his own father doing this? My stomach churns .

“What happened?” I ask softly, my fingers grazing the rough ridge of the scar. He flinches—just barely—but I catch it.

“It was one of his 'lessons.'” His voice is cold, bitter. “He wanted to mold me into the perfect killer.”

I swallow hard. “And this was supposed to teach you what, exactly?”

“To not fear death.” His breath hitches before he exhales sharply. “He said the best Sovereigns don’t fear dying. So to prove it, he slit my throat.”

I freeze.

“And he just...left you?”

“Left me to bleed out. Wanted to see if I’d beg. When I didn’t, he stitched me up.”

“Jesus, Axe. How old were you?”

“Sixteen. He did worse.”

“Worse than slitting your throat?”

His jaw tics, a muscle jumping near his temple.

“Yeah. A lot worse. The shit he did to Lucas and I…” he trails off. His fingers tighten on the sheets, knuckles going white. “But that was his final lesson. He died before he could inflict more. He met the end he deserved.”

“How?”

“In a pool of his own vomit, choking on his blood. The man who taught me life was a worthless cunt, choked on his own shit, and died alone.”

His tone is detached—the memory’s just another piece of his past. But I can feel the weight of it, even if he won’t admit it. I stare at him, searching for something to say, but what the hell do you say to that?

“I’m sorry,” I finally murmur, the words feeling pointless.

“For what?” His brow furrows, eyes narrowing. “He deserved to die, Rory. Don’t waste your pity on him.” There’s anger in his voice now, but I can see it—he’s been carrying that pain for so damn long.

“What about your mother?”

“She overdosed.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Wasn’t much of a loss. She wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.”

“Axe…you deserved better.”

For a second, I think he might say something—something real, something vulnerable—but instead, he pulls away. “You should get some sleep,” he deflects, already standing.

I watch him disappear into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room. Pulling the blankets up over my head, I block out the world. Because fuck , there’s nothing I can do to fix what’s broken in him. But I wish I could.

Kane nudges the bedroom door open and lets out a deep sigh as he curls on the floor next to the bed.

I try to close my eyes and push away the mess of thoughts swirling in my mind.

But a sharp, high-pitched beep slices through the quiet, snapping me awake.

I sit up, glancing at Kane. He doesn't even stir.

Must be nothing. If it were something, he would be alert. Right?

“What’s that sound?” I mutter.

Axe steps out of the bathroom. “What sound?”

“That beeping,” I reply, scanning the room.

Instantly, his expression hardens, and he bolts for his dresser. “Kane, aanval !” Kane launches off the floor, nails scraping as he charges out the door. His barking echoes down the hall .

“Rory, get dressed. Now.” He’s already yanking on jeans and boots. My pulse spikes, and the air suddenly feels too thin.

“Why?” I ask, my voice shaky, my body frozen.

“The perimeter’s been breached. Someone’s here.” Our eyes lock—his cold and lethal, mine probably wide with fear. And then room plunges into total darkness, and my heart stutters. Oh, hell no.

“Shit—fuck—Rory, get dressed!” He grips my arm, pulling me from the bed and shoving me toward the dresser. “Don’t leave this room. I’ll come back when it’s safe.”

He grabs his phone, the screen casting an eerie glow, then triggers an alarm that blasts through the house, drenching everything in red light. It feels like the whole world’s on fire. His intense eyes meet mine one last time.

“Do. Not. Leave.”

And then he’s gone, gun drawn, disappearing into the hallway.

My hands tremble as I yank on my underwear, one of his shirts, and shove my feet in my sneakers. I crouch by the bed, trying to become invisible, heart pounding so violently I swear it’ll burst out of my chest. The sirens are blaring, making it impossible to think straight.

This can’t be happening.

Through the blaring alarm, I hear Kane’s ferocious barks, and the growing noise from outside as gunshots rip through the air. Men’s voices shout orders, footsteps thundering through the house.

I scramble under the bed, curling into myself, tears streaming down my face as my breaths come in short, ragged gasps .

The lights flicker back on, flooding the room with harsh brightness. But the noise—the fighting, the shouting—it’s everywhere.

Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move.

I stay there, trying to make myself as small as possible.

The door creaks open, and I freeze, heart pounding in my throat as I tame my shaking body. Heavy boots thud across the floor, and I hear low murmurs—too many voices to count. The floor groans beneath their weight, each step closer, the sound of my worst nightmare coming to life.

“Come out, pretty girl,” one of them calls, his voice dripping with a calm confidence that’s almost worse than the situation itself.

Russian, maybe? Eastern European? It doesn’t matter.

What matters is I can’t move, can’t breathe.

His smooth, foreign accent slithers through the air, tightening around my throat. “Don’t make me find you.”

“Come out, little one.” Every taunt sends a fresh wave of panic, but I clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle the sob threatening to slip.

Gunshots explode in the background, followed by the unmistakable sounds of combat—Axe and Griffen fighting them off.

“I won’t ask again!” he snaps, and the room jolts as he kicks over the dresser, sending everything crashing to the floor.

He’s close. Too close.

“I know you’re here.”