Page 11 of Once A Villain

For now, at least.

Ipush through the heavy doors of the Starlight Pavilion, the dim glow of the bar barely touching the edges of the theater. Rows of plush seats stretch out before the stage, and a well-stocked bar hums in the corner. It’s quiet now, the calm before the show—no crowd, no noise, just the stage set for its circus-meets-strip-club spectacle.

Fire dancers, pole dancers, acrobats—all are ready to put on a show for idiots who think seduction’s some kind of art form.

The Sovereign lap it up. Every damn show is sold out. But me? I don’t give a shit.

I move to the back row, sweeping the empty room. The Sovereign have a thing for these performances. Sirens, glorified whores prancing around, acting like they own the world because they know how to dance. It’s a fucking joke. There’s nothing here I can’t get in a more satisfying way with a Slut tied up in front of me, begging for mercy.

The door slams open, and the girls file in. Their chatter cuts through the silence as they spill onto the stage. It only takes a second for my eyes to land on her. Rory. That blonde hair, that perfect lean body—years of training show in every line of muscle, every sharp curve. In joggers and a sports bra.

She’s a fucking Siren, and she looks the part.

Perfect. Controlled. Hot as hell.

And mine to destroy.

“Alright! From the top!” a man’s voice echoes from the side of the stage.

Rory strips off her joggers, revealing shorts that leave nothing to the imagination—just barely covering that perfect ass. Fuck, she has a great ass.

She moves to the center, poised like she owns the place. The opening notes of “River” by Bishop Briggs pulse through the speakers, and the room shifts. Her body moves in time with the beat, her hips rolling and swaying, each movement practiced, fluid, and smooth. It’s almost hypnotic—the way she flows from one move to the next, like water.

As the song builds, aerial rings descend, and in a blink, she’s airborne. Her limbs stretch out in perfect control, like gravity doesn’t apply to her. The rings spin, her body twisting through the air, effortless. For a moment, I’m almost impressed.

Then the final notes hit, and she drops, catching the ring inches before she hits the ground. Her chest heaves with each breath, her skin slick with sweat, muscles taut from the exertion.

My phone buzzes. I pull it from my pocket, the screen lighting up with a message from Griffen.

Griffen is a fellow Sovereign. My cousin. Close enough to be a brother, at least in his eyes—not mine. I don’t do attachments, but Griffen has a way of forcing himself in, whether I want him there or not. A royal pain in my ass.

Where I thrive on control and focus, he thrives on chaos. Arrogant, cocky, and ruled by his dick. If he wasn’t busy fucking half the Servant population, he might actually be half the assassin I am.

Griff: Saw your new pet last night. She was fucked up.

Me: Where?

Griff: Jamie Harper’s. Heard them fucking. She sounds like a wild one.

My jaw tightens, my grip on the phone turning knuckle-white. This bitch is mine. Guess I’ll be making another stop today.

The director onstage shouts for a break, and Rory staggers off, barely making it to the side before she’s doubled over, puking into a bucket. Hungover, weak, struggling to stand—just another day for a party girl like her.

She heads backstage, and I seize the opportunity. I weave through the crew, slipping unnoticed into the shadows.

I follow her as she walks to her dressing room, slipping in just before the door swings shut. Her face pales as she turns, eyes widening with recognition.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demands, trying to hide the fear in her eyes, but I see right through it. Up close, she’s even more stunning—those light blue eyes, full lips that scream trouble, and a lean, athletic frame. She’s at least 5’7” but I tower over her at 6’5”.

“Relax, sweetheart.” My smirk widens as I close the distance between us. “I’ll be quick.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Oh, I’m going to enjoy gagging that pretty little mouth of hers.

I step closer, backing her into the wall.

“Or what?” I taunt, watching a flush of rage spread across her face. She tries to wriggle free, but there’s no escape. She’s trapped, and she knows it.

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