Page 77 of Once A Villain

But when I was scared last night, he held me. And for a moment, he wasn’t the monster. His voice, soft like someone else entirely, messed with my head. I’ve always been triggered by loud noises, haunted by my mother’s screams from a home invasion.

Still, everything about him is built to destroy. His mind, his body, his strength—they’re weapons. And yet, I let him keep me close until the panic faded. Then I shoved him away, reminding myself that his brief tenderness doesn’t change the fact that he’s a monster.

I stay in the shower too long, hoping the steam will cleanse more than just his marks on me.

Wrapped in a towel, I dress in red dance shorts and a matching sports bra, adding a hoodie for the chilly drive to the Pavilion.

Drying my hair and covering the multitude of hickeys and bite marks he left is a chore. Fuck, he’s such a bastard. I layer on concealer, scrutinizing my reflection until I’m satisfied with the result. A dash of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss complete the look.

At the front door, Axe and Griffen are deep in conversation, their voices hushed. Thankfully, Rosa is nearby. She greets me with a warm smile and a smoothie. Before I can reply, she launches into a tirade about Griffen’s disasters from last night—apparently, he shattered some pricey items and had a threesome on the kitchen table.

“Good morning, doll.” Griffen grins, completely unfazed by Rosa’s irritation. His disheveled hair and ragged jeans a big difference from Axe’s crisp, meticulous look.

“You speak Italian?” Axe leans in, his gaze narrowing with curiosity.

Griffen laughs. “Same reaction I had. Our little Rory’s full of surprises.”

I roll my eyes, and Axe shoots Griffen a glare.

“I spent my childhood summers in Italy. My mom had a villa in Venice.”

“Your mother was Italian?” Axe’s question takes me by surprise.

“No,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “She just loved the language and culture.” The last thing I want to do is talk about my mother, especially with him.

Just then, Griffen’s phone rings, cutting our conversation short.

“I’m off on a mission,” he says, hanging up. “Need to grab my gear from the armory.”

“Rory, go wait in my Camaro,” Axe commands.

I make a point to glare at him before heading outside. My muscles ache, and the gray, chilly weather mirrors my mood. Axe’s garage is a showcase of luxury, filled with high-end sports cars, classic muscle cars, and a whole row of motorcycles. I can’t help but think about my own stuff, still at my townhome.

I settle into the classic Camaro, the leather seats cool and pristine. I catch a whiff of his scent and inhale deeply.Get a grip.

The driver’s door swings open, and he slides in with that annoyingly smooth swagger of his. He twists the key, and the engine roars to life with a growl that practically vibrates through the seats. Effortlessly, he backs out and shifts into drive, gunning it down the driveway.

The silence between us is thick and prickly. I can feel his gaze drilling into me, and it only makes my frustration worse. I’m pissed off—at him, at myself, at this whole fucked up situation he dragged me into.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.

He chuckles a sound that only fuels my irritation. “Where should I start?”

“Why are you so obsessed with me? I spoke to Jamie while you were gone. How fucking dare you threaten him!” I’m suddenly reminded of everything I need to yell at him for. “We’ve been friends for years. You had no right telling him to stay away from me.”

He glances at me, his expression neutral, and his eyes are emotionless. “You are mine, and if anyone touches what’s mine, I will kill them.”

“I’m not yours. And we hooked up before you and I were even married.” I cringe at the wordmarried. It’s disgusting and makes my skin crawl.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, turning into the parking lot. “Jamie understands you belong to me, and if he touches you again, he’s dead.”

“This is bullshit. I’m not your property.”

He pulls into a spot and cuts the engine. Turning to me, he reaches for my chin and tilts my head.

“Little siren,” he murmurs, leaning in so close I can feel his breath, hot and too close for comfort.

My heart pounds, a mix of anger and something I refuse to name tightening in my gut.

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