Page 62 of Always A Villain
“I’m not asking.”
I lean in, close enough to feel his breath hitch. “I have unredeemed Bonds with every member of the Council. They are all indebted to me. So unless you want to be the idiotexplaining why you exiled the Sovereign’s most lethal weapon, you’ll redeem my Bond and reinstate Rory’s vows.Today.”
His jaw works, frustration written in every line of his face. He knows I’ve got him.
Finally, he huffs, clearing his throat. “Fine,” he spits. “The Council won’t be happy.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
His eyes flicker with something close to desperation. “What about Conrad? He wants her punished.”
“Then deal with him.”
I don’t wait for a response. I turn, stride toward the door, every muscle tensing with barely contained fury.
At the threshold, I pause, throwing one last parting shot over my shoulder.
“And ask yourself—why is Conrad so fucking eager to punish his own daughter?”
The door slams behind me, rattling the frame.
I don’t stop. No more wasted breath on bureaucratic bullshit. Rory needs me.
And nothing else matters.
“The cuts and bruises will heal fine,” the nurse says, her eyes scanning my battered skin. “You're lucky—nothing serious.” She offers a small smile, the kind that's meant to comfort, but it barely registers through the haze of pain. I manage a tight smile back.
“No dancing for at least two weeks. Ice the injuries,” she adds, her voice clinical, and I nod, half-focused. She grabs a bottle from the counter and presses it into my hand. “Antibiotics. Take them daily, no exceptions.”
“Yeah, okay,” I mutter, fingers closing around the bottle as I nod along, though my mind is miles away.
Axe.
The second his name surfaces, my chest tightens. I still can’t believe the words that came out of his mouth. He said helovesme. He apologized. Axe—the same cold, heartless man who never blinked twice at my agony—claims to love me. It’s almost laughable, except it’s too messed up to be funny.
“You’re all set, honey,” the nurse says, a hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “Need any help?”
Shaking my head, I manage a polite thank you as I head toward the door, but my eyes lock onto Axe across the room. He’s arguing with another nurse, his leg propped up on a chair, blood staining his shirt and pants like a bad horror scene. Even beat to hell, he’s gorgeous in that infuriating way—like the universe is mocking me. My heart aches, betraying me with every erratic beat.
He claims he loves me, but I can’t shake the doubt. Can I trust him? Or is this just another manipulation, another lie wrapped up in a fake apology? The way he acted when he wore the mask—it was like he was someone else entirely. But no, it was him all along. The man who I’ve always wanted is the same one who’s standing over there, bleeding and beautiful. And I hate it. I hate him. Except...I don’t. And that’s what’s really driving me insane. Because if I didn’t care anymore—if I really,trulydidn’t—why doesn’t the idea of being divorced from him fill me with relief?
“I don’t need fucking stitches,” Axe growls at the nurse, causing her to flinch and take a step back. She glances at his leg, and it’s bad—bad enough that even Griffen lets out a low chuckle.
“He's always such a charmer,” Griffen quips to the nurse with a grin. I roll my eyes but wander closer, curiosity getting the best of me. Axe’s pant leg is roughly cut above the knee where the nurse works, trying to clean the dried blood froma nasty gash.
“You really should get stitches,” the nurse insists. Axe opens his mouth to argue, but I beat him to it, placing a hand on his shoulder before he can start up.
“Let her do it.”
His eyes meet mine, the fight in them dimming just a bit. With a grunt of reluctant acceptance, he leans back, letting the nurse prepare to stitch him up.
I step back, exhaustion crashing over me, and slump into the chair beside Griffen. My eyes flutter, fighting to stay open, but Griffen’s voice pulls me back before I completely zone out.
“How’re you holding up?” he asks, his tone more serious now.
“I'm fine,” I lie, sinking deeper into the seat.
My stomach’s doing flips, and all I can think about is not running into my dad—or Spence. The thought of facing them again sends a chill straight through me. Spencer’s face flashes in my mind, and my chest tightens. I can’t believe he just sat there. Watched. Let Dad hit me. I get that he’s disappointed—hell, I’m disappointed in myself—but I never thought he'd abandon me like that.
