Page 77 of Always A Villain

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?

My 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 elsehaschanged.

The way he looks at me. The way he touches me. Theway 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.”