Page 96 of Villains Never Die

You love no one and nothing but yourself. I’m not afraid of you.

Self-assured bitch. I would sacrifice this one thing, even if my heart squeezed at losing the last remnant of my mother. Fifteen years I’d held on to that stupid rabbit, and whatever childhood I’d had left when she was gone died with him.

The tired cotton burned rapidly as I incanted without faltering and picked up the knife, getting to my feet. I braced myself for her to appear, readying myself to savor the moment I’d see her shadowy form and fiery eyes again. The excitement that washed over me bordered on arousal, my whole being consumed with anticipation and glee.

Stewart burned to nothing, and Death did not appear.

The incantation ended, my voice wavering with the last few words as nothing happened.

I waited. Perhaps the summoning was not immediate.

Rook shifted in the corner. “Austin…”

I started the incantation over, speaking faster, the words tripping over each other and sticking to my tongue. I was halfway through when the flames guttered and I threw the book on the ground. A moment later, they went out.

“No! Fucking hell!” I kicked the damn book and raged in place until Rook wrapped his arms around me from behind and dodged the elbow that nearly smacked him in the face. “It was supposed to work!”

“We’ll figure out something else,” he consoled, even as I fought him, even as he gripped me tighter to prevent me escaping the secure hold that contrasted his soft words.

“Let go of me!” I writhed and his elbows bracketed both my arms so there was nowhere for me to go.

“Not until you breathe,” he said against my ear. “I’ll let you go when you calm down.”

“Calm down! Calm down? My life’s work just went to hell in front of me and you want me to—”

“Breathe. I can hold you here all night.”

I sighed and fought with the air until my lungs worked in time with his at my back, long and slow. His hold on me loosened and he kissed the side of my neck once.

“It’s going to be okay, baby. We’ll make it okay.”

But it wouldn’t be okay. I wasn’t a sentimental man. There were no more cherished pieces of my life to burn, so everything else in my life would combust instead. I fought back tears—the kind that hurt, the kind born of rage and disappointment. Everything I’d worked for, hours sifting through the Prague collection, years chasing her with an obsession that nearly ruined me—wasted. All of it for nothing. Sick. Defeated. On the brink of tears. No amount of force or command from Rook could cure the consuming wretchedness that filled me.

“Go upstairs,” he said. “I’ll clean this up, and then I’ll come up with you.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the discarded book, knife, and the charred remains of my rabbit. Useless—all of it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I sobbed, fighting to keep the tears from spilling over. “None of it matters!”

He turned me to face him and squeezed me in a bruising embrace. “I’m going to take care of you, but I need you to listen to me. Go upstairs and wait for me. Don’t think about it, just do what I’m telling you to do.”

I slumped against him, defeat reaching every cell and my body suddenly overcome with fatigue. I had no fight left—not for her, not for him. I nodded and turned to go, but he gripped my hand one more time.

“I—”

I thought for one hopeful moment it flashed in his eyes. He was going to say it.

“I’ll be up soon.” He dropped my hand and the chill in the basement was not as icy as the never-ending cold inside me.

***

The lift ride was freezing and heavy with despair. If it weren’t for Rook’s promise, I might have gone up and wallowed alone, might have refused to leave my bed for days. My business—what the fuck did it matter? I’d only gotten into my line of work to find her. Power and money were convenient. The lifestyle that followed it didn’t hurt. But I built my empire on the foundation that I would someday kill her.

That foundation shook.

I tossed my clothes everywhere when I disrobed. It didn’t matter if they were wrinkled, damaged, even ruined. I could buy more. That’s what all that hollow, meaningless money was for.

Parties and penthouses and holding it over the heads of other rich bastards—that’s what all that money bought me. They say money doesn’t buy happiness, but it didn’t buy me revenge either. The cost was something that I couldn’t measure in dollars.