Page 69 of The Villain

We brushed our teeth side by side in the bathroom. I helped him shower. His hair had gotten too long, but I refused to buzz it like I did mine. The thought of his auburn locks littering the floor made me grind my teeth. I asked Starla to bring her friend over to cut it, and she showed up with some small, bubbly woman who shamelessly flirted with Devlin while running her manicured fingers through his hair with what felt like unnecessary intimacy. I sat there imagining all the ways I could kill her with her own scissors, until Devlin leaned closer and murmured to her, “You’re barking up the wrong tree, sweetheart.”

She toned it down after that, so I let her leave with all her fingers intact. Luckily for her, the haircut was perfect. His hair looked shiny, and it was parted down the middle, still long enough for me to grab without looking like a shaggy mop.

A day later, while Devlin was napping, I wandered around Frank, greeting members of the crew in a way I used to dobefore my devil started taking up all my time. I found Mads in the main living area teaching Jeremy darts, so I joined them for a few rounds. Dylan had been awarded full temporary custody, and while they still had a court battle ahead of them, Jeremy was safe and happy for now. Dylan had found a new job in town that paid less but meant he no longer had to travel for work. Mads watched Jeremy while Dylan worked, which meant I saw less of him, but it was worth it to know the kid was taken care of.

Rank was in the wind. When he didn’t show up for his shift at O’Shea’s, Rhys and a few men busted into his apartment—which they found deserted. They visited his ex-wife, who said he’d called her in a panic the night I’d been shot to say he wouldn’t be around for a while. She hadn’t heard from him since, and she’d been around long enough to know better than to lie to members of the crew. Not that she wanted to. It was common knowledge that Rank had been an abusive asshole for most of their marriage. Even divorced, he still found ways to make her life miserable.

We had members of the crew watching his place and his ex-wife’s, just to be sure. His ex went to work and occasionally had dinner with her daughter, a local nurse. But that was it. Rank was nowhere to be seen.

Grave and Plank had returned to work, claiming they didn’t know where Rank was. And I believed them—after some extensive questioning and surveillance. They knew what would happen if they lied to me, and if they’d been behind any of this, they wouldn’t have dared show their faces again.

I’d thought he was too dumb to make a move against me. I couldn’t imagine him ratting me out—my father would haunt him from the grave, and Rank knew it. But I couldn’t figure out who else would risk coming after me or who they would’ve talked to.

Eventually, I had to admit I was probably wrong about Rank. Even though he was still dumb as fuck for betraying me.

I wanted to search for him myself, but Rhys had put me on bed rest. Hack had a few leads, and a small crew had been tracking him all over Jersey and New York. They’d get him eventually. I was sure of it.

But I knew Rank wasn’t the one who’d shot me—the guy had been too tall, and his hand had been too steady. He had to have talked, and once we caught him, I’d deal with him myself.

With the Bonnams decimated and most of their crew scattered after the family was wiped out, we couldn’t be sure who was waiting in the wings to take over.

After playing darts with Mads and Jeremy, I grabbed some food before returning to my apartment. When I walked in, Devlin was standing in the kitchen, staring out the cracked window over the sink. Birds chirped. A breeze ruffled his hair. The sun shone on his face as he turned to greet me, his green eyes crinkling with a smile.

My breath caught. I coughed. Needed water. As I filled a glass, Devlin leaned a hip against the counter. He wore nothing but a pair of my athletic shorts that hung loose on his hips, grazing the tops of his knees. He’d started eating properly in the past few weeks since the warehouse and had gained some much-needed weight. For the first time since I’d met him, Devlin looked almost healthy.

Even though his bruises had mostly faded, he still held himself stiff from the pain. I wasn’t over my anger from his beat down yet. Sometimes, I found myself wondering who’d put certain bruises on him, like the distinct boot print I’d found on his back. I’d stare at some of my men a little too long, until Rhys pulled me out of my thoughts with an elbow to the ribs.

Devlin had been right—my menhadmade the right call—but that didn’t make seeing his injuries any easier.

I ran the backs of my fingers over his stomach. He was mostly hairless, except for the small trail of red hair leading from his belly button into his boxers that drove me insane.

“Got a text a few minutes ago,” I said as I forced myself to stop touching him. “Starla’s on her way.”

Devlin frowned, scrunching his brows together. “Why?”

I glanced at my watch just as footsteps stopped outside my apartment. Bags rustled, followed by a loud knock. “Clothes,” I said simply.

“Clothes…?” Devlin echoed behind me as I opened the door.

Starla shuffled inside, weighted down by three colorful shopping bags on each arm. She dropped them on the couch with a grunt and blew the loose strands escaping her messy bun from her face.

I’d given her my credit card yesterday with instructions to buy Devlin some clothes—a whole wardrobe. All he had now were the clothes I’d stolen from Jace, who thankfully hadn’t noticed yet.

Still wearing nothing but my shorts, Devlin rummaged through one of the bags until Starla smacked his hands away. “I spent all day shopping for you. My feet hurt, and my arms are sore. So you’re going to give me a fashion show.” She flopped onto the couch beside the bags, sliding one onto her lap. She pulled out a few folded items and handed them to Devlin. “Try these ones first.”

He turned and lifted an eyebrow at me, and I just shrugged. Maybe I wanted a fashion show, too.

As Devlin pulled on a green track suit, Starla explained her vision. “So, to me, you have more of a European look.”

I didn’t know what the fuck a “European look” was, but I let her keep talking anyway.

“The idea was to dress you like I imagined Tommy Shelby would dress if he lived in New Jersey in 2026.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and bit back a groan as Devlin paused with one leg inside the pants. Starla romanticized the lead character ofPeaky Blinders, played by Cillian Murphy, so much that she’d held a theme night for the show at O’Shea’s last year. When I’d refused to dress up as Tommy, she’d convinced Rhys to do it instead. Then she’d convinced Jace to go as his younger brother, John—a role he’s unsurprisingly been very into. Starla was incredibly loyal and a hard worker, so I let her get away with her shenanigans.

“Starla…” I sighed.

“Look. You know me, Cian. You give me a job, and I give it my all. Always.” She made a shooing motion toward Devlin before crossing her arms over her chest. “Keep going.”