Page 30 of Beautiful Villain
She was none of those things.
I’d told myself she was leverage.A means to an end.A way to force Archie Popovich’s hand without firing the first shot.That was true.It was the strategic and logical thing to do.But logic didn’t account for the way she occupied space.
Not loudly.She was justthere.Present.Unwilling to shrink even when she thought she should.Even when fear pressed close and pain dragged at her movements, she held herself like someone who had learned to endure without surrendering.
That kind of resilience didn’t beg for protection.
Itchallengedit.
I moved through the house slowly, listening to its familiar rhythms.I paused outside her door and almost knocked.
Almost.
Instead, I turned away and headed down the corridor, issuing quiet instructions into my phone.More eyes.A tighter perimeter.Not because I planned to cage her—but because the world outside would.
And if she tried to run before she understood that?
I needed someone there to make sure she survived long enough to learn the difference.
11
Archie
Inoticed the man before he noticed me.
He was middle-aged, thick around the waist.His bare feet were encased in sandals that closely resembled what Jesus wore in all those religious movies I’d been forced to watch growing up.He stood at the edge of his front lawn across the street from the church, hose in one hand, the other tucked casually into the pocket of his shorts.Water arced lazily over a row of overwatered hydrangeas like he had nowhere else to be and nothing better to do.
Which was a lie.
He’d been watching us the whole time we were talking to Leo.With interest.
When our eyes met, he looked away immediately, turning his attention back to his plants as if we were no more interesting than traffic noise.
I crossed the street slowly, hands loose at my sides, my men hanging back where they belonged.The hose hissed softly.The street smelled like wet earth and cut grass and old stone—the kind of quiet neighborhood that liked to believe nothing bad ever happened here.
“Evening,” I said.
For a moment, he didn’t speak.He just angled the spray away from me, like we were neighbors chatting about the weather.
“Evening,” he replied.His accent was local.He seemed like the kind of man who’d never left this street and never needed to.
“Nice night for it,” I added, nodding at the garden.
“Plants like routine,” he said.“People, too.”
I smiled.I liked him already.
“You see much excitement around here yesterday?”I asked lightly.
He shrugged.“The church was busy.”
“It was a wedding,” I said.“Mine.”
That got his attention.Not enough to turn fully toward me—but the hose stuttered for half a second.
“Ah,” he said.“That explains the commotion.”
“And the drama,” I prompted.
