Page 30 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

F uck. Just fucking…FUCK.

I steal another glance at Rory. She’s trembling, eyes wide, raw fear carved into her face.

This place—my fucking house—has never been breached, not once in all the years I’ve lived in it like a fortress.

But now? Blood stains the floors, glass shattered like confetti at my feet.

Someone knew exactly what they were doing—bypassed every system, slipped through every defense I built.

Someone with a fucking death wish.

Someone who’s about to learn what it really means to cross me.

Twenty-five million. That’s the bounty hanging over my head. Enough to make even the most seasoned killers come sniffing. And these weren’t just desperate men chasing a payday. They were professionals—calm, calculated, unflinching in the face of death. But they fucked up. They fucked up bad.

They came into my house.

And I’m still alive.

I wrap my arms around Rory, feeling the tremors straining her body.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Kane will be alright.”

Her eyes flick to where he lies across the room, bleeding.

“I’ll handle it.” My fingers run through her hair, trying— failing —to calm her.

“He’s hurt bad,” she whispers.

“He’s a fighter. He’ll pull through.”

My mind’s a storm of calculations, running through every possibility of how the breach happened.

Heavy footsteps thud through the bloodstained silence. Griffen. His face says it all before he even opens his mouth—grim, steeled, fucking furious.

“Every single one’s dead,” he confirms.

“You’re sure?”

He nods. “Counted the bodies—twelve in total.”

“Twelve.” I echo the number, the taste bitter on my tongue. “They should’ve sent more.”

I turn back to Rory. Keeping her safe comes first—always. “We’ll crash in the guest house tonight. It’s safer.”

Griffen’s gaze flicks to her. “You good, doll?”

She gives him a shaky nod, and I crouch beside Kane. His wound is deep, but survivable. If he’s lucky, he won’t need surgery.

“We’re gonna get you some help, buddy.”

He lets out a low whine, but his eyes stay locked on Rory. Even hurt, the bastard’s still watching her back. Loyal to the last breath.

Rory swallows hard. “He’s really going to be alright? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll call a vet once we’re out of here.” I squeeze her hand and lead her upstairs. Kane limps after us, determined, dragging himself through the wreckage.

The house is a fucking war zone—blood streaking the walls, spent shell casings glinting under the dim light, death heavy and present in the air.

A fucking message.

We reach the bedroom. I kick open the door, checking every shadow, every blind spot before letting her in. She moves fast, yanking open the closet, pulling out a duffel bag, stuffing clothes inside with frantic hands.

Grabbing her laptop and her phone, I toss them into the bag without a word.

This was a warning.

The Dolore won’t stop. Not until I’m dead.

And if I fuck this up?

Rory’s going to pay the price.

“How long do you think we’ll be gone?”

I glance at her, shoving more of her things into the bag. “Long enough. Just pack what you need,” I grunt, throwing more clothes in. I’ve been reckless, thinking I could keep her safe while they’re out there hunting. I should’ve known better.

We head downstairs and enter the kitchen. I grab a bottle of vodka—one of the few things that might dull the edge. I throw it into the bag, grabbing more supplies, but my focus keeps drifting back to Rory .

She’s at the island, her face pale, hands clenched tight.

“Rory.”

Her gaze snaps to mine.

“You’re safe.” As I pull her close, she clings to me.

“I was so scared, Axe,” she whispers. “I thought…I thought they were going to kill me.”

I lift her chin, meeting her tear-streaked face, anger sharpening my every word. “I’ll kill anyone who so much as looks at you wrong.”

I press my mouth to hers, tasting the salt of her fear.

“Weapons packed; let’s move.” Griffen’s voice breaks through, clipped and on edge. He strides in, tossing me the keys.

Time to get the hell out here.

I grab Rory’s hand, pulling her through the wreckage.

Glass crunches under our feet, the scent of blood and gunpowder thick in the air.

At the Range Rover, I yank the door open, helping her inside before slamming it shut.

Then I climb in, punch the gas, and tear out of there, gravel flying as we disappear into the woods.

By the time we pull into the garage, my hands are still tight on the wheel, rage burning under my skin like a slow, barely controlled fire.

Kane lets out a low whine in the backseat, his ears pinned, eyes darting.

The guest house looms ahead—a six-bedroom fortress, built to withstand a fucking siege.

Griff’s already moving, securing every point, setting the alarms.

I guide Rory inside and to the bedroom. She looks hollow, drained—the nightmare still tormenting at her. She needs rest .

I inhale deeply, forcing my voice into something close to calm. “Baby.” I brush a damp strand of hair from her face. “Take a shower. Try to get some sleep.”

She nods, whispering, “Okay.” Then she disappears into the bathroom.

The second I hear the water running, I’m out the door.

Griff’s at the kitchen island, two glasses and a bottle of vodka already waiting. He glances up, eyes piercing. “Place is locked down. No one’s getting in without tripping ten different alarms.”

I grab the bottle, pouring myself a stiff one. The burn does nothing. “They won’t get a second chance to try.”

“How bad?” He watches me closely as I throw back another shot.

“Fucking bad.” I slam the glass down. “They had inside intel, Griff. They knew everything —layout, security, alarm placement. Down to the last goddamn wire. Except for the fucking fence, if they hadn’t set that off…” I trail off as I fire off a text to Kane’s vet, telling them to send someone ASAP.

“That’s a problem.”

“No, it’s a fucking disaster. Someone sold us out. And when I find them, I’m going to make them wish they were never fucking born.”

He nods, his expression unreadable. “And Rory?”

I roll my shoulders, forcing the tension down. “She doesn’t leave my sight until I know exactly who the traitor is and where they’re hiding.”

“We could take her to the Iron,” he suggests. “No one can touch her there.”

Jaw locked, I shake my head. “Not after the bullshit her father pulled. She’s not setting foot in that place unless I’m with her.”

Conrad’s going to lose his fucking mind when he realizes Alicia’s gone. And I’ll be damned if Rory gets caught in his warpath.

The empty glass hits the counter with a crack .

“We’re staying here until I sort this shit out.”

I’ve got twelve dead bodies to deal with and a traitor lurking in the shadows.

“You could disappear,” he says, watching me carefully. “Lay low until this blows over.”

I could . Hell, it’d be easy. Vanish. Go underground.

But not with Rory.

“No.” The denial settles into my bones. “She’s my priority. I’m not leaving her.”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “You tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“That you love her.” He smirks, tipping his drink at me. “And don’t try to play dumb.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, shaking my head. “What the hell is it with you and my personal life?”

He chuckles, smug as ever. “It’s entertaining. I’ve never seen you like this—acting human , almost.”

I glare. “Go to hell.”

“She’s good for you, man. You’re…different with her. Better.” His words are too fucking sincere for my taste. “I like her.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “So do I.”

His eyes narrow. “Did you tell her?”

“She hates me. ”

He snorts. “Save her ass a few more times; she’ll come around.”

I roll my eyes. “Great advice.”

He smirks, clapping me on the shoulder. “Anytime.” Then, stretching, he groans. “I’m fucking tired. Hitting the sack.”

“You’re a bastard,” I mutter.

“Love you too, Reaper.” He grins before disappearing down the hall.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through the security feeds. Alicia’s in the basement, chained up, head slumped forward, still out cold.

The bedroom door creaks open.

I shove my phone in my pocket and look up.

Rory steps out, her damp hair spilling over her shoulders, her body drowned in one of my t-shirts. The sight of her knocks the breath from my lungs.

“Will you lay down with me?” Her voice is quiet. Vulnerable.

My throat tightens. I cross the room, pressing a rough kiss on her forehead. “Of course, little siren.”

She takes my hand, leading me to bed. And for the first time tonight, the rage inside me settles.

“I should shower first,” I mutter, catching the familiar metallic tang of blood and sweat clinging to my skin. It reeks of death. Violence.

Rory nods, sliding into bed, her small frame curling up, trusting me without hesitation. That trust is a fucking knife to the gut. She shouldn’t trust me. Not after everything. Not when my entire world is a goddamn war zone .

I strip down, crank the water scalding hot, and step under the spray. The heat doesn’t do shit to cleanse me, doesn’t wash away the filth of what I’ve done—what I’ll keep doing. Leaning against the shower wall, I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw locked tight as the guilt digs in.

She isn’t safe with me.

She never will be.

My enemies would rip the world apart to drag me into hell, and if they can’t get to me, they’ll go through her.

The realization twists deep, razor-sharp.

If I want her safe, I have to let her go. Keeping her with me? It’s a death sentence.

But the thought of actually letting her go— fuck —it feels like carving my own heart out.

The water pounds against my back, searing into my muscles, but nothing eases the ache spreading through my chest.

I can’t fucking do it.

When I finally climb into bed, the sheets are warm from her body, her scent wrapping around me. I pull her close, my arms locking around her, needing to feel her, needing her breath against my skin.

I trace my fingers over the bite marks I left earlier, bruises darkening her flesh—marks that mean something.

Marks that carry my promise.

Another sharp ache stabs through me, raw and unforgiving—I love her.

Every fucked-up part of me, every dark, violent thing I am—it’s all tangled up in her now.

How the fuck am I supposed to let her go?