Page 19 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)

EIGHTEEN

VIOLET

The rain starts around dusk.

Soft at first. Nothing more than a whisper against the windows. Then it gets heavier. Louder. Until its pounding drowns out everything else.

I don’t know where the guys are. Rome said he had paperwork to do. Dallas probably went out somewhere with Ollie. And Niko… well, Niko never really tells anyone what he’s doing.

I’m alone in the kitchen, blasting music through my headphones while whisking whipped cream in a half-hearted attempt to drown out the noise in my head.

The beat is loud, the lyrics, numbingly upbeat, but it’s not enough.

I crank the volume higher and whisk harder, letting the repetitive motion do what it can to distract me.

There were more texts today. Three, maybe four. I didn’t open them. Only glanced at the previews before swiping them away.

But he sounded… different.

Angrier.

Like he could tell I was ignoring him. Like he could sense it.

So, I threw myself into baking.

I told myself it was just a distraction. That I needed to keep my hands busy to stop from checking my phone.

But somewhere along the way, the distraction turned into cheesecake - a vanilla bean cheesecake to be exact.

Dallas’ favorite.

I didn’t do that on purpose.

At least; I don’t think I did.

But maybe, underneath all the noise in my head, some desperate part of me wanted to impress him.

As if that matters.

As if winning him over will somehow make up for the fact that I’ve been hiding things from him.

Lying by omission, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.

It’s ridiculous.

How can I want something more with him, with any of them, when I can’t even trust them with the truth?

Still, I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me the other night.

The way his mouth tasted.

I always knew Dallas was hot. Anyone with eyes could see that. But now, my attraction to him is so much worse.

I know what he smells like up close, what he sounds like when he groans in my ear, and what his hands feel like when they’re wrapped around me.

It’s all so freaking confusing.

The first flicker comes just as I finish topping the cheesecake.

Then, the lights go out, the refrigerator shuts off, and the room gets swallowed in darkness.

I rip my headphones off and toss them on the counter.

For a second, I just stand there, blinking into the sudden dark. Then comes a sound that makes my heart leap out of my chest. Not from the storm, but from something inside.

A bang.

A loud one. Like someone slamming a fist against the wall.

My stomach drops.

Another bang follows, louder this time. Then, a muffled voice, sharp and frantic.

My heart stutters.

I grab my phone off the counter, flick on the flashlight, and move.

The hallway stretches ahead, too long, too quiet. The beam of light shakes as I walk, slicing through the shadows.

“Hello?” I call out, my voice low.

No answer. Just another thud, coming from the direction of Niko’s room .

I reach his door and try the handle, but it doesn’t move.

“Niko.”

I press my ear to the door. “Are you in there?”

Silence.

Then.

“Vi?”

Relief flows through my chest. “Yeah.”

“I- I can’t get the door open. The manual lock is jammed.”

I blink, trying to process. His room is the only one in the house with a biometric lock. Something Rome said he insisted on, for privacy.

“You’re stuck?”

“…Yeah.”

There’s something in his voice I’ve never heard before.

Not from Niko, the guy who stares down threats like they bore him.

He’s panicking.

“Hold on,” I tell him, already turning on my heel.

I sprint down the hallway, past the darkened living room, into the utility closet.

The shadows feel thicker here, closer.

I dig past old batteries and cleaning supplies and feel my fingers graze against cold steel. It’s the crowbar Rome stashed here weeks ago. “Just in case,” he’d said.

I never thought we’d have a use for it.

By the time I get back to Niko’s door, my chest is tight from more than just running.

“I’ve got it,” I say, jamming the crowbar into the seam between the door and frame. “It’s gonna make noise.”

He doesn’t answer.

I press my shoulder against the door and push .

The metal groans and the frame creaks like it’s about to snap in half.

“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, throwing my weight into it again.

A crack. A pop. Then the door gives way.

It swings open an inch, then another, and I see Niko.

He’s shirtless and pale, with sweat shining across his collarbones.

His jaw is clenched tight, and his chest is rising and falling like he’s just run a mile.

His eyes are wild, unfocused and too sharp all at once, like he’s seeing something that isn’t there.

He looks like he’s still trapped in the dark, even in the light.

“Hey,” I say softly.

He stares at me. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

I don’t ask what’s wrong with him. I don’t need to. It’s written all over his face.

Niko is scared of the dark.

I lift my flashlight, step inside, and I reach my hand out to him.

“Let’s go find some candles.”

The candles flicker quietly, casting soft amber light across the room.

The storm’s still going outside, wind dragging rain against the windows, but in here, everything feels still .

We sit on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, backs to the wall.

Niko hasn’t said a word since I opened the door.

He’s just watching me.

His gaze is steady; his face, unreadable.

I don’t mind the silence, though. Sometimes silence is better than talking. Sometimes it’s the only thing that helps. Words ask for explanations. Silence just lets you breathe.

After a while, I shift, pushing up to my feet.

Niko’s shoulders tense immediately, his eyes flicking up like he’s bracing for something. He thinks I’m going to walk out, going to leave him here alone with the dark.

“Is it okay if I sleep in here tonight?” I ask gently. “The storm is creeping me out a little.”

His expression softens, and the tension in his shoulders eases, just a fraction.

He nods once.

I blow out the candles closest to the floor, strip off my hoodie, then crawl onto the bed, and slip under the blanket.

Niko follows a moment later, the mattress dipping under his weight.

His arm wraps around me, careful at first. Hesitant, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll pull away. I don’t; I just breathe and relax into his touch. Then, slowly, he pulls me closer, tighter. Probably too tight.

His grip is firm, almost desperate, like if he lets go, something inside him might break open.

But I don’t mind, and I don’t pull away. Because I get it, he needs me right now, and for once, it feels good to be needed.

Not pitied, not protected, just… needed.

I turn in his arms and press my face against his chest, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing anchor me.

Outside, the storm keeps raging.

But in here, in this room filled with candlelight and words left unsaid, something inside me settles.

And I realize that maybe…

I’m not as alone as I thought I was.