Page 42 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

R ory’s been back home for three weeks now, slowly healing and piecing herself together one day at a time.

I can see the difference every morning—she’s stronger, that fire of hers blazing brighter.

She's throwing herself into planning this wedding, but this time, it's different—it's her choice, and hell, I didn’t expect it to hit me like this.

The Sovereign’s been crawling all over Conrad’s world. They think he and Alicia ran off together, tracking them down like bloodhounds. What they dug up in Creed’s place? Enough dirt to bury Conrad a hundred times over. A public execution—Sovereign style.

I've played nice, acted as the dutiful General, keeping up appearances with Isaac and the others. But that fucking act ends now .

Today, I’m going after Conrad myself. Alone.

The arrogant motherfucking bastard has strutted around untouched for too long, but he made one critical mistake. Marrying that cunt, Alicia.

I have something no one else has—her phone. Every message, every calendar notification, every damn breath he took is laid out for me, and I finally fucking found him.

“Rory,” I call out, finding her curled up on the couch, Kane’s big head resting on her lap. She looks up, and for a second, everything else fades.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, the edge in my voice softening—only for her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, smiling, calm as ever. “You?”

“Good,” I mutter as I lean in to kiss her, my hand grazing her cheek. “Will you be alright if I’m out for a bit?”

“Yeah.” Her fingers brush mine before I pull back. “I’ve got calls to make and more online shopping to get done.”

“Anything you want,” I say, leaning in again for another kiss. It’s damn near impossible to leave her here.

“And don’t forget those suit measurements,” she adds, all business this time, but there’s that spark. “The Italian shop needs them for alterations.”

“Yeah, I’ll send them.” I told her I have plenty of suits, but if she wants a custom one for the wedding, who am I to argue?

In the garage, I head straight for the hidden basement entrance. No one—not even Griff—needs to know what I’m doing. The Sovereign want Conrad alive, to parade him around and make an example out of him. But that’s not fucking happening .

He dies today.

By my hand.

I shove a few essentials into my pack—just the things I’ll need to make this bastard's end as brutal as possible. A couple of blades, enough rounds to wipe out half a city block if it comes to that, and a few personal favorites. Conrad thinks he’s invincible.

Thinks he can scheme and slither his way out of everything.

He’s about to learn what it means to feel true terror.

The bastard forced a divorce, issued a Death Bond on her, and handed her over to the Dolore like she was his to give.

He thought he could manipulate me, use her to keep me under his thumb.

He has no idea just how wrong he was. I warned him.

Told him I’d gut anyone who ever tried to take her from me.

And now he’ll pay. Not with a bullet in the back or a quick drop from a noose.

No, I’ll be carving the life out of him, brutally.

This isn’t for the Sovereign.

This is for her.

In the garage, I slide into my car and tear out onto the street, barely noticing the road beneath me.

Hours don’t matter. I’d drive to the ends of the earth if it meant putting my hands around his throat.

The drive gives me time to let every fucking lie he sold me slither through my mind.

Every time he pretended to be a loving father, all while plotting behind the scenes.

I’m no man. Never have been.

I’m a monster. Always will be.

But for her? I’d rip myself apart just to keep her safe. Just to see her smile .

I pull off onto a dirt road, tucking the car into the trees. The neighborhood is silent, pitch-black, the whole world holding its breath.

I’m here, Conrad. And you’ve got nowhere left to hide.

Each breath I take behind the skull mask is slow, calculated, keeping me locked into the darkness Conrad summoned. He’ll meet his end staring into the face of the Reaper—the monster he thought he could leash.

I slip around the back, past the cameras. Scaling a drainpipe, I’m on the roof without a sound. Bloodlust churns in my gut, deep and insatiable.

Through an unlocked window, I slip inside. He’s alone in the living room, back turned, lounging like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Time’s up, motherfucker.

One step in and his head snaps up, too late to react. The butt of my pistol cracks down onto his skull, splitting it open. Blood seeps down his face as he slumps forward, stunned.

“W-What—” he croaks, the sound gurgling out like a dying animal.

I jam a clear plastic bag over his head and cinch it tight, pressing it down until his blood smears the inside.

His body spasms, clawing at the air, the sounds of his own struggle bouncing off the empty walls.

He chokes, gags, panics, every ounce of his arrogance crushed under unfiltered fear as I waterboard him with his own blood.

“Conrad Valentine,” I growl, bearing down, forcing him to see his killer.

“Axe—”

I shove him into a chair, strapping his arms tight behind him. He’s close to blacking out, wheezing and trembling. Only when I see his face go slack, when he’s one breath from the end, do I rip the bag off.

He gasps, sucking air in between bloody coughs, and he vomits, bile mixing with the blood on the floor.

“You really thought you’d get away with it,” I say, my voice as cold as death itself. “Thought you’d be paraded around, sentenced by the Sovereign. You don't get to die a noble fucking death.” I pull out my switchblade, flipping it open.

“Fuck you,” he spits, the words garbled with blood. “The Sovereign?—”

“They don’t get to have you. Your death is mine.” I grab his face and drag the blade down, tearing a deep, jagged line down his cheek. Blood spills over the wound, pooling into his collar.

“I’m not begging,” he chokes, his pride surfacing.

“Then don’t.” I bury the knife in his shoulder, feeling the blade grind through flesh and bone.

He howls, jerking against the pain, but he’s going nowhere.

I lean close and twist the knife deeper.

“Alicia did, though. She begged for her life. Begged me to spare her as I chopped off every one of her fucking limbs.”

“You son of a bitch.” He thrashes against the restraints. “I'm going to fucking kill you.”

“Unlikely.” I yank the blade free, hearing the sharp snick as it comes loose.

“You're gonna die here tonight.” Slicing the blade across his chest, a jagged line of red spills open, drenching his shirt. “I’ve had plenty of time to plan your death.” I press the knife’s tip into his skin, making him twitch .

“Axel,” he rasps, pleading now. Didn’t take long . His whimper makes me want to laugh. “Let me live, and I’ll tell you everything. There’s a bigger plan. I’ll give you names, locations, everything. This is bigger than me—bigger than you.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I spit, driving the knife into his thigh. The answering guttural scream is everything I wanted to hear. “I’m done with your fucking lies.”

I reach for the hammer.

“You don’t want to do this,” he whimpers, eyes wide.

“Don’t I?” I growl, stepping in close. Then I slam the hammer down onto his knee, the bone shattering under the force. The sickening crunch splits the air like a fucking symphony. His scream cuts off in a garbled, twisted shout.

I’m not here to make it quick. I want him to feel every second of this. I grab the pliers from my belt, my grip tight. Shoving them into his mouth, I pry his jaw open with a snap . I pull a tooth loose, hearing it pop free, and I do it again. And again. Each one’s a little more satisfying.

“I’m gonna watch you drown in your own blood,” I sneer. Yanking his head back by his hair, I jam the pliers into his throat. “And when you finally take your last fucking breath, I’ll cut out your heart and serve it to my wife. ”

He chokes, blood bubbling up from his throat. The air is thick with the taste of iron. His body spasms violently. He’s bleeding out fast.

“Please,” he gurgles, the word barely a whisper. “Stop…” He finally begs, they all do, eventually.

“No. This is for Rory. Her revenge.” I pull the plastic bag over his head, seething. “For forcing her to listen while you raped and murdered her mother. For making her believe it was her fault. For every fucking moment of pain she felt because of you. You deserve every second of this.”

He gags, his body jerking, the fight fading from his eyes as the blood fills his lungs, drowning him from the inside out. His chest heaves, desperate, but there’s nothing left. Just death.

“Goodbye, Conrad,” I whisper in his ear, tightening the bag, sealing his fate.

I rear the hammer back. One last swing, and the impact is fatal. His body slumps, lifeless. His last breath leaks out, empty.

This kill is more satisfying than any other.

Because this one heals the woman I love.

I wipe my prints from the room, leaving no trace of me behind. Just his bloody, tortured corpse. As I slip out the way I came, I grab his phone and laptop. I don’t know what information he was hiding, but I’ll find out—I always do.

As the sun rises, shining through the early morning haze, I slip back to the car. The streets are empty and silent. I rip off my blood-soaked clothes. Shove them into a bag. Change fast. Toss the bag into a dumpster. Watch it go up in flames.

My life has been nothing but shadows and blood. A trail of corpses. My heart is a slab of stone, black and hollow. No soul. Just a fucking void where something human should’ve been.

I am death. The Reaper. And I don’t apologize for it. Don’t regret it. I’ve embraced it.

Then she came.

No matter how much I bleed for her, no matter how hard I fight, I’ll always be the monster. The devil they whisper about in the dark. I don’t deserve her. Never fucking will. I’ll carry this darkness with me to my grave.

But I’m hers.

For better or worse.

And I’ll die before I let anyone take that from me.

My only regret is not seeing it sooner. Not realizing she was the one thing worth fighting for.

Now, I’ll spend every second of my life making sure she never feels pain again. Never suffers. Never has to look over her shoulder.

Her happiness is all I care about.

All I ever will.