Page 47 of Once A Villain

As the night unfolds, she returns to the stage several times, each performance more provocative than the last, her attire growing skimpier. The announcer calls the final performance, and I know it’s her.

The song “Bad Guy”byBillie Eilish starts playing, and a smile forms on my face—the smile I wear when I inflict pain.

The lyrics fill the air, and the irony widens my sadistic grin.

I march to the front, toward the stage and yank some bastard out of his seat. He opens his mouth to protest, but his expression quickly shifts to one of recognition. I take his place, settling into the chair, and his friends quickly retreat, well aware I’m not one to fuck with.

Her hips sway, hands gliding across her curves, fingers teasingly dipping into her panties. Leaning forward, I fix my gaze on her, waiting for her to notice me, waiting for the flicker of fear.

She grabs the pole in front of my table, wrapping her legs around it. She’s panting, her tits bouncing with each movement. She’s so lost in the music, the rhythm, the routine, that she doesn’t notice me.

It’s only in the final moments of the song, as she bends over, legs wrapped around the pole, that she looks up, and our eyes meet.

Confusion.

Recognition.

Fear.

My stare pierces through her, and her breath hitches. Her complexion pales, her body freezing as the music fades into silence. I sit there, unmoving, staring at her, and then the thunderous applause and cheers erupt.

It’s deafening, but she doesn’t budge.

She’s paralyzed, and the terror in her eyes is priceless. She’s a cornered animal, knowing pain is imminent. I don’t move; I want her to feel my wrath. Want her to feel the weight of her disobedience. I don’t stand, don’t applaud.

She breaks our stare and rushes off the stage as the lights flicker back on. I rise slowly, deliberate in my steps, heading toward the exit.

She will know true fear, true pain, and she will be forever marked by the darkness that is my hell.

Fuck.

Shit.

No.

He saw me.

Axe saw me.

My heart pounds, and my blood runs cold. The look on his face, the anger in his eyes—he’s furious.

Fuck.

My muscles burn, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. Nausea knots my stomach as I walk to my dressing room.

Collapsing onto the couch, I struggle to calm myself. I’ve seen Axe angry before, but never like this. Never has he looked at me with so much hate, so much rage. A tear escapes, and I quickly brush it away.

I refuse to let this break me. I’ll find a way to handle this—maybe reason with him or seek Griffen’s help.

I head to the bathroom, and under the hot shower, I let the water soothe my tense muscles, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Axe’s gaze. I shower longer than needed, stalling as long as I can before facing him.

Finally, I step out, dry off, and put on joggers and a hoodie. I dry my hair and force myself to move slowly and methodically as the reality of the situation sinks in.

Jess helps me fasten the collar back on. I grab my bag and head for the exit. The cool night air hits me as I exit the building. I wrap my arms around myself, scanning the lot for Axe’s car. His black Camaro is parked at the back of the lot.

My stomach churns as I approach it, each step echoing in the silent night. I can feel his eyes on me, a heavy weight that tightens my throat.

He leans against the car, arms crossed, a picture of barely restrained rage. His eyes lock onto me with an intensity that makes me nauseous. I brace myself for the confrontation. He doesn’t speak as I approach, but he doesn’t have to.

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