Page 98 of The Villain

Paolo wore a gun on a shoulder holster over a dress shirt. No jacket. But I didn’t look at the weapon for long. I didn’t want the man to catch me staring at it. Paolo’s gaze shifted to Cian for a brief second, and his lip curled in a sneer. He took a sip of hisbourbon, then came around to the front of his desk to stand near me.

“Devlin Walsh.”

I forced myself to be the charming Detroit Devil who’d scored plenty of deals with my wit. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bianchi.”

Paolo grinned, and his watery eyes glistened. “Mr. Bianchi! Look at that respect.” He looked back at his men and then at Mick. “I like you already.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Mick has spoken highly of you.” He hadn’t, but that didn’t matter. “He said you may have a place for me in your crew.”

“I wasn’t looking for more men, especially outside of the family.” Paolo swirled the drink in his glass. “But I trust Mick. And you come with a reputation I could use.” Beside me, Mick puffed out his chest, and it took everything in me not to roll my eyes. Paolo droned on about his plans for me, which I only half-listened to because I wouldn’t be doing any of it. Something about a territory up north with a dozen men. Our first task would be to wipe out the rest of the O'Shea’s and set fire to every building on their property.

I couldn’t help but let thoughts of the bar consume me—the place where Cian fed his men from a buffet, where Jeremy ate chicken nuggets and fries, and where Cian had taken me apart in the bathroom. I’d bleed myself dry to keep that place standing.

“Mick vouched for you,” Paolo said. “And I appreciate my gift.” He gestured toward Cian, and my blood boiled. “But I’m going to need a little more from you.” He placed his bourbon on the desk and leaned back with both hands curled around the edge. His conceited smile was all teeth.

“I want the Detroit Devil to kneel for me. Pledge your loyalty on your knees.”

A chill washed over me, from the top of my head down to my heels. A muffled sound came from behind me, and I knew it wasCian. I couldn’t be sure anyone else noticed it. Paolo’s eyes didn’t flicker once to the bound man behind me, but I heard it for the frantic protest it was. My heart pounded in a desperate bid to get back to its other half.

I’m the only one who sees you like this.

You will never get on your knees for anyone but me.

I looked into Paolo’s eyes, and I made myself say the words. “I’m happy to.”

I took a step back and began to sink to one knee in a mockery of a proposal. I inched lower to the floor as another muffled plea came from behind me, a wretched choking sound that made my lungs seize. Paolo’s attention was diverted. He glanced behind me with a frown.

My feet couldn’t be seen by Paolo’s men behind the desk. Mick and Ryan were soldiers at my sides. I pushed back the outside of my sneaker at my ankle and slipped my fingers in the small gap. I felt the cool metal of the switchblade I’d hidden there, the one the bouncer hadn’t taken. Rookie mistake not to tell your men to check shoes. It would be the last one Paolo ever made.

My knee was an inch from the ground when Paolo dropped his gaze to me. I grinned up at him as I closed my fingers around the knife. In one swift motion, I pressed the switch, swung my arm straight up between his legs, and sunk the blade through his thin pants and into soft, delicate tissue.

He screamed when I pulled the knife out, and I spun it in my fingers as I surged to my feet and slammed it straight into his gut. His guards drew their guns, but I grabbed Paolo and turned him around, his back to my chest, to use him as a shield. His guards hesitated, and that was their last stupid decision. I pulled Paolo’s gun from its holster and fired two shots, one for each of them. I turned before their bodies had even dropped to find Mick and Ryan, frozen in place and without weapons.

I shrugged, “Sorry, but this is personal.” And I dropped them with two more bullets.

I tossed Paolo to the floor, where he clutched his crotch as blood poured out between his fingers. He writhed and gasped as I pulled the knife from his gut and stepped over him.

Cian’s nostrils flared from over his gag as I slashed at his bound wrists. As soon as his hands were free, he tugged the gag from his mouth and lurched to his feet. He gripped my face and dug his fingers into his scalp.

“What the fuck, Dev?” he rasped through panted breaths. His chest heaved, and the pulse in his neck jumped. “What theactualfuck?”

I placed a hand over his heart and felt the strong, rapid beat. “Finish the job, Cian.”

Paolo whimpered in pain. Spit flew from his thin lips as he struggled to sit up. “You idiot.” His head lolled on his neck. Blood oozed from the hole in his gut. “You won’t get out of here alive. I have men all over this club?—”

Cian grabbed the gun out of my hand and shot him in the face before hauling me into his arms. He made a clicking sound in his throat as he swallowed, and I wrapped my arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I placed my ear over his heart. “But I had to end him. He tried to kill you. No one gets to do that and live.”

His fingers tangled in my hair. “I love you, Devlin Walsh. You crazy fucker. Iloveyou.”

In that moment, as those words hung in the air with the echo of gunfire and the haze of the still-smoking cigar, my soul released a long, slow exhale of relief. I belonged in Cian’s arms and at his side. Just as he belonged to me.

“I love you, too,” I whispered into his chest. The words seemed insufficient for what I felt, but until I got a better vocabulary, this would have to do.

“I’d fuck you right now if I could,” Cian growled. “But we need to get out of here before every Bianchi shows up.”

We stripped the men of their weapons, and I snatched the van keys out of Mick’s pocket. Armed with every gun and knife we could get our hands on, we stepped out of the office, side-by-side. Footsteps thundered up the stairs in front of us, and a bullet pinged the wall over our heads.