Kiss The Villain: Chapter 29

“Kayden Lucas Davenport.”

I wince at Mom’s voice as I tap my pen on the desk. She only uses my full name when she’s mad.

And she’s almost never mad.

Leaning back in my campus office chair, I let my gaze wander to the neatly organized files in front of me. It’s impossible not to think about the last time I bent my little monster over this desk—his moans, groans, and the way he called my name in that hoarse, aroused voice he reserves just for me.

Only me.

The thought of anyone else seeing him like that, hearing him like that, makes my vision haze red.

But then again, I’ve already decided—there will be no one after me.

Never.

“Is it true?” Mom’s voice quivers, pulling me back. “Did you use my last name and go all the way to the UK for Cassandra?”

“It’s not what it seems,” I say, keeping my tone calm. “Is Mom Jina there?”

“I’m here, Kay,” Mom Jina replies, her tone gentler. “But I won’t interfere. Rachel wants the truth, and she deserves that. We both do.”

“There’s no truth, really,” I reply absently, glancing at my watch—the one Gareth got me. It’s the least expensive of the bunch, and I only wear it because he pouts when I don’t.

And when I do? That wide smile of his stabs me in the chest faster than one of his arrows.

“No truth?” Mom’s pacing. I can hear it in her voice. Fuck. That’s not good. “You said you needed time away from the pressure back home. That you wanted to escape Grant, the company, and the organization. You said you wanted to clear your head and be closer to us.”

“I did, Mom. I wanted to see you more, without Grant’s interference.”

“But that’s not all!” Her breathing is harsh, uneven. “Grant said you still haven’t let the Cassandra thing go. He said you’re being impulsive, reckless, and that if we don’t send you back, he has his methods to force you.”

My pen pauses mid-tap. “Grant visited?”

“He called earlier today,” Mom Jina interjects. “She’s been like this ever since.”

“Why would you even talk to him, Mom?” My voice rises slightly. “If you knew it was him, you should’ve hung up.”

“How else would I know what you’ve been up to?” Mom’s voice cracks. “You promised you’d let it go, Kay. You said it was over, that you wouldn’t dig deeper or go on more murder sprees. You promised.”

The familiar weight of my demons coils around me, their snakelike forms writhing in the shadows, yellow eyes flashing as their tongues graze my skin.

“I couldn’t,” I admit quietly. “I tried, but I just couldn’t.”

But now, I think it’s because the thought of being aimless once it was all over terrifies me. Because really, when was the last time I thought of Cassandra?

“Kay,” Mom Jina’s voice softens, almost catching. “Why didn’t you talk to us?”

“Because you’d worry. You’d try to stop me. But I can’t stop. It’s impossible.”

“She’s dead, Kayden!” Mom’s scream cuts through the air. “She’s been dead for over two years, and we almost lost you to bloodlust. I don’t want to lose you, Kay. I already did when your father took you from my arms and made me live without you. Please stop this. I’m begging you.”

Her sobs echo through the phone. At least she has Mom Jina to comfort her. She always has.

In truth, I don’t know how to handle Mom’s emotions. As much as we both hate Dad, I’m more like him, and when faced with raw emotion, I draw a blank.

It’s like I’m made of steel, and feelings simply slam against me before falling to the ground.

“Who are you after in the UK?” Mom Jina asks, her tone steady. “Is there even anyone left on your list?”

“Just one,” I whisper. “One final name before I get closure.”

“And then you’ll be done, right?” Mom’s voice shakes again. “I’d rather you go back to Grant than continue this madness.”

“It’ll be over soon, Mom. I promise.”

“She left the room,” Mom Jina says softly. “Probably to cry alone. I need to go check on her.”

“Mom…I’m sorry for lying.”

“I know why you did it, but I don’t agree.” Her sigh is long, weary. “You were born into bad luck, my boy, and it hurts to see you like this. Being a Davenport, and the child of the second wife, no less, brought its own brand of demons. Especially since your mom had her own demons to fight and couldn’t help you.”

“You did, Mom. I’m grateful. Truly.”

“And I’m grateful to have you, Kay. I don’t care what biology says, you are my son, and I worry about you. You were ripped away from us so young, and I always wondered what you would’ve become if your father hadn’t forced you to go with him.”

“I chose to go with him, remember?”

“To protect us.”

“Who told you that…?”

“I’m not an idiot, Kay. I know he must’ve threatened to kill us if you didn’t go. You were only nine, but you still took all that burden on yourself.” Her breath hitches. “I’m sorry we didn’t try harder to get you back.”

“You did everything you could. I don’t blame you. Neither of you.”

“But you won’t stop? Not even now that Gareth is in your life?”

I tap my pen harder, but I stay silent.

“You can deny it all you want, but that young man is the best thing to ever happen to you. He calms you, makes you happy, and brings out your best traits. He doesn’t deserve this half-truth version of you, Kay.” Her voice lowers. “Rachel’s becoming more uncomfortable the more she likes him, and she hates hiding things from him. If you don’t tell him the truth, we will.”

After she hangs up, I stare at the phone in silence.

I’ve been considering telling Gareth for a while now, but after last night—after he said he wanted me to meet his family—it’s become inevitable.

But first, I have to deal with my own family. Grant would lock me up if he found out about Gareth. Hell, he’d probably torture me to death before letting me tarnish the Davenport name.

Worse, he might target Gareth just to eliminate the ‘threat.’

Fuck. He absolutely would.

I unbutton my shirt, feeling the collar choke me.

This wasn’t part of the plan. Gareth wasn’t part of the goddamn plan, and yet the mere thought of him is muddying my whole thinking process.

Because I’m only considering options where I can keep him off Grant’s radar, away from the organization’s reach.

But like Mom Jina said, Gareth deserves the truth.

While I love having him to myself, love watching trash TV with him, playing chess, or cooking disastrous meals, I’ve been feeling like a fraud lately.

Especially when he tells me about his family, friends, and past. Or when he buys me all those gifts as if I can’t afford them, as if my family isn’t actually much richer than his.

In the beginning, I didn’t care about his mental perception of me, but now I do. I don’t like that he has no idea about who I truly am.

But how will I broach the subject?

Gareth doesn’t exactly have the easiest personality to deal with, and while he’s been smiling more around me and he’s behaving himself—even trying to pamper me with gifts—he’ll go fucking ballistic at this.

If he wants to stab me, so be it.

And I mean it. If he wants to rip my heart out like he promised, I’ll just stand there and let him take it.

The phone vibrates in my hand and a jolt zaps from my arm straight to my chest when I see his name flashing on the screen.

Little Monster.

The cloud of suffocation eases, and the demons retreat to the shadows, one by one, their ugly forms immediately disappearing at his presence.

I’ve always felt a form of disturbing comfort with him, usually after I fuck the life out of him.

Last night, when he nursed me back to health when I got sick due to the side effects of Julian’s meds, I felt the same warmth I’m feeling as I look at his name.

Maybe I should ditch afternoon classes, call in sick or something. Because I’ll feel like I’m suffocating as soon as he hangs up.

It’s alarming at this point. I never felt so attuned to someone to the extent I wanted to chain them to me.

Not even with Sandra.

I pick up with, “Miss me already?”

There’s silence on the other side, harsh breaths, almost panting filling my ears.

“Gareth?”

No answer. More pants. Fractured breaths.

I stand up so fast that the rolling chair slams into the cabinet behind me. “Gareth? Say something. Is everything all right?”

“Did you lie to me?” His voice is so quiet, I can barely hear it.

“What?”

Surely Mom Jina wouldn’t have talked to him already. She said she’d give me time.

“Are you married?”

Fuck.

How did he know? My moms wouldn’t have said anything, right…?

Summoning my calmest tone, I say, “It’s not⁠—”

“Yes or no,” he cuts me off, his voice turning deeper, more guttural.

“Yes.”

“Am I a side hole? Are you cheating on her with me?”

“No, fuck. She’s dead. She died two years ago.” I run a hand through my hair. “How did you know about the marriage?”

Who the fuck gave him this information? It’s surely not the PI.

“What was her name?” He completely ignores my question. His voice is calm, unperturbed, and it’s creeping me the fuck out.

Gareth is violent when he’s upset. If he’s this deadly calm, then it’s worse than being upset.

“Let’s meet and talk about this.” I grab my briefcase. “I’m coming home now.”

There’s a long slashing sound echoing from his side. “I asked for her name.”

“Cassandra,” I speak low as I rush through the students and professors, ignoring the blur of greetings. “What are you doing, Gareth? What’s the sound on your end?”

“Cassandra.” The slashing stops as he repeats the name in a gruff, almost choked voice. “Did she go by Cass? Cassie?”

“Sandra.” I hop into the car and put him on speaker, not wanting to leave him alone.

I’m actually scared he’ll do something. I don’t give a fuck if he hurts others, but himself…

My heart thunders in my chest so loudly, I don’t hear the car’s engine kicking into gear.

“Sandra,” he repeats it, his voice so monotone now, it’s lifeless, like that first time I met him. When he looked like a monster. “What did you call her during sex?”

“Jesus Christ, why is that important?”

“Was it baby?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t think you need to know that.”

“I do. Tell me.”

“Just her name, okay. Sandy or something.”

“Did you tell her she was beautiful, too?”

“Fuck, Gareth. You’re spiraling.” I pull out of the parking lot. “I’m on my way.”

“Did you?” The slashing starts again, louder, more unhinged.

“No, I didn’t.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I don’t know how to answer that if you’re refusing to believe me.”

“Hmm. True. You’re a liar.”

“Listen, Gareth. I need you to tell me who passed on the info.”

“I had a PI on you. For months,” he confesses. “But she’s been lying to me, too. She told me about Isabelle, Lena, Hadil, and Sophia, but not Cassandra. The most important one. The woman you married and looked happy with while you were doing it. While holding her hand and walking down the aisle and kissing her. You were smiling the whole time.”

A video?

How the fuck did he get a video?

Grant? Fuck. If he knows Gareth exists, wouldn’t he come for him?

I drive at supersonic speed, sliding between traffic. Gareth is reacting to this unlike a normal person. Because he’s not normal. Other people wouldn’t care that much about a dead wife, but he’s obsessing.

He’s letting his nature take over as if she’s a real person standing right in front of him.

“How long were you married to her?” he asks in that same detached voice.

“Two years.”

“How long were you with her?”

“Two and a half in total.”

“Kids?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t want them.”

“And you listened?”

“Yeah. I don’t particularly want them either.”

“Wow. You listened. You must’ve really loved her. You looked good together. Perfect match. Made in heaven, as they say. I bet everyone was jealous.”

“Gareth. You’re driving yourself in a loop. Ground yourself and stop spiraling out of control. Do breathing exercises. Count to ten. Go practice archery. Just stop with the illogical thoughts. I’ll be there shortly, okay, baby?”

“Don’t call me that!” he yells, his gruff voice filling the car. “I’m not your fucking baby!”

He hangs up and I curse under my breath, then dial him again, but he doesn’t reply.

Fuck!

I’m inhaling and exhaling so loudly, I think I spit my lungs out.

If he’s reacting this badly to Cassandra, he might actually hurt himself if the other stuff comes out.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I need to somehow redirect that energy like I’ve been doing these past few months. Whether with sex or chess or showering him with the affection he craves.

Those calm him, more than archery. He doesn’t carry a Taser anymore, but he always has a knife strapped to his calf or in his car. Always. He stopped wielding it at me, but it’s there.

A constant reminder of his own demons.

My phone vibrates and I perk up before I see the name of the head of my security, Simone.

I’d ignore her if not for the goddamn fuckup that just happened.

“Simone, why on earth did Gareth receive a damn video of my wedding?”

“I don’t know, Sir. He texted me to find out why I lied to him and I’m reporting back to you. What should I reply?”

All this time, Simone has been Nadine—Gareth’s PI. I knew he’d be digging into me, so I needed to have control over what he could and couldn’t know, so Simone cosplayed as a PI.

As an ex-Navy SEAL and a top-notch security leader, she’s absolutely hated that mission.

She didn’t say it out loud to me, but she’s been constantly complaining to Jethro, my second in command, who, in turn, wouldn’t stop nagging me.

Like my moms, Simone grew uncomfortable lying to Gareth, but I’m her boss, so she’s doing what I ask, including only giving him information I approve of.

“Don’t reply,” I say. “Tell Jethro to hack into his phone and trace who sent him the video.”

“Will do.” She pauses. “Also, Boss, you need to return as soon as possible. I received info that Grant will be sending men over. I’ll arrange pickup.”

“Not yet. I’ll call back in a bit.”

The last thing I need is my goddamn brother.

I jerk the car to a halt in front of the building and hurry to the apartment, cursing the elevator for taking too long.

When I arrive at my apartment, I pause at the entrance, a metallic scent hitting my nostrils.

Blood.

It’s everywhere.

Dark, sticky droplets dot the floor, trailing toward the hallway. My heart pounds, each step making the sight more real. I follow the trail, the crimson stain smeared across the wood, pooling in the center of the room, a red mess that stands out against the cold, clean space.

My stomach drops when I see Gareth’s bloody knife lying on the floor.

Moka steps in the blood, her paws leaving prints wherever she goes. She meows softly, bumping against me, but I’m shaking.

He hurt himself.

Was that slashing the sound of his knife in his own fucking skin?

I’ve never seen him do that, and I studied his body—all of it. There was no sign of self-harm. I know he bit his finger until it bled a couple of times, but I didn’t think any more of it.

I should have. I really should’ve considered he could be self-destructive.

That’s a lot of blood.

On the counter, the stool, the floor.

Fucking fuck!

I rush to the bedroom, but I know he’s not there even before I search.

Sure enough, there’s no trace of him. I call him, but his phone is turned off.

Pushing my hand in my hair, I curse out loud. God fucking damn it.

Why would he leave if he was bleeding that much?

My phone vibrates, and my muscles wind up at the view of Declan’s name. I consider ignoring him, but I have an extremely bad feeling about this.

“Davenport,” I reply in my usual detached tone.

“My dearest brother-in-law.” His cheerful, slightly high-pitched tone grates on my frayed nerves. He has an Irish accent and a prominent position in Chicago’s Irish mafia.

“We stopped being related a long time ago, Declan.”

“That hurts, ye know. I thought we were having fun these last couple of years, avenging Caysie and shit.”

I keep looking at the blood—Gareth’s blood—and a headache forms at the back of my skull, snapping to the front with dizzying speed.

Declan is right, we were.

Truth is, Declan really cared about his sister, and he was there when we hunted each of the motherfuckers who raped and killed my wife.

Every single one who was present in that house.

All except for one.

“If there’s a point behind your call, you should reach it now, Declan.” I put him on speaker and shoot Jethro a text.

He’s still typing as Declan speaks. “Heard you found our last name, Davenport, but you somehow hid him from me? I’m so wounded, I could cry.”

“Don’t you dare⁠—”

“Alexander Carson’s grandson isn’t yours to keep.” His voice darkens. “His blood is fucking mine.”

My whole body snaps upright, my throat closing with rage. “Don’t you touch a hair on his head or I will⁠—”

“You’ll what? Kill me? Find me first. Caysie would be rolling in her grave that yer protecting the grandson of her rapist.”

“Gareth is not Alexander.”

“No, he’s not, but he’s the one person Alexander loves the most, even more than his own son. He loves him so much, he’s been depressed since he left the States for school. Ye must’ve noticed that, too, which is why ye pulled this. It’s pointless to kill Alexander when we could torture the old man first. I wonder if he’ll have a heart attack if I send him his grandson’s fingers one by one before I ship him the corpse in a box.”

“I will kill you, Declan. You touch him, and I will fucking kill you.” I’m breathing so loud, I’m panting.

“And I will kill you if you interfere.”

The line goes dead.

An emotion I’ve never felt before courses through my veins. It’s so strong and overwhelming, my entire body tightens.

Fear, I realize.

I’m scared I’ll never see Gareth again.

I’m terrified he’ll be hurt because of me.

I’m shaking at the thought that his peaceful face this morning might have been the last time I saw him, or that the kiss I pressed to his forehead as he sighed in his sleep was the last time I touched him.My eyes fly over the texts Jethro sent. Screenshots of further texts Gareth received after the wedding video.

From Declan, no doubt.