Page 23 of Slayin Villain
Or Rome’s.
And the truth?
I didn’t know who I wanted it to be.
Chapter 9
Villain
Rachel wasn’t answering my calls.
Not texts.Not smoke signals.Not even a goddamn door knock.
She was ghosting me, and not in the cute, bratty way that usually ended with her in my lap, pouting until I made her moan.No, this time it felt permanent.Hollow.Final.
And I didn’t like it.Not one goddamn bit.
I banged on her apartment door again.Louder.My fist thudding like a warning shot.She lived in a small place over by the East side, a trailer park, tucked behind a shuttered laundromat.No cameras.Just a porch light that flickered when you walked under it.
"Rachel," I called.“Open the fuckin’ door.”
Nothing.
I could smell her perfume.That soft, sweet vanilla thing she wore that always got stuck to my cut.I could feel her behind that door.She was home.
“Come on, Red,” I said softer, leaning close to the wood.“I ain’t here to fight.Just talk.”
Still nothing.
I backed up and dragged fingers through my hair.
Fine.
She wanted space?
She could have it.
But she was mine.
And I don’t lose what’s mine without a goddamn war.
Back at Royal Road, the party was still alive, barely.A few girls slumped on couches.Thorn passed out with his boots still on.I walked through the front like I didn’t want to rip something apart.
And I knew exactly where to go.
Back out.Clear across Nashville.
Of course, I knew where she lived.Ember opened the door in nothing but a black tank top and boyshorts.
“Wasn’t expecting you,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly, though she stepped aside.
“You never are.”
I walked in, dropped my cut over the chair, and sat on the edge of her bed like I belonged there.Because maybe, in some fucked-up way, I did.
She shut the door, then paused, just a flicker of panic in her face as she looked toward her nightstand.She moved quick, slid the drawer shut with her hip like it hadn’t been open, like there was nothing in it that could burn the world down.
I filed it away.Not much could get past me.Didn’t say a damn thing.
