Page 68 of The Villain

“He loved her, I think. His version of grieving was drinking, and then drinking some more. Which just made everything worse. The older crew members turned their heads at what he did to me. Always blamed it on the alcohol.”

“They don’t get to do that,” I said, the words coming out sharper than intended. “I spent most of the last ten years snorting coke to wake up and drinking to go to sleep. It got worseafter my brother died, but that’s not an excuse for the things I did. I was stillme. I was just the worst version of me.”

“You have regrets, devil?” he said with a soft smirk. Our pinkies were overlapping now. I wasn’t sure when that had happened. Had he moved his hand closer, or had I?

I thought about Tav, and everything I’d done to him. I thought about the threats I’d made to my own nephew and his mother. Yeah, I had plenty of regrets. But I also had to own my actions.

“Some.”

Cian was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “What about your mom?”

The question struck a nerve. I quipped without thinking. “Well, this has been a cute little heart-to-heart.”

I started to move my pinkie away, and Cian reacted immediately. He snatched my hand and squeezed until my bones ground together. I sucked in a sharp breath before he tugged me closer, pulling me onto his chest. His fingers laced in my hair.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he growled. “Don’t get smart with me when I rip off a layer of skin that hurts.”

The places where we touched pulsed—my hand and my scalp—and the throbbing centered me. Cian never let me get away with my bullshit, and knowing he’d tear through my flimsy walls was strangely comforting.

“I don’t remember her,” I said, my voice strained as his tight hold pulled my neck back. He loosened his grip, and my head dropped to a more comfortable position. “I mean, I sort of remember a woman hanging in our trailer for a while. But I don’t think she ever hugged me or even talked to me, really. I don’t remember her voice at all. And then one day, she was just gone. She could be dead, for all I know. Or maybe she’s out there with a new family. Dennis’s mom died, and I was reminded all the timethat she’d been a ‘good woman’ while mine was a bitch and a whore. So I stopped asking questions about her. All that ever got me was a smack.”

Cian’s fingers loosened around mine, and his thumb rubbed the back of my hand as I continued. “My dad, on the other hand, preferred a good old-fashioned fist. A belt was too fancy for him.” My throat felt clogged, and my eyes burned. I was just so tired.

I laid my head on Cian’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. “I wish I could have met your mom.”

He was silent for a long time before responding. “I wish you could have, too.”

“She would’ve hated me, right?”

“Probably.”

“Good. She should want better for you.”

His body shook with silent laughter, and his fingers played with the hair at the nape of my neck as I melted into his chest. When he spoke again, his voice pulled me out of a twilight sleep.

“I hated you for killing Patrick. I hated you because you took the opportunity away from me.” I lifted my head, but Cian stared straight at the ceiling, his body stiff. “I wanted to be the one to kill him. I wanted to look him in the eyes when he realized his own son had betrayed him. Iwantedhim to know it was me.”

“I wish I could give that to you,” I whispered.

His chin lowered, and his gaze finally met mine. Pain swam openly in his gorgeous Irish eyes. “I’ve never admitted that to anyone. Not even Rhys. I’ve hated myself for wanting to kill my own father.”

I slid up his body until our noses almost touched, then I cupped the side of his face. “Don’t. If he was still alive, I’d be right there beside you, handing you the gun. No one gets to fucking judge us for how we handle what we went through.”

His eyes shone with emotion, and he shuddered beneath me. His big hands drew my face toward his, and for a moment, I thought he’d kiss me. But then he tucked my face into his neck and rolled us onto our side, locking us in an embrace that had me holding tightly to his scarred back.

Cian

Over the next week, we mostly slept. Devlin would lay on his side, tucked against my chest, with one arm thrown over my waist while mine wrapped around his. Dr. Bev had come by to take my stitches out, and Devlin’s cast had been removed and replaced with a brace. His bruises had started fading to a dull yellow, and my wound was ugly but healing well. It would be a while before I had full range of motion in my left shoulder, but Dr. Bev had assigned me exercises to help with that.

Pain and fatigue kept Devlin docile. And my concern over making his injuries worse keptmefrom touching him in ways that were starting to feel increasingly urgent. I wasn’t used to just…beingwith Devlin. Or anyone, for that matter, who wasn’t already part of my crew. And as each day passed, the urge to grab at him grew stronger—to feel him swallow against my palm, to hear his choked moans while he blew his load. The desperate need to claim him simmered constantly underneath my skin.

To pass the time, we watched nature documentaries. I’d been on a shark kick and couldn’t get enough of leaping great white sharks, while Devlin wanted orcas. Nothing but orcas. Somehow, I’d become an unwilling expert on the migration patterns of killer whales and had nearly cried watchingBlackfish.

We made food together whenever we didn’t feel like leaving the apartment. I learned that Devlin liked to cook his chicken until it was bone dry, like an absolute fucking monster. I forced him to eat more vegetables, but he refused to eat his peas. Apparently, they smelled like feet.

When Devlin was happy, like when we had a new documentary queued up, his shoulders would do this little shimmy. He’d also go quiet—a contented kind of quiet. He’d stop trying to fill the silence with nervous chatter or quips meant to provoke me.

At one point, I’d found a documentary on poison dart frogs, and he’d shimmed his shoulders before going silent for the full two hours, lying with his head in my lap. I’d even thought he’d fallen asleep, but when I bent down to check, he was still staring wide-eyed at the flickering screen, his lips mouthing an echo of whatever the narrator had just said.