Page 31 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

M y muscles ache, a constant reminder that getting thrown from a motorcycle and dodging hitmen in the same night isn’t exactly my idea of fun.

I should probably let Dom know I won’t be shaking my ass on stage for the next few weeks. Not that it matters—he’ll find someone else. Right now, all I can think about is Axe. The last person on earth I ever thought would take up this much space in my head.

Yet here I am.

The smell of coffee drifts in from the kitchen. The spot next to me is cold. Empty . He’s already up, probably plotting some violent revenge. That’s who he is. That part of him won’t ever change.

But something else has changed.

The way he looks at me. The way he touches me. The way he protects me like I actually matter.

And the weirdest part? I trust him. More than anyone.

With a groan, I roll out of bed and dig through my bag. What the hell was I thinking when I packed? Clearly, I was in shock—because all I’ve got are dance shorts, crop tops, and one pair of leggings.

Then I spot it—his black hoodie, slung over a chair. I tug it on, drowning in the fabric, the scent of leather and spice wrapping around me. It smells like him. Feels like him. A warmth that settles somewhere deep in my chest.

I shake off the thought, throw on some shorts, and head to the kitchen.

Rosa’s already at the stove, muttering in rapid-fire Italian as she stirs something that smells incredible.

The second she sees me, she gasps, crossing the room in record time.

“ Dio! Look at you—so thin! You eat! Subito! ” Pulling me to a chair at the island, she shoves a plate of food in front of me.

“Thanks, Rosa,” I mumble, picking up a fork.

Across the island, Axe and Griffen are locked in some hushed conversation, their expressions hard. Kane’s lying near the fireplace, bandaged but alert, his tail thumping lazily against the floor. At least he’s okay.

I glance at my phone, but there’s still nothing from Spencer. My stomach knots. Chest tightens. He’s always been there for me. My rock. My shield. And now?

Now, he’s silent.

And I don’t know how to survive that.

A weight presses against my back, warm and solid. His arms wrap around me just before his lips brush the back of my head .

“You look beautiful,” Axe murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion. “My sweatshirt looks good on you.”

His words spread warmth through my limbs, making it hard to think straight.

“How you feeling?” he asks, like it’s just us, like there isn’t a war brewing outside these walls.

“I’m okay.” I glance up at him. “How’s Kane?”

“Needs rest, but he’s tough.”

Then he drops the bomb. “We’re going to the Iron today.”

I freeze. No. No fucking way.

“Good luck with that.”

“Rory, I’m serious.”

“Axe, no.” I shake my head. “I’m not going. I can stay here.”

His arms tighten slightly. “I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I’m not going back there.”

The shame—I can still hear my father’s voice ringing in my ears. You were never enough. And now, you are nothing. I refuse to walk back into that place and let him see just how much he broke me.

“Rory, it’s not optional.” His tone shifts, that dangerous edge creeping in. “You’re coming.”

“No, I’m not.”

His jaw clenches. “We’re leaving in a few minutes. Finish eating.”

I glare at him. “Fine. But we’re stopping for coffee.”

“We have coffee here.”

“Not an iced caramel macchiato with almond milk.” I lift my chin in defiance .

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Anything else, your highness?”

“Yeah. A croissant.”

“Elite hitmen are hunting us, and you want a damn croissant?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“No, you’re being hunted. I’m just your prisoner.”

“My prisoner?”

A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face. He presses closer, caging me in against the counter, hand sliding to the nape of my neck. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

“What other word would you use?”

His lips barely brush mine. “My little siren.”

“My toy,” he breathes, thumb tracing my bottom lip.

His gaze flicks from my mouth to my eyes. “Mine . ”

“You’re so possessive.”

“When it comes to you?” His grip tightens. “ Very. ”

Then his lips crash into mine—fierce, claiming. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, deepening the kiss.

“You two need a room?” Griffen’s voice cuts through the moment, smug as hell. “Or maybe a safe word?”

“Fuck off, Griff,” Axe mutters against my lips, but he doesn’t move. His fingers still press into my skin.

Griffen snickers. “Just saying—if we’re doing the whole role-play thing, give me a heads-up so I can grab some lube and enjoy the show.”

Axe glares at him, but there’s a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Then he turns back to me, “Go get dressed, little siren . ”

I nod, slipping away from his grip, still feeling the burn of his touch as I head for the bedroom.

Digging through my duffel, I pull out leggings and a crop top, shrugging his hoodie back on.

The weather outside is just as miserable as I feel—gray skies and steady rain.

It suits the mood. I twist my hair into a bun, catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Red, puffy eyes. The gash on my cheek stings, framed by an ugly bruise that’s only getting darker. I dab concealer over the worst of it, but makeup feels pointless.

I toss the concealer back in my bag. Who cares?

When I return to the kitchen, Axe and Griffen are talking quietly, while Rosa hums to herself, wiping down the counters like nothing could ever shake her.

“Ready?” Axe glances over at me, his hand already reaching for mine.

“Yeah.” I nod, slipping my hand into his.

We say goodbye to Rosa and climb into the car. Griffen and Axe start arguing about god knows what.

As we near the city, the rain turns traffic into a sluggish mess. The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm against the darkening sky, and I lean my head against the window, watching the world blur. A sleek Lamborghini Urus creeps up beside us.

“That’s a nice car,” I mutter, eyeing it.

“It’s about to be full of bullet holes if they keep driving up my ass,” Axe mutters.

I chuckle. “I want my next armored car to be an Urus.”

He snorts. “Your next armored car, huh? Planning on getting yourself into that much trouble?”

“With you? Always.” I grin, giving him a playful shrug. “I’d settle for red, though.”

“A red armored Urus, huh?” His lips curl into a slow smirk. “ If you behave.”

“I always behave.”

“Sure, little siren.” Chuckling, he shakes his head. I bite my lip and turn back to the window to hide the flush creeping up my cheeks. Talking about future plans, even something as stupid as a car, makes my heart skip a beat. And the worst part? I don’t even mind.

The city finally looms ahead—crowded streets, umbrellas bobbing as people hurry through the rain. We crawl through traffic until Axe pulls up outside a coffee shop.

“What do you want?” he asks, already halfway out of the car.

“Iced caramel macchiato with almond milk, no whipped cream,” I rattle off. “And a croissant, lightly toasted.”

He shakes his head before stepping out into the rain.

Griffen rolls down his window, sticking his arm out just in time to get splashed. “Hey! Bring me a black coffee and a muffin, Reaper!” he shouts after Axe.

Axe flips him the bird without turning around. “I’m not your damn waitress!”

“But you’re Rory’s bitch, so close enough!” Griffen cackles, leaning back, arms crossed like he’s proud of himself.

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, but Griffen’s next words catch me off guard.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” He glances over at me, a rare softness creeping into his usually cocky expression. “You’ve got him all kinds of fucked up, in a good way.”

I snort. “Fucked up is a compliment?”

“With him? Yeah,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “He’s not usually…this human.” He chuckles. “Less stabby. Less growl-at-everything-that-br eathes. He’s still a bastard, don’t get me wrong, but now he hesitates. Thinks, with you, at least. That never used to happen.”

I shift, unsure if I’m supposed to be flattered or concerned.

“He needs that,” Griffen says, tone dipping. “He’s spent his whole life bleeding for other people’s sins. You show up, and suddenly the guy remembers he has a fucking heart. The Reaper in a pastry line. Never thought I’d live to see the day,” he mutters the last part under his breath.

I stare out the windshield, chewing on my lip, unsure what to say.

He leans forward, his expression tightening. “You’re good for him. He’ll never stop being who he is. But with you? He doesn’t have to drown in it.”

Before I can reply, the conversation screeches to a halt when Axe slides into the driver’s seat.

“I'm gutting the next motherfucker who cuts me off in traffic,” he mumbles, yanking off the lid of his coffee and taking a sip.

Griffen just grins. “See? Total ray of sunshine.”

Axe ignores him, revving the engine like he’s ready to commit vehicular homicide. I shake my head, sipping on my iced macchiato, letting the caffeine work its magic.

As we near the Iron, that familiar dread twists inside me. My stomach knots tighter with each mile, and by the time Axe pulls up and parks, my hands are clammy. I really don’t want to run into my father today.

The elevator ride down is torture. The sterile walls close in, the hum of the machinery buzzing in my ears. Every second stretches too long, and my pulse hammers in my throat.

“We're going to the Command Center. I need to talk to Arsen,” Axe says, his voice all business. I nod, even though anxiety is practically choking me.

I clench my fists, hoping it’ll stop my hands from trembling. Nope. No luck.

“You okay?” Axe’s question eases through my panic.

“No,” I admit with a sigh. “I don’t want to see my father. Or any of the leaders, honestly.”