Page 18 of The Villain

Cian left a paper bag holding two bottles of water and a ham and cheese Lunchables. AnactualLunchables, like I was a kid again. I flicked the edge of the plastic packaging.

I was eight the first time I tried one. I’d been jealous of a kid at school making his own mini-pizzas with shredded cheese and tiny pepperoni slices. I was only able to eat school lunch through a free and reduced meal program, which I qualified for because of my “home situation.”

When I told Conrad about the Lunchables, he went out and stole one for me. And I practically inhaled it.

Then my dad found it in our trash, questioned me about it, and beat me so badly I threw it all back up.

This might not have been the pizza Lunchables I remembered, but itwasone of the deluxe versions they made now: slices of turkey and cheese, a small sandwich roll, cookies, and a Capri Sun.

I scrubbed at my eyes, confused by the sudden burn. I felt hungry for the first time in a long time, so I sat cross-legged onmy cot and ate every single item in the container. The Capri Sun straw wouldn’t cooperate, of course, so I tore into the pouch with my teeth and poured the fruit punch down my throat instead.

I chuckled to myself. I was a grown-ass man, a former criminal kingpin, eating Lunchables and gulping down juice like a kid, all while chained to a cot after being thigh-fucked into the dirt. Absolute cinema.

If Conrad could see me now.

I stared at the empty packaging for a moment before putting everything into the paper bag. I usually ran on a slow boil of rage and despair, cycling through manic highs and listless lows. But right now, I felt… different somehow. A few months ago, I might’ve chalked it up to finally having a good orgasm, but I knew that wasn’t it. It was him.

Though Iwashalf-hard now, just thinking about the way he’d used me and the filthy words he’d said. I groaned and fisted the hair on top of my head.

Cian.

I liked how his name sounded on my lips, the way my tongue curled against the roof of my mouth on the last syllable.

I’d spent days wondering what Cian looked like naked. And because I was a fucking genius who’d figured out how to get him to strip, I finally knew. His body was covered in tattoos. Most of the images on his chest were blurred beneath a layer of dark hair. Across his stomach, Gothic lettering spelled out “LOYALTY.” He had what looked like a few Celtic words inked across his thick thighs, though I couldn’t read them. And of course—paws with sharp, extended claws covered the tops of both hands, while a lion roared on his throat.

He was a god. As beautiful as I’d expected. As dangerous as I’d hoped. As filthy as I’d dreamed.

My dad didn’t like crying.

Mine neither.

I’d assumed all the anger that oozed from him was directed at me for killing dear old Dad—but now I was beginning to think otherwise. I’d seen the scars on his back, the ones he’d attempted to cover with more ink. We had some things in common, me and my lion king.

A mutual lack of therapy and a whole lot of unresolved daddy issues, for starters.

Which might be a lot been funnier if it weren’t so fucking sad.

My guess? Cian hated that he wasn’tmoreangry. About his father’s death. About how little he’s mourned him. But more than anything, Cian hated that he couldn’t hate me as much as he thought he should.

Maybe I was just projecting. I was definitely fucking delusional. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d imagined an entire relationship with someone who was never real to begin with.

All I knew was that when Cian focused his brand of attention on me, I felt a little less aware of everything. When he held me down and spewed dirty insults, my brain left the building. I ached to know how far I could push him before he’d break me.

Because a little bitch? A fucktoy? They didn’t have to think.

I could be a mindless vessel for him to fill with something else. Something new. He could shatter me to pieces if he wanted. At least I wouldn’t feel so damn empty.

I brushed my fingers over my lips, my throat, my dick. Just imagining the way his hard body had ground me into the dirt made me groan, and my dick twitched in the stiff boxer briefs I was wearing. I’d never felt anticipation like this. My whole body was on edge, waiting for Cian to return. This didn’t feel like a game anymore—it felt like a challenge.

Coughing up information about the Bonnams’ route had been an impulsive decision. But it wasn’t like I cared about keeping anything from my former empire. I’d only held outbecause I wanted to see what the lion king would do to me when I refused.

Was that all he wanted from me? Would everything end now?

I faced the wall and rattled my chains, just to remind myself where I was. The reality of the situation was this: Cian was right. He could do whatever he wanted to me. He could have shoved that frog down my throat and choked me with it, and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. He might have liked seeing his cum on my skin, but he still wanted me dead. He had a father to avenge, after all, even if he hadn’t been “Dad of the Year.”

My face itched, and I scratched at the patchy stubble on my chin. I always kept myself clean-shaven, since my facial hair grew in all scraggly and redder than the hair on my head.

Would I get to shave again before he killed me?