Page 150 of Villainous Rise

Ms. Winters—Clarissa? Christina? Fuck if I remember—pressed against my side. Her hand rested on my chest, fingernails occasionally scratching against the fabric of my suit. Each touch made my skin crawl.

“Don’t you agree, Thomas?” Some bloated corporate parasite looked at me expectantly, his jowls quivering as he waited for my response.

“Absolutely,” I said, having heard exactly none of the preceding conversation.

They all laughed. I had apparently said something amusing. Or agreeable. Or fucking insightful. It didn’t matter.

What the actual fuck is wrong with me?

Across the room, Annie laughed at something Valor said, her head tilted back, exposing the line of her throat. The same throat I had my mouth on yesterday.

But when Annie stopped laughing, there was a brief pause before her brain caught up and she remembered to smile. In that pause it was all hollowness. She was broken.

I had done that. I had fucking broken her.

I’d blamed her for the kiss. Blamed her for not saying no. For not causing a scene. Blamed her for being violated. Because that’s what I’d been a witness to. A violation.

Jesus. How could I be so fucked up?

Winters slid her hand down my arm, squeezing my bicep. “You’re so tense,” she purred.

I wanted to throw her across the room and tear out the throat of every smiling, vapid asshole surrounding me.

Instead, I smiled. Thomas Smith smiles. Wealthy playboy Thomas Smith with his empty eyes and emptier soul smiles at these people he’d happily watch burn.

“Another investment in the medical sector?” one asked. “You’re becoming quite the philanthropist.”

I nodded, playing the role. Thomas fucking Smith. The mask I hated more than any other.

“I believe in giving back,” I said, not meaning a fucking word.

Winters giggled. “So generous,” she murmured. Her hand slid up my chest toward my tie.

If she touched my neck, I was going to snap her wrist. I wanted to hear the bone splinter. I wanted the screams to start so I could finally rip this tailored facade off and let the monster out.

Instead, I smiled wider. Laughed louder. Played my part.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Speaking of high-profile acquisitions,” the bloated parasite began, “did you get a good look at what that Hero dragged in tonight?”

The other men in our little circle chuckled. A slick-haired executive leaned in, glancing across the ballroom to where Annie stood frozen beside that golden fraud. “I’ll admit, she’s got a tight little body hidden under that dress. But Christ, she looks like she’d freeze a man’s balls off if he looked at her wrong.”

“Exactly,” parasite agreed, taking a sloppy sip of his whiskey. He nudged my elbow. “You had your hands on her, Smith. What’s the verdict? Is she as stiff as she looks, or is the Hero actually getting a decent ride out of her?”

The math flooded my brain instantly.

Parasite was closest. I could drive the heel of my palm up through his jaw, splintering his nasal bone directly into his frontal lobe. Time to kill: zero-point-four seconds. The slick-haired exec would inhale to scream. I’d crush his larynx before the air hit his vocal cords. The third man would turn to run. A single strike to the cervical spine.

The blood would spray in a wide arc. It would coat Winters’s designer gown. It would be warm and wet and utterly silent after the initial crunches of collapsing anatomy.

My fingers tightened around the champagne flute. The pressure built, the fragile material groaning against my grip. I wanted to hear it shatter. I wanted to use the jagged stem to carve into their throats for daring to speak about her.

“Oh, please,” Winters chimed in, tracing a manicured nail down my lapel. Her voice was a grating, shrill hum. “She’s so incredibly plain. Did you see that dress? It’s wearing her. She looks terrified. I have no idea what that Hero is thinking. He could have anyone and he settles for that.”

My vision tinted red. The monster writhed under my skin, clawing at the seams of my Thomas Smith suit.

Plain.