Page 68 of Once A Villain

Harrison scrambles to his feet, his pet trailing behind him like the coward he is. The music blares on, the crowd completely unaware of the violence that just unfolded.

“Holy shit,” Arsen says, leaning against the table, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. “Didn’t think the kid had it in him.”

“Fucking pussy,” I mutter under my breath, already dismissing it.

Arsen’s tone shifts, growing serious. “If the Dolore are gunning for you, that’s big. You need to watch your back.”

I shrug, trying to shake off the weight of his words. “I’ve handled worse.” But I know he’s right. If Harrison wasn’t just talking shit and the Brotherhood’s got a bounty on me, things are about to get real messy. The Dolore aren’t street thugs—they’re fucking relentless. If they’re after me, Conrad’s next. I need to figure out why Conrad wanted Marco dead.

“Axe, I’ve got your back. You’ve saved my ass more times than I can count. If things go south, just say the word.”

I give him a quick nod. I’m not one to live paranoid, but I’m not stupid either. The bounty on my head will be like hitting the fucking lottery, and seasoned hitmen will be lining up for a shot at The Reaper.

Ican’t shake him. Even here, lost in the crowd, his eyes are on me. The music pounds, the bodies move, but his presence is a shadow I can’t escape. No amount of noise or people can block the weight of his gaze.

Tonight, I can feel it—he’s going to make me scream his name. I should be scared, disgusted, or pissed off, but all I feel is a wild, consuming want.

I crave his touch, his control. I’ve never needed anything like I need him now. I tell myself it’s the alcohol, but I know the truth—there’s a darkness in me only he can fill.

He prowls straight toward me. When he reaches me, he wraps his hand around my waist, pulling me against him.

“Axe,” I gasp as his lips slam into mine. The kiss is intense, his tongue demanding and relentless. His hands move over my body, and I’m consumed by him, losing all sense of the world around us.

His touch is rough, possessive, and I’m swept away by the moment. Rationality fades as I surrender to the euphoria of the alcohol and his touch.

This is bad. Real fucking bad.

“We’re leaving,” he growls, his breath hot against my neck. He pulls me through the crowd, his fingers entwined with mine.

We reach the door, and the cold night air hits me, sobering me a bit. My heart races, my thoughts still tangled, but his grip remains firm as he pulls me to his car.

Inside, his hand creeps up my thigh, dangerously close to where I’m burning up. My body reacts on its own, every nerve scorching with need. I’m on the brink of begging him to touch me, the desperation too intense to ignore. His grip tightens, his thumb brushing my skirt’s edge.

I know this is a mistake. I hate him for what he did to Jamie, for branding me, for the chaos he’s unleashed on my life.

But right now, all that anger is swallowed by one raw, desperate need. Self-respect feels like a distant memory—fading under the pull ofhim—themonster who’s ruined everything.

I’m so fucked.

“You seem nervous.” When we enter the house, he presses his body against mine, his breath hot against my ear. “Little siren. Are you scared?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I manage, though my voice trembles.

“Yes, you are. And you should be.” He slides the zipper of my skirt down slowly, his fingers tracing a path over my back before pulling my top over my head. My skin burns with heat, my entire body humming with anticipation. In a swift motion, he hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

“Axel,” I breathe, my voice shaky as my body trembles. He carries me to his bedroom and drops me onto the bed, leaving me in just my thong and heels.

Exposed, my breath catches as his eyes rake over me with a predatory glint. He reaches behind his head, pulling off his shirt to reveal his tattoos and chiseled body.

My breath comes in heavy, ragged gasps as he slides his hands to his belt. His fingers methodically undo the buckle, never breaking eye contact. A voice inside me screams to run, to escape as far as possible, but a quieter voice begs me to stay.

This is the point of no return.

“Even if you bolt, you won’t get far,” he says, reading my fear. “So, do you really want to run?” He leans in to unfasten my heels, his touch trailing over my calves. “Or do you want to stay?” His hand runs up the inside of my leg, fingers brushing the edge of my thong. “I’m willing to take a guess,” he whispers, his voice low and raspy. “You want this. You want me. And you hate yourself for it.”

He’s right. God, he’s so fucking right.

He slowly slides my thong off, his eyes watching my every move.

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