Page 8 of The Villain

Mads’s brother, Dylan, worked as a lineman, repairing and maintaining power lines that often kept him out of town for months at a time. Dylan had a son with his ex-girlfriend, and while he was gone, Mads took his responsibilities as an uncle seriously, spending as much time as he could with his young nephew. But Dylan’s ex had been dodging his calls for the last two weeks, and Mads hadn’t seen his nephew for nearly a month now.

“I hate that bitch,” Mads seethed. “I called his school, but Dyl forgot to put me down as an emergency contact. So theywouldn’t tell me anything. I’mthisclose,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart, “from spying on his class at recess.”

“I would advise against that,” I said.

He blew out a harsh breath. “I know…”

“Dylan’s home soon, right?”

“Yeah, and then we’re making some changes. She can’t keep ghosting me like this. I know I’m just his uncle, but?—”

“You’re notjusthis uncle,” I cut him off. I knew how much he cared about the kid, and how much the kid loved him back. I’d never met Dylan’s ex, but from what I’d heard, she was a piece of work. “You’re like his second dad. Let me know if we need to get our lawyer involved.”

Mads’s brown eyes widened hopefully. “Yeah? I can use Rottie?”

Harold Rottenmyer, otherwise known as Rottie, was our vicious canine of a lawyer. “Of course.”

“Thanks, Cian.”

“Keep me updated, all right?”

“Will do.” He smiled, and then he crossed his arms over his chest. “How’s the devil?”

That was the last person I wanted to talk about. “You and Hack are on babysitting duty. Rhys will talk to you about it.”

I left Mads’s room and kept heading toward my own apartment. I needed to be alone right now more than ever, as the weight of the day caught up to me. I could get up to my place a couple ways: there was a fire escape at the back of the building that led to a private entrance, or I could cross the second-floor dorm section of Frank and take another set of stairs to my third-floor apartment. Which was the route I took.

I’d recently upgraded all my doors with key-code systems for privacy, and as soon as I entered my code and heard the familiar beep of acceptance, my headache dulled to a mild ache. I swungthe door open, stepped inside, then shut it behind me, grateful for the second beep that signaled it had locked.

I blew out a breath and leaned back against the door, letting my head thunk against the solid wood. I’d mostly gutted the apartment after my father died, intent on erasing the bad memories I associated with growing up here. I’d torn down the walls separating the two bedrooms, leaving one massive open space containing my bed, a living area, a full bathroom, and a small kitchen.

I slid down the door until my ass hit the floorboards, dropped my head into my hands, and allowed myself a moment to mentally flail. I hadn’t asked for this. I hadn’t asked for any of it. I’d been born into this life—had it beaten into me—and I had the scars to prove it. I’d wished for my father’s death plenty of times over the years, and in my darkest days, I’d even imagined how I would end him.

But Devlin Walsh had fucked everything up.

He took that from me. He ended Patrick’s life before I’d been ready, before I could set up a smooth transition that would’ve kept Rank from challenging me.

Over the last year, I’d envisioned every way I could make him pay. I had dreamed about slamming my fist into his face over and over as he whimpered and cried and pleaded for his life. But now all I could see were those emerald eyes, glittering up at me in challenge and lust. Maybe it had all been an act, but in that moment I hadn’t detected any deception. He hadn’t been the quivering, terrified mess of a man I’d expected, trying to weasel his way out of my chains. If anything, he’d seemed almost eager to find out what came next. And I didn’t know how to handle that. It made me feel like I was on the back foot.

I couldn’t let him feel like he had the upper hand, so if that meant shifting how I treated him, I would. There was more thanone way to break a man that didn’t involve snapping every bone in his fingers.

Because if the Detroit Devil wanted to play games, then I was going all in.

And Iwouldwin.

FOUR

Devlin

At first, I’d waited for the big man to come back. The lion king. I’d sat on that cot, hands bound behind my back, cock a painful spike in my pants, and I’d waited. And waited… I’d waited until my shoulders ached and my dick gave up and wilted.

Then rage kicked in like a boot to the balls. I’d hollered and screamed until my chest had heaved and my throat was raw. Until fatigue finally set in and I’d slumped onto my side and drifted off to sleep.

My nightmares had shifted over the years. I used to wake up to the sound of my father’s taunts in my ears, the phantom burn of his hands twisting the skin on my arms, the taste of bile in my mouth.

But ever since I’d woken up in that hospital bed a year ago, my nightmares had narrowed to the same one, playing over and over again. And this time, the imagery was even more vivid than usual.

I was in an empty room with no windows and no doors. I beat my fists against freezing metal walls, while the floorbeneath my bare feet was lava-hot. Invisible hands tossed me around the room. Smashed into my face and my ribs as blood splattered the floor. But there was no one here with me. I was alone. So utterly alone. Confused. In pain.