The Villain

by Shen, L. J.

  I shook my head.

  “Look, can I have my future husband’s phone number?”

  Devon plucked my phone from my hand, inserting Cillian’s contact info into it.

  “How do you know my code?” I frowned.

  “Had to write down your birthdate six hundred times when I filled in the paperwork last night. You seem like the predictable sort. Again, no—”

  “Offense. I know.” His eyes were still on my phone, his thumbs flying over my screen. “You realize prefacing something with these words makes it automatically offensive, right?”

  “The code to get to him is six six six. He only responds to texts. Sporadically.”

  Shocker.

  Devon slapped the phone over the pile of documents I was holding.

  “Cheers, Persephone.”

  “Wait!” I called out. “What about Colin Byrne? Can I tell him I’ll have the money ready for him?”

  He stopped at my threshold.

  “Ah, that’s the best part of becoming a Fitzpatrick.” He opened his arms. “Your problems are no longer yours. I do believe Colin is Sam Brennan’s jurisdiction. To that end, I’d say you’re all covered, and that Byrne is thoroughly and royally fucked for laying a hand on you. Welcome to the family, Persy.”

  “What do you mean you’re breaking the pact?”

  Sailor spritzed her pink lemonade across the table and all over my dress, the liquid shooting through both her mouth and nostrils.

  She coughed, waving her arms around. Aisling dashed to her rescue, patting her on the back. The liquid must’ve gone down the wrong pipe.

  The unshakable storm knocked on the greenhouse where we’d sat down for dinner, the hail threatening to impale the glass. At twenty-five, Aisling still lived at Avebury Court Manor, her parents’ mansion. She said it was because between med school and her charity work, she didn’t have time to maintain an apartment, but we all knew she took care of her parents, tended to them like one of their servants, and was not likely to leave before she got married.

  The greenhouse was warmly lit with an array of colorful succulents strewn everywhere.

  “She is not breaking the pact.” Ash hurried to hand me napkins after ensuring Sailor was okay. “She’s still married to Paxton. She can’t wed anyone else.”

  I dropped the bomb as soon as I sat down at the table before I’d even had time to help myself to a spring roll.

  “I am breaking the pact.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself for another storm, right here in the greenhouse. “I’m getting married to Cillian. He is working on my divorce certificate as we speak.”

  “Cillian-Cillian?” It was Emmabelle’s turn to choke, this time on a crab rangoon. “Tall, dark, broody. Two little red horns peeking from either side of his head? Possibly a tail tucked between those steel ass cheeks?” My sister grabbed a dumpling with her chopsticks, tossing it into her mouth.

  “My brother Cillian?” Ash supplemented.

  “Yes.” I pressed my forehead to my still-empty plate with a groan. “One and the same.”

  “Why?” Sailor asked.

  “How?” Belle demanded.

  “Is he threatening you?” Aisling shrieked.

  “Look, if it’s about money, Hunter and I would be more than happy to help.” Sailor reached across the table to dab at my collar, pretending to remove the lemonade stains she put there.

  “Me too. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew you only married my brother because you were struggling.” Ash put a hand on her chest over her heart. She wore a cardigan and a checked long skirt. Her raven-black hair was carefully tied into a chignon.

  They didn’t get it. Any of it. The reality of my life. My situation, my commitments, my misfortunes…

  “Of course she doesn’t want to marry him.” Sailor flung her arms in the air. “It’s Kill Fitzpatrick we’re talking about. He hasn’t exactly won any Mr. Personality awards in the last decade.”

  “Love changes people. You and my brother are prime examples of that,” Aisling pointed out.

  Sailor shook her head. “Hunter has always been good and lost. Cillian is bad and knows exactly where and what he is. A wolf can never be a pet.”

  Your husband starred in a sex tape, I wanted to scream. Who died and made you the moral police?

  I shot Belle a glance. She sipped her chardonnay, studying me intently. My sister was surprisingly quiet. I half-expected her to blaze out the door straight to Cillian’s house and extract more info from him at knifepoint. But no. She was just taking it all in. Absorbing.

  “Look.” I sighed. “Thanks for the offers, but I’m good. I’m marrying him because I want to. I know it’s sudden, but Kill and I have gotten close in the past few—”

  “You better not finish this sentence,” Belle warned coldly, draining her glass of chardonnay. “You’re already breaking the pact. At least have the decency not to lie to us. You and Kill don’t know each other beyond you being his baby sister’s friend.”

  “If Cillian asked you to marry him, it’s for all the wrong reasons.” Sailor’s voice softened as she tried to change tactics. “Did he tell you he doesn’t have any feelings? Like, at all? He takes pride in that.”

  Slurping a noodle between my lips—my first bite this evening—I nodded.

  “I know who Kill is. We’ve been running in the same circles for years now.”

  “Kill doesn’t run anywhere.” Sailor laughed. “He swaggers with a cocky grin and fucks shit up. Just tell me what kind of money you need, and I’ll get you out of this. Forget about a loan. Don’t pay me back.”

  She turned to the shoulder bag hanging over her seat, plucking out her checkbook and slapping it on the table. She clicked a pen and began writing me a check.

  “For my part, I’ll ask Athair for a good divorce lawyer,” Aisling chimed in brightly. “This is totally fixable. It’s not too late to say no. We can make sure you’ll still get—”

  “You want the truth?” I snarled, shooting up to my feet, shaking with anger. “Fine, here’s the truth—I’m not like you guys. Belle is a street-smart, man-eating lady boss who is out to conquer the world and build an empire. Aisling, you were born into royalty. You have more money than some countries, two brothers who would kill for you, and a promising career as a doctor. Sail, you already met your Prince Charming, and you have a father and brother who’d get you out of anything. Me…” I shook my head, laughing bitterly. “I’m different. I wanted to marry for love. And I did. Saying it didn’t work out would be the understatement of the century. Now it’s time to marry for comfort. It is not the noble or honorable thing to do. Trust me, I’m well aware of that. But it’s my choice. I choose security. I choose stability. I know he is not going to love me, but he will take care of me, and that’s something Paxton failed to do. If I can live with it, then so can you.”

  A tense silence stretched between us. The only sound audible was Sailor’s hard swallow.

  “I’m breaking the pact,” I whispered, the lie burning on my tongue. I was marrying for love. It just happened to be tragically unrequited. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Eight years ago, Sailor dragged all of us to a charity ball Hunter had invited her to. In it, we saw a girl who went to our high school hanging on the arm of a man thirty years her senior. She looked bored and sad and lost and rich. A beautiful, empty urn where hopes, dreams, and ambition once resided. Watching her expression alone sucked the life out of the party. We promised each other we would never let one another marry anyone for anything other than love.

  “Listen, I have options. I do.” I grabbed my bag and coat. “I choose to be with Cillian. He may not give me love, but he’ll give me everything else I’m looking for. I’ll be able to start the family I’ve always wanted, have kids. A place to call my own…” I trailed off. “All I’m asking is for you to support this. It’s crazy, and insane, and unconventional, but it is still my choice.”

  Aisling dropped her head into her ha
nds.

  Sailor looked the other way as if I’d slapped her.

  Belle was the only one who stood, picked up her own bag, and took my hand in hers.

  “Welp. If you excuse me, I have to go scream at my sister, have a mental breakdown, then accept her decision. See you later, ladies.”

  Belle and I ended up heading home, taking a rain check on dinner.

  The mood had soured, and no one was hungry anymore.

  Ash said she would always be there for me if I changed my mind, and Sailor threatened to shoot Kill with her bow and arrow and pin him to a wall like a butterfly if he screwed up, something we all knew she was capable of, seeing as she was an archer.

  Ten minutes into our ride back home, I finally broke the silence.

  “How come you didn’t freak out?” I stared out the window, watching the ice-crusted buildings zipping by. Belle signaled onto a side street.

  “Sorry, were you expecting a whole production?”

  “Expected? No. Predicted? Yes.”

  She laughed. “I’m not Willy Wonka. I don’t sugarcoat stuff, sis. You know how I feel about Kill Fitzpatrick, but you’re not a baby anymore. You can make your own decisions, even if I think those decisions should land you in a psychiatric ward.”

  “That never stopped you from being super protective of me before.”

  Wait, was I mad at my sister for not making a scene? No. Of course I wasn’t. That would be ridiculous. Then again, I was a bit ridiculous. And it wasn’t in Belle’s nature not to raise hell when the opportunity presented itself. Plus, she wasn’t exactly Cillian’s number one fan.

  In fact, if Cillian did have a fan club, she would probably burn the place down.

  And dance on its ashes.

  And then post about it on Instagram.

  (To her grid, not stories. That’s how committed she was to despising him.)

  “I’ll always have your back. But honestly? I’m half-sold on the idea. Paxton left you penniless and heartbroken. I watched you suffer through the past eight months, trying to hold your head up. If you want to switch tactics and marry a wealthy man who will provide for you, I’ll be the last one to judge you for it. Ultimately, we all make choices to the best of our abilities.”

  She paused, gnawing on her lower lip. “There’s also something else.”

  I turned to look at her, ungluing my eyes from the window.

  “I know you’ve never said anything, but I always kind of knew you had a thing for Kill. It was in your eyes when he entered a room. They changed. They glittered,” she whispered. “It’s never too late to change the name of the prince in your story. Just as long as you don’t end up with the villain.”

  “He can’t be the villain.” I shook my head. “He’s already saved me.”

  “You know he can’t love?” she asked quietly.

  “Love is a luxury not everyone can afford.”

  “Well, if anyone can move mountains, it’s you, sis.”

  She removed one hand from the steering wheel, squeezing my knee.

  I wondered how much Belle knew about my situation. Devon was right. I didn’t look like the kind of woman to get brutally mugged. While Belle took care of my wounds and fussed over each scratch the day after Kaminski beat me up, she held back on her usual Spanish inquisition and didn’t nag me when I said I didn’t want to file a police report.

  There was an ocean of lies and secrets between my sister and me, and I wanted to swim ashore, fall at her feet, and tell her everything.

  About Pax. About the loan sharks. About Auntie Tilda’s Cloud Wish.

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t rope her into my mess. It was mine to fix.

  “You’re not the naïve little damsel everyone thinks you are.” Belle killed the engine, and I realized we were parked outside her building. “You have nails and teeth, and a spine to go with them. Persephone wasn’t only a floral maiden. She was also the queen of death. Your groom’s in for a rude awakening. But know this—if Kill ever tries to play Hades, I’d descend to the underworld myself to rip his balls off.”

  “All there?” Byrne sniffed. He peered into the open black duffel bag. Kaminski stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest, watching us like The Mountain, Queen Cersei’s killer guard.

  “Count it,” Sam ordered, spitting his cigarette on the floor.

  Byrne began to sift through the money, which was bonded in hundred-dollar notes. His posture eased for the first time since we walked into his house. We were in his office, delivering our part of the bargain. Byrne had insisted we come to his place, probably because his office had more weapons in it than a tactical shop.

  “Kam.” Byrne snapped his fingers as he counted, separating the notes by licking his fingers. His soldier leaned forward. Byrne used the opportunity to smack the back of his assistant’s head.

  “Count with me, you useless sack of meat.”

  It took them twenty minutes before they were satisfied all the money was there. They zipped the bag, Byrne smiling at us politely.

  “I’m pleased to say we have no outstanding debts between us, gentlemen. Thank you for your business.”

  Sam nodded, stood, and turned around. I followed suit. We reached the door. Instead of opening it, Sam turned the lock on the door, the soft click signaling we weren’t done after all.

  “Actually,” Brennan hissed, “we do have one outstanding matter to resolve.”

  We both put on our leather gloves.

  “What would that be?” Byrne gulped.

  Sam smiled manically. “Your fucking bones.”

  An hour later, I finally felt I was getting my money’s worth.

  “Can I tell you a little secret?” Sam’s lit cigarette hung from his lips as he tied a thoroughly beaten up Colin Byrne to his own bed, cuffing him to the rails, tugging hard. “I’ve always had a weakness for numbers. Don’t know what it is about them, Byrne, but they calm me down. They make sense. My son of a bitch sperm donor was good at nothing but numbers. Guess I got the knack from him.”

  “Please,” Byrne sputtered, teeth chattering, chest caving. “I already told you, I didn’t know she was under your protection. I had no idea, man—”

  “Stop begging, unless you want me to cut you a nice smile to remind you how cheerful you were when you paid her your weekly visits.” Sam dumped a towel over Byrne’s head. The heavy fabric muffled his desperate pleas. “Now, here’s what this math enthusiast wants to know. Why would a loan shark inflate his interest by two hundred percent when the market standard is fifty? Is it possible you took advantage of the lovely creature Paxton Veitch had left behind and decided to whore her out, knowing she could make you a fast buck?”

  Before Byrne could answer, Sam grabbed a bucket of water and slowly poured its contents over his face, waterboarding him.

  Bracing the top of the doorframe with both hands, I watched Brennan handling Byrne while his assistant, Kaminski, hung by his arms from a hook in the ceiling where the chandelier had been. Kaminski looked like a skinned pig with his head covered in a burlap sack.

  Sam dropped the empty bucket, tipping the cigarette ash on Byrne’s bare stomach. He removed the towel from Byrne’s head, who took a greedy gulp of air.

  “Veitch wanted to whore out his wife all by himself before he fucked off!” Byrne coughed, desperately trying to unchain himself from the bedrails. “He wanted to kidnap her and give her to me. I told him not to bother. That I didn’t want the FBI on my tail. Human trafficking will get you a shit-ton of jail time. I even gave the bitch extra time to pay me back.”

  Sam tsked, turning his head in my direction. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “We’re dealing with a patron saint,” I deadpanned, strolling into the room. I’d asked Sam to allow me to be present during this job even though I knew better than to accompany him to any of the other errands he usually ran for me. This felt personal. Not because I had any feelings toward my future wife, but because Kaminski and Byrne had defaced my property, and fo
r that, they needed to pay.

  Sweat, blood, and tears were my preferred currency.

  Grabbing a fire poker hanging by the mantel, I brought the tip to the dancing flames in the fireplace, heating it up before swinging it in my hand like a golf club as I approached Kaminski.

  “I just can’t help but think that, despite your devout intentions, you could have done without beating the shit out of the poor girl.” Sam dumped the towel back on Byrne’s face and emptied another bucket of water on it. Brennan was definitely in his element. He was in the business of inflicting pain.

  Kaminski whimpered at the sounds in the room, dangling from the ceiling.

  “It was Kaminski!” Byrne gurgled through the towel. “He did it! I told him to threaten her, maybe slap her around, but no more. He was the one who hurt her!”

  “Where’d you hurt her, Kaminski?” I asked the hanging man in front of me, my eyes leveled with his stomach. He flinched, realizing how close I was. Neither man was going to rat me out. Crossing Sam Brennan was something very few people in Boston did, and those who were stupid to go that route didn’t live to tell the tale. Even if Byrne and his brawny assistant did run their mouths to the feds, I had half the judges in Boston in my pocket.

  “I…I…”

  “Her eye?” I asked serenely. “Why, yes. I do remember my fiancée sporting a nasty black shiner.”

  I swung the poker to his face, crashing it above his nose. The hot metal hissed against the burlap fabric, melting it into his skin. He let out a carnal snarl, twisting violently like a worm on a hook.

  “I also remember you got her cheek.” I struck his cheek blade through the sack. “Her brow.”

  Smack!

  “The ribs.”

  Smack!

  “Her knees, too.”

  Smack! Smack! Smack!

  I beat Kaminski while Sam drowned Byrne in his own bed. Ten minutes later, when both F-grade mobsters were barely conscious, Sam threw in the towel. Literally. On the floor. I wiped the tip of the poker on Kaminski’s pants, then returned the stick to its place.