Page 38 of The Villain

See, now that was what I’d been afraid of. That he’d start looking at me differently because I’d bought the kid a damn hot dog.

“Because I fucking felt like it.” I spat, but the tremble in my voice was unmistakable. Cian heard it. His nostrils flared like he’d caught the scent of weakness. A lion in human skin.

“Not good enough.”

“Well it’s the only one you’re going to?—”

He reversed our positions with one hand around my throat and slammed me against the door so hard the hinges rattled. I gasped as he squeezed and slid his knee between my legs to pin me in place. And the worst part was that my body immediately reacted. Because of course it did. Cian only had to exist within a five-mile radius of me. After ten years with a barely-functioning dick, this constant arousal drove me insane. I wasn’t used to thinking this much while my body was doing something else entirely.

I fought back, pushing against his chest, but I wasn’t strong enough to budge him. “Fuck you, Cian,” I rasped.

He leaned in close. “You didn’t just leave him food. You gave him that keychain.”

I rolled my eyes. “The fucking clerk must have dropped it in the bag without me noticing.”

Cian snorted. “And it just so happened to be a frog?”

“You’re reading too much into it,” I ground out. “I didn’t help him, did I? I left him in that motel room. Alone and hungry.”

“Because I had you thrown in a trunk.”

Why wouldn’t he just accept the version of Devlin I wanted him to see?

“Fuck off. You think I give a shit about kids? I threatened to kill my own nephew, remember?”

Cian wasn’t letting up. If anything, his eyes gleamed with interest at what I’d said. “But did you hurt him?”

“I would have.”

“Would you really?” His voice dropped low, each word slow and deliberate. “Would youreallyhave hurt your nephew? Think, devil.”

I didn’t want to think. That was the whole point.

Sure, I’d done some terrible things to a lot of people. But hurting a kid? I’d never done that. I’d spend years convincing myself I could. People believed the Detroit Devil was the kind of scum who would stoop to the lowest pits of hell. And I wore that like armor. I refused to let anyone, including myself, see what was really inside. I didn’t want to be human. Because if I was, I had tofeel. I could want again. I could lose again. I could hurt.

But Cian, with his blue eyes and harsh words, cut through that armor like it was nothing. I gripped his wrist where he held my throat.

“Don’t.” The naked plea in my voice should have embarrassed me, but I was past the point of caring.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t…” I bucked my hips in another attempt to dislodge him, but Cian didn’t budge. He could probably hold me in place with two fingers. Tired of fighting, I slumped in defeat.

“Don’t try to find anything good in me. You’ll only be disappointed.”

TWELVE

Cian

His pleas were like waving a red flag in front of a bull. The harder he fought me, the more I wanted to take him apart.

That was the thing about Devlin. He was a human booby trap. His charm lured me in, making me believe he was all soft petals. But the moment I reached for him, thorns dug into my skin. Still, the softness was there. I could see it and feel it. But he’d wrapped thorny vines around himself so tightly that I wasn’t sure it was possible to unravel them.

I would, though. I’d strip away the thorns that formed his armor until he was nothing but naked flesh and blood. I’d rip him open, tear him apart, and then put him back together so that his bones were etched with the grooves from my claws.

I would own Devlin Walsh, mind and body.

And then I would kill him.