Page 30 of The Villain

“Cian!” Rhys’s muffled voice came from the other side.

Devlin stood there with his head bowed, refusing to look at me or the mirror. I pointed to a change of clothes I’d left on the toilet. “Get dressed.” I hesitated for a moment, then turned and left the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I opened my front door to find Rhys with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn jeans, his flannel hanging open overthe T-shirt underneath. His brown eyes met mine. “Good to see he didn’t kill you in your sleep.”

I opened the door wider and let Rhys in. “No, but he stole my pillows.”

“What a monster,” Rhys said, stepping inside. I shut the door as Devlin emerged from the bathroom, dressed in the jeans and hoodie I’d set out for him. He stopped abruptly when he spotted Rhys, and I could see the exact moment he put on the Detroit Devil mask. “Rhys,” he said with a snarky hiss. “So nice to meet you.”

Rhys stared at him with a blank expression before turning to me. His eyes traveled down my bare chest, past my sweatpants, all the way to my bare feet before returning to my gaze.

“Meeting with the officers in a few minutes. Then a meeting at O’Shea’s in about an hour. Which you scheduled, by the way.”

“Shit,” I ran a hand over my short hair. I’d somehow forgotten I had two business meetings today—one for the illegitimate business and one for the legitimate one. I looked over at Devlin, standing in my living room like he owned the place, and I waved a hand toward the prisoner who wasn’t looking like much of a prisoner at all. “I can’t leave him alone in the apartment. He’ll have to come with us.”

Devlin sputtered. “Excuse me…? I happen to think I’ve been pretty well-behaved?—”

I stepped closer, forcing him to crane his neck back to meet my eyes, and I gripped his chin. His eyes fluttered as he made a strangled sound in his throat. “Look?—”

Rhys cleared his throat. “Twenty-eight minutes.”

I immediately released Devlin and stepped out of his space. I glared at him. He glared back. I didn’t want to share Devlin. I didn’t want anyone else looking at him or talking to him. But I had obligations, and one of those was to my men. The other was keeping Devlin alive.

Then an idea hit me, one that should satisfy both my crew and the obsessive beast inside me that wanted to keep Devlin under my heel.

“You still have Mizzy’s shock collars?” I said, and Rhys’s eyebrows rose while Devlin’s jaw dropped. I couldn’t just drag him over there chained up. We had loyal employees who knew better than to call the cops, but I wouldn’t risk anyone gossiping about Devlin. “I’ll bring him. His hoodie will hide the collar.”

Devlin’s face was flushed an angry red. “I don’t think that’s necessary?—”

“You turn into Cujo again, and I’ll shock the shit out of you,” I snapped.

His teeth clacked shut as he continued to seethe. But what he didn’t do was swing at me. I guess getting chained to the toilet again wasn’t exactly his idea of a fun game.

Rhys, like always, kept his face neutral—but I knew him well enough to know his mind had to be whirling. And because he was my best friend, it didn’t surprise me when he turned on his heel and simply said, “I’ll go get it.”

TEN

Devlin

This whole canine thing was getting old. And the idea of wearing a dog collar—ashockcollar—was humiliating.

At first.

But when Cian buckled it around my neck and threatened, “Take it off, and I’ll let Jace stab you somewhere non-vital,” I found I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would. My hoodie covered the collar, and the small control box was a steady weight on my collarbone.

Cian pulled on a pair of ripped jeans, an obscenely tight black T-shirt, and a worn leather jacket that showed off his broad shoulders. He beckoned for me to follow him out the door, and I did. But only because I didn’t want to get shocked.

Rhys walked ahead of us, stiff and controlled, his arms barely swinging at his sides. If I hadn’t met Cian, I probably would have found his quiet kind of power attractive. But his presence had nothing on the volatile threat simmering under Cian’s skin. I liked that threat. I liked knowing he’d put me in my place swiftlyand decisively. His boundaries were clear. No swinging on him. No second-guessing his commands. No biting his men.

Even with all the comments he’d made about my loss of control, there were still lines Cian wouldn’t cross. The first time I’d swallowed his dick, there’d been a moment. He’d given me a chance to say no, to take our game in another direction. At the creek, I’d pushed him on purpose—and he’d held back again. Despite all his colorful threats, he hadn’t actually hurt me beyond those initial, totally uncalled for punches.

I’d taken every single thing he’d thrown at me. But in that bathroom, when he’d tried to talk about my brother…Thathad been the line. He could shove whatever he wanted in my mouth or ass, but forcing his way into the chaos in my head was too much to take.

My guard had been down while he’d shaved my face, and I’d reacted on instinct. The pain of losing my brother was still just as fresh as it had been six years ago. But I couldn’t let him get to me like that. Next time, I’d brush it off. He couldn’t see me sweat. He couldn’t know where to hurt me.

It was my own fault, really. That frog had started it all. I’d been all loose and floaty from my orgasm, and I’d given him a glimpse of pieces of me I didn’t let anyone have. Now he seemed reluctantly curious about the idea that I could be more than just a ruthless criminal. And I wasn’t. Or at least, I didn’t want to be. I had to keep my defenses up, or he’d smash me to pieces.

I took in my surroundings as we walked through the massive building the O'Shea crew lived in. I hadn’t been able to see much of it last night while thrown over Cian’s shoulder.