Page 17 of The Villain

Once I’d finished, I led him from the water and dried him off with a small towel I’d brought. I rubbed it over his head, then combed the darkened strands of his hair back with my fingers. He closed his eyes as I did it, that same serene smile on his face. It should have pissed me off. He was my father’s murderer. He was my captive.

He wassupposedto be suffering.

With a frustrated huff, I shoved a set of clean clothes at him—sweatpants, boxer briefs, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, all stolen from Jace. I’d found them in the back of his closet with the tags still on. While Devlin dressed, so did I. And when I finished, he was already dressed, all that pale skin now hidden beneath the new clothes. He had the hood pulled up, and the outfit made him seem smaller, younger.

I cuffed his hands in front of his body again when his gaze dropped to the ground. Before I could tug on the chain to get him moving, he let out a delighted gasp and dropped to a squat, ass nearly in the dirt.

“A frog!” he exclaimed. He picked up a small stick, then gingerly lifted the edge of a fallen leaf to reveal a small frog that could fit in the palm of my hand. I shifted my weight, and he reached out with his bound hands to shove at my calf. “Don’t move! You’ll step on it.”

I went still. Not because Devlin told me to. I just didn’t want to kill an innocent amphibian. And that was the truth.

Devlin tossed the stick, folded his arms over his bent knees, and dropped his chin on top, just staring at the small frog.

“There were always so many frogs in the creek that ran through the corner of our trailer park,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. “I used to give them names and make up little stories about them.”

I crouched next to him and studied the frog like it held the meaning of life. When I reached out to run a finger down its slimy back, Devlin smacked my hand away. I jerked back in surprise. “What was that for?”

“Don’t touch frogs. They have permeable skin, and even the oils on your hand could kill them,” he spoke earnestly, like it was really important to him. And I didn’t know how to respond to it—to any of this.Devlin Walsh… loves frogs?I would’ve thought he’d tortured animals as a kid, like all future crime lords.

“One time, when we were kids, Ben stepped on one of my favorite frogs. It was a baby that still had a little bit of a tadpole tail. It died, and I cried about it for three days, until my dad—” He sucked in a breath and shifted his jaw. His gaze remained on the frog.

And because I couldn’t help myself, I asked, “Your dad what?”

When he spoke again, his voice was deceptively nonchalant. “Until he gave me something else to cry about.” He slid his hand into the sleeve of his hoodie and absently scratched at the scar on his inner forearm.

I bit down until I heard the enamel grind. I had made every effort to dehumanize Devlin, the man who betrayed my father and shot him in the back. I’d tried to reduce him to nothing more than a devil in the flesh. But this man had thwarted me at every turn. With his damn emerald eyes, his eager mouth, his tempting body… And now this. A stupid fucking conversation over a stupid fucking frog.

And before I could end this insanity and walk away with enough detachment left to survive it, his gaze lifted to mine. Our eyes locked. Held.

He blinked. “My dad didn’t like crying.”

My lips were already moving before my brain could catch up. “Mine neither.”

His eyes shifted between mine, and I felt an invisible chain wrap around me and tug. My heart pounded. The creek bubbled. A bird chirped. A car revved its engine somewhere in the distance.

Devlin nodded once. I nodded back.

And my world shifted once again.

Back in the shed, I chained Devlin to his cot again. He lay back on the thin blanket, head on the pillow, and watched me move through the yellow light of the single bulb. One bare foot hung off the edge of the cot, the other bent, sole planted flat.

I didn’t know what to say to him. I turned to leave, but my name, said in a rough, tired voice, drew me up short. “Cian.”

I turned back around slowly, not sure a conversation was a good idea at the moment. His head was turned toward me, and his cuffed hands rested on his stomach. He was silent for a moment as he studied me, eyes softer now. Then he began to speak.

“So. About the Bonnams’ route…”

I snatched my phone from my pocket and started typing as he spoke slowly and steadily. My thumbs flew over the keyboard while Devlin spilled his guts.

When he was finished, Devlin gave me one last long look, then turned onto his side to face the wall, knees bent. “Goodnight, Cian.”

I didn’t reply, but I made sure the light was on before leaving the shed. Once outside, I turned and rested my forehead against the locked door, eyes closed. There was a tightness in my chest I couldn’t identify.

“Night, Devlin,” I whispered to myself. And that same invisible chain looped itself around my heart and tugged again.

SEVEN

Devlin