Page 25 of The Villain

Rhys shrugged. “I know. Just in case you wanted to hear it from someone besides yourself.”

I ran a hand over my face and groaned before sliding off the stool. “I’m going to bed.”

I headed for the stairs, and Rhys’s voice drifted after me. “Do you think the devil snores?”

I smiled and shook my head as I made my way up to my apartment and let myself inside. I moved quietly so I wouldn’t wake Devlin, which was so fucking stupid. I should’ve been banging pots and pans over his damn head. The devil was fast asleep on the dog bed where I’d left him, curled tightly into a ball. He wasn’t snoring, but hehadpulled all the sheets and pillows off my bed and shoved them underneath him.

I sank down onto the edge of my bed and watched him sleep. I’d felt unsettled ever since I laid eyes on Devlin in that shed. Or, more exactly, I’d been uncomfortable when I’d left him there alone. When Mads and Hack delivered food, I’d even watchedfrom a distance, imagining I was the one giving him what he needed. Keeping Devlin locked in that shed had been the last thing holding the shreds of my sanity intact. At least I’d been able to leave when I’d felt myself slipping.

But now I’d heard him laugh. I’d seen his eyes roll back when he came. I knew how good he was when I put him on his knees.

The beast inside me had claimed him.

I couldn’t forget how this all had to end—and one day it would. One day, I’d have to kill Devlin Walsh, lock the beast back in its cage, and pretend nothing had ever happened. Pretend he hadn’t changed something inside me, shown me a side of myself I hadn’t known existed.

But he was the villain, and so was I. We didn’t get a happy ending.

NINE

Devlin

I woke with a start, peeling my eyes open and immediately regretting it as they burned. I rubbed my eyes and buried my face in the pillow, struggling for a moment to remember where I was. There was no bare bulb overhead, no stiff cot beneath me.

My eyes were dry. My throat was stiff. I swallowed and winced. A clattering drew my attention, and I peered blearily around the room. Oh right. I was in Cian’s apartment on a damn dog bed, which was surprisingly comfortable—especially after I’d basically performed acrobatics to grip his blankets with my toes and steal some bedding.

Cian stood at the other end of the apartment, coffee mug in hand while he stared out the window over his sink. His apartment was essentially one large room, with the bedroom and bathroom taking up about a third of the space. The rest was an open living area with a couch, TV, and full kitchen.

I rubbed at my eyes again as I struggled to sit up. That’s when I realized my hands weren’t bound. My cuffs lay on the floor beside me, the chain still attached to the toilet base.

When I glanced up, Cian was watching me. He wore a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants and nothing else, putting his broad shoulders and massive chest on full display. I’d seen plenty of big, muscular men. Tons. Most of them had been lean, shredded fighting machines. But Cian was a brute, with pectorals I could motorboat and a slightly rounded stomach like a strongman competitor. He was all muscle and mass.

I rose to my feet, stumbling a little as he eyed me over the rim of his mug and took a sip. My breathing was rough, likely from the smoke I’d inhaled, and my throat felt bruised, definitely from the dick I’d swallowed.

I realized someone had intentionally set that fire to kill me, but standing in Cian’s apartment with the morning sun streaming through the windows, scent of coffee in the air, and all his gorgeous skin on display, I almost wanted to thank whoever was responsible for my attempted murder. Because this change of scenery was a fucking dream.

I sauntered toward Cian, and his blue eyes tracked me the entire way. I stopped beside him and casually leaned against the refrigerator. “So. Why’d you take the cuffs off?”

“You kept rattling them in your sleep,” he grumbled.

“For your own comfort, huh? Not mine at all?”

His eyes narrowed. “Exactly.” He poured coffee into a second mug and pushed it toward me. “Here.”

“Do you have?—?”

“Drink it black, or not at all,” he snapped.

I bit back a smile and took a sip of the absolutely terrible coffee. I’d endured hours of being interviewed in police stations and still hadn’t encountered anything quite like this.

He pointed to a container of already-peeled boiled eggs on the counter. “There’s breakfast. If you don’t like it, I don’t fucking care.” He started to turn away, then hesitated. “Are you allergic to eggs?”

He cared if I died from anaphylactic shock? How romantic. I grabbed an egg and took a bite. “Deathly,” I said around the mouthful.

He rolled his eyes and stepped away to put a few mugs in the overhead cabinets. A block of kitchen knives sat within my reach. I should have grabbed one just to remind him who he was dealing with, but I didn’t. And I wasn’t really sure why.

“Why are you being nice to me?” I asked.

His eyebrows lifted. “Thisis nice?”