Page 80 of Villains Never Die

“What do you need?” he asked, his voice low and careful, but not soothing. The anguish in my chest was too thick to be penetrated by comfort.

I shook my head, suddenly forgetting how to form a coherent sentence. I needed Gray to be alive. I’d realized on the quietdrive to Rook’s club that Gray had spent most of the last four years taking care of me. Not just my business, but me—meals when I forgot to eat, covering my work when he could so I could attempt to sleep, asking me about my day, though I never realized he was the only one who did. He made sure I didn’t unravel under the pressure of power, not because he was paid to, but because—I thought—he might have actually considered me a friend.

He cared about me.

And I did fuck all for him.

“What happened?” Rook asked.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “There was a fire at the warehouse. He was there working late and he got trapped inside.”

“How did the fire start?”

My brain struggled with the question. I’d been so worried about the men putting out the fire and Gray lying lifeless in the wreckage that I hadn’t paused to wonder what caused it.

“I don’t know.”

“Sit down,” he said, ushering me toward a wooden stool in the corner. He cracked the seal on a bottle of water and placed it carefully in my hand. I raised it to my lips, didn’t drink, and lowered it.

“I was a shitty friend to him. A shitty boss. Everything. And if I’d fucking accepted his help tonight, he wouldn’t have been there.”

“Whoa, slow down,” he said. “Help with what?”

“The bloody spell, the knife, everything! I told him what it was for; I finally fuckingtold someone—other than you—and he offered to help. And I said no because I don’t know how to let someone in like that, not when it matters that fucking much. If I keep it to myself, I’m the one protecting it, and I’m the only person who can fuck it up. If I’d let him in, we could have spentthe night in the penthouse trying to find a way to make me cry over that goddamn knife and he’d be alive!”

Rook crouched low in front of me and reached a hand up to brush his thumb along my chin. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is my fault. I’ve made myself so untouchable that even the people who care about me can’t reach me. I’m alone now and someday I’ll die alone, but I’m going to make sure that unholy bitch isn’t around when I do.”

A smirk played around the edges of his lips. “You’re not that untouchable.”

“What?”

“I mean, I killed you. You’re not completely untouchable, and if that’s true, then there’s hope for someone getting through that fucking fortress around you.”

“Why are you smirking at me right now?” I asked, wondering if he’d lost his mind or if my grief had reached a peak and I was losing mine.

“It’s cute that you think you’re so powerful. King Austin lording over all the little people. Lonely and alone with his empire.” He rose to his full height, but did not step back. He towered over me, casting me in shadow under the obnoxious fluorescent lights.

“Shut up.”

“No. You think you’re invincible, but you know everyone else isn’t. Not your mother. Not Gray. Not the voices. You’re too afraid of losing people to let them in, but it didn’t save him, and you’re still alone.”

“Shut up!” I stood and shoved him, which was about as useful as pushing a mountain.

“Make me.” He took two steps back, still smirking, but his eyes…they’d glossed over with panic. Or maybe a plea.

“Hit me,” he said.

No, that was definitely a plea in his eyes:Take the bait.

“No.”

“Why? That rage has to go somewhere. My face is as good a place as any.” He lifted his fists and shifted his stance. “Fight me.”

This was ridiculous. He wanted me to fight him to prove what? A point of some kind. But rage sparked across my skin, numbing the grief. He stared at me expectantly, and I finally puffed a sigh and removed my jacket, draping it over the stool. I unbuttoned my sleeves and rolled them up to my elbows.

One step closer. A swing toward that handsome face he wanted me to break so badly.