Page 17 of Once A Villain

I pull into my driveway, each step toward the house fueled by anger. Griff’s sprawled in the living room with a half-naked Slut. I don’t even glance at them. Straight to the basement I go, Kane shadowing my every step.

The basement is my domain—a grim playground for training, torture, and execution. The gym’s the centerpiece, a heavy bag swinging from the ceiling. In the back room, a steel door opens to my soundproof chamber—a cold, clinical room with a chair and restraints. Concrete walls, floors, and a drain in the center make it perfect for cleanup after a session.

I pound the heavy bag, fists colliding with brutal force, knuckles splitting open as blood mixes with sweat. Each hit is a surge of rage, a way to bleed off the fury seething inside.

Rory fucking Valentine.

Why the hell is she in my head? She’s just a whore—a disposable piece of Conrad’s filthy legacy. A tool for my revenge. That’s all she is. A pawn. Nothing more. I slam the bag harder, the chains rattling like the sound of bones breaking.

So why does the thought of her body pressing against mine crawl under my skin like this?

Leaning my head against the cold wall, I let the chill soothe my aching muscles. The familiarity of the room grounds me, the scent of blood and sweat a reminder of my purpose. This is where I belong—The Reaper, the monster that lurks in the shadows. A creature of violence, the Sovereign’s perfect weapon. The world is a dark, cruel place, and I’m the harbinger of its worst nightmares.

My knuckles are raw, blood smeared across the mat. The sting of each split grounds me. I close my eyes, forcing out a deep breath, trying like hell to erase the image of Rory from my head. Her body pressed up against mine, that soft skin, those fiery blue eyes daring me to break her. Every fucking detail lingers, gnawing at me.

But it’s not just the rage that haunts me. It’s the thought of her naked, vulnerable, tied down—under my control. It pisses me off more than it should.

Growling, I push off the mat, ignoring the ache in my muscles. I need a fucking shower and sleep. All these fucking thoughts about a woman I don’t even want. This wedding is a goddamn inconvenience.

I don’t need a wife. But I’ll do what I have to. Conrad Valentine will suffer for his sins, and Rory will pay the price.

I clench my fists, blood dripping onto the mat beneath me.

This little fucking arrangement of hers? It’s over.

I will destroy Rory Valentine—body and fucking soul.

The click of my boots hitting the concrete echoes through the Iron, each step heavier with irritation. Isaac summoning me wasn’t a shock—the Sovereign Leaders heard my message loud and clear.

The fallout? Expected.

As I approach his office, I take a steadying breath, already bracing myself for the inevitable bullshit that’s about to unfold.

The door swings open to reveal him seated behind his desk like the king of the fucking world. Tall, broad, dark eyes that pierce through the room, and dressed like he’s untouchable in that suit.

Commander Zane’s in the corner. Quiet—for now. But I can feel his eyes on me, watching. His arms are crossed, that unreadable expression giving nothing away, but I know he’s waiting for me to slip up.

“Axe, glad you could join us,” Isaac says, gesturing toward the chair across from him. I take it, already itching to get this over with.

“I believe we have matters to discuss.”

“Do we?” I raise a brow.

Zane steps in. “Axel, explain yourself.”

I growl, “I don’t have to explain shit. I completed a Bond. End of story.”

Isaac sighs, rubbing his temples like I’m the headache he’s been avoiding all day. I respect him—he’s High Chancellor for a reason—but right now? I want out of this room.

“Look,” Isaac starts, “I understand the Bond is a sacred rite, but your methods were…excessive.” He pauses, waiting for me to bite, but I stay silent. “As a Commander’s daughter, Victoria is a valuable asset to the Sovereign. This union was...unexpected.”

I scoff, anger tightening in my chest. “You think I give a shit about that?”

“Axe, do you evenwanta wife?”

“No. This is business, nothing more.”

Zane rises to his feet. “This is fucking ridiculous. You’re a Hawthorne. This is beneath you. What would your father think? Your uncle?”

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