Page 60 of The Villain

“Cian…” I whispered.

He blinked a few times, then his gaze slid to mine. His jaw worked as he sank onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

I swallowed. “So. Yeah. You can still kill me. You can still keep your promise.”

He jerked upright with a wince and braced one hand beside my head. His brows furrowed, and his mouth pulled into a deep frown. “What the fuck? Why would you still want that?”

“Because.” My speech was almost slurred now from fatigue, but I needed him to understand. “Because the last time I let myself hope for a future, losing it nearly killed me. I won’t do it again. Knowing my ending—the one you promised me—is a comfort I don’t even deserve.” My hand shook as I laid it on his chest. I couldn’t take the death of hope again.

Please, Cian. Don’t make me hope.

His eyes searched mine. “Get some rest,” he said softly.

We’d have to continue this conversation later. My eyes were so heavy I could barely keep them open. “You too.”

“Later.” Fingers lightly brushed the hair off my forehead, and I swore I felt the ghost of his lips against my skin before drugged sleep pulled me under.

SEVENTEEN

Cian

“Fucking idiot,” I whispered to Devlin’s sleeping face as I drew a comb through his still-damp hair. “Youfuckingidiot.”

I pulled the sheet down to his ankles, then catalogued every single bruise on his broken body. I felt them like they were my own. I forced myself to think about how he had felt when he’d thought I was dead. When that first fist had connected with his jaw, and he’d dropped without defending himself.

“Absolute fucking idiot,” I murmured as I rubbed arnica cream into every bruise I could find. He didn’t wake, only letting out a few small whimpers whenever I moved his sore limbs.

“Promise? I’ll give you a fucking promise…” I muttered.

I was gentle with him now, because he was injured. But as soon as he was healed, he was going to be in for a world of hurt. He was going to let himself die? Ohfuckno. There’d be consequences for that.

No one killed Devlin Walsh. Not even himself.

And especially notme.

He could take his precious promise and fuck all the way off. He didn’t get to hold my hand while I nearly bled out in the dark and then expect me to kill him. But that was a lesson for another day. We’d only just begun his education on what it meant to belong to Cian O'Shea.

I pulled the sheet up to his shoulders, then laid a fleece blanket over top of him. He only wore a pair of boxer briefs, and I didn’t want him to wake up cold. I also made sure he had a full bottle of water and an extra sleeve of crackers on the nightstand. He’d need something more substantial to eat when he woke up, if he could stomach it. And I was hungry too.

But before I could eat, I had to talk to Rhys and Jace. Just thinking about the way they’d looked at me earlier made my gut twist. Guilt was an unfamiliar feeling for me. I made decisions and stuck with them, and I made sure they were the right ones. Usually.

My decision to keep Devlin was objectively the wrong one—but I didn’t fucking care anymore. The heart wanted what it wanted and all that bullshit.

Rhys and Jace hadn’t been in that crawl space with me. They hadn’t heard Devlin’s words, or felt his trembling hands pressed against my wound. They’d never been locked in a closet with seven-year-old me, stifling my sobs so my father wouldn’t hear and hurt me all over again.

But Devlin had been there. He’d held my hand. He’d stayed with me.

I left my apartment and headed straight to Rhys’s. My hand shook as I raised it to knock, but before my knuckles could make contact, the door swung open with so much force the air nearly sucked me into the room.

I swayed and braced myself against the doorframe as Rhys’s lips curled in a snarl. “Don’t say a fucking word to me until you make things right with Jace.”

I blinked at him. “Wha?—?”

“Isaid,” he growled, “not afuckingword.” Then he pointed down the hallway. “Jace is in the gym, stress lifting and probably beating the shit out of a dummy with your face taped to it.” His eyes dropped to my feet before lifting back up, as if he couldn’t help checking that I was okay. Then he huffed and slammed the door in my face.

I stayed frozen where I stood. I tried to remember a single time Rhys had ever talked to me like that and came up with nothing. I’m sure he would’ve held back in front of the crew. But we were alone here, and he let me have it.

Not that he was wrong to be mad, but a “How are you feeling, Cian?” still would’ve been nice.