Page 50 of The Villain

Something in Cian’s expression suddenly shifted. I expected anger. I got hard thinking about how he’d punish me for talking about his father that way. But he didn’t lash out. He didn’t even tell me to shut up. Instead, he shifted closer, and his icy blue eyes bored into mine.

“Between his eyes?”

My gut churned. Thatwashow he died, wasn’t it? Shit. I remembered Mick reporting his death to me, but…

“Did you shoot him yourself?” There was a calm to Cian’s voice that was worse than his anger. Much worse. An unsettling coldness that sent a chill down my spine. I was normally pretty good at lying, but Cian had a way of seeing through my flimsy facade.

I swallowed hard. This was my out. “No. I didn’t like to get my hands dirty. One of my men did it.”

“But you were there?”

“Y-yes.” Or maybe I should’ve said no?Fuck.I hadn’t thought this through. As long as Cian believed I’d killed his father, that was all that mattered. If he hated me, he’d keep me close until he killed me.

Cian inched closer until the toes of his boots touched mine as he inched closer. One hand settled on my shoulder, resting there at first, but his fingers slowly curled until they dug into my skin. I bit back a cry of pain.

“You’re fucking lying to me, devil. My father was found dead with two bullet holes in his back.”

FOURTEEN

Cian

The devil was lying to me.

He had that wide-eyed panic he thought he could hide. Maybe he’d gotten away with it before, around dumber men who didn’t pay attention to his tells. But I did. I saw it in his stuttering breaths, his clenched fists, his dilated pupils that nearly obliterated the green of his irises.

And maybe I would’ve felt victorious—if the foundation I’d stood on for the last year hadn’t just crumbled beneath my feet.

I thought back to Devlin saying my father had pissed himself, begging before he died. A lie. I’d seen the autopsy report. Both bullets had been lodged in his back, likely fired while he ran away. No begging. No pleading. No being taken out execution-style.

Why would Devlinlieabout this?

Unless he hadn’t been there.

Unless he hadn’t known my father was dead.

Unlesshe wasn’t involved in his death at all.

And if that was true, why did he want me to believe hewas?

I’d just uncovered another layer of Devlin Walsh—and unfortunately, he only got more interesting. We needed to get the hell out of this damn warehouse and locked behind my apartment door, where I’d have the time, space, and soundproofing to properly take him apart. I didn’t care how long it took. Devlin would rip open his ribcage for me by the time I was done.

My phone rang, and I glanced at the screen. Hack. I slipped it back into my pocket. I’d call him back once I was in the SUV.

“Walk.” I said, and gestured toward the front of the warehouse.

Devlin caught the change in my tone immediately, and goosebumps erupted on his arms. “Ci?—”

“Walk to the door, and get in the SUV. We’re going home, and we’re going to have a chat.”

He jerked his head like a trapped animal. “There’s nothing to chat about?—”

I grabbed the back of his neck and shoved him toward the door. “Now, devil.”

He stumbled, nearly face-planting before catching himself. He staggered backward, palms raised in a placating gesture as I followed.

“Look. I can’t remember how your father died. What’s the big deal? Lots of lives ended under my watch.” His lips twisted into a sneer. “Sorry he wasn’t important enough for me to remember.”

It was cute that he thought he could bait me. I smiled, and his gaze dropped straight to my lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.