Page 81 of Once A Villain

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The Dolore are coming for you, Axe. And they won’t stop until they have your head. I suggest you stay vigilant and prepared. You should be thanking me for getting her away from you.”

“If they’re after me, they’re after you too,” I counter sharply.

“You’re right, they are. And I have a plan to deal with them. But the less you know, the better,” he says coolly.

“Don’t patronize me, Conrad. This was your goddamn Bond. You should have included me in thisplan.”

“Axe, you are the most lethal weapon in our arsenal, and I intend to use you to wipe them out. But you are not invincible, and I will not risk losing my daughter.”

“WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?”

“Safe.”

“You think you’re protecting her? You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” I growl, menace dripping from my words.

“And you do?” he challenges.

“She’s safest with me,” I hiss, teeth clenched.

“You branded her! MY DAUGHTER. She’ll never be safe with you. You’re a bastard, and the idea of you touching her makes me sick. I won’t allow it anymore.”

“You can’t stop me, Conrad. Don’t pretend you have any moral high ground. This was your fucking Bond. You sold her to me, and you know it.”

“Watch your tone, Hawthorne. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I am your Commander,” he seethes. “She may be your wife, but she is my daughter. She is everything to me, and I will not let you destroy her.”

I don’t give a fuck what rank he holds. I am not some low-level grunt who fears his power. I am The Reaper, and I fear nothing and no one.

“I’ll find her. Count on it. I don’t give a fuck what you’ve got planned,” I spit through gritted teeth.

“Axe, do you seriously think you can defeat the Dolore?”

“Don’t underestimate me,” I snarl. “You, of all people, should know better. When I find her, we’ll have a different kind of conversation. A painful one. And Conrad, I’m not holding back.”

I sit in the car, fury clawing at my chest. The more I fight it, the hotter it burns. Rory’s phone goes straight to voicemail.

The fucking Valentines—a goddamn curse. Conrad’s about to find out who the real threat is, and it sure as hell isn’t the Dolore. I slam the car into gear and tear out of the parking lot, tires screaming against asphalt. Call after call, her phone goes straight to voicemail.

By the time I hit the driveway, rage has me in a chokehold. I storm inside, fists clenched, ready to destroy anything in my path.

“Griffen! Where the fuck are you?!”

Fuck. He’s on a damn mission.

I grab a glass and hurl it against the wall; the sound of it shattering briefly satisfying. Snatching up a bottle of whiskey, I down it in one brutal gulp. The burn is raw, but it spreads warmth through my chest. I crash into a chair, trying to steady my mind as the whiskey takes hold.

Thoughts spin like a hurricane. I need a plan. Another gulp of whiskey steadies me. Clear head. No more losing control. Stay sharp. Stay cold.

The whiskey loosens my muscles, my gaze locked on the empty fireplace. She’s mine, and no Valentine’s taking her from me. They think they can protect her? Bullshit. I’m the only one who can. And now she’s out there—vulnerable.

The thought of her in danger sends a jolt through me. Fear. What the fuck? Since when do I give a damn if she lives or dies?

I hate her father, her brother, the whole fucking Valentine dynasty. But her?

I want to destroy her. Break her.

Don’t I?

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