Kiss The Villain: Chapter 38

Well, this is inconvenient.

And annoying.

And all manner of frustrating.

I’m going to slice open whoever interrupted what Gareth was about to say.

While looking up at me with bright eyes the color of a tropical island and all the beasts lurking within.

But guess we have no choice but to get past this pesky problem.

We dress in record time as the chaos downstairs crescendos. Gunshots rip through the air, sharp and deafening, followed by the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood.

The violence isn’t slowing—it’s accelerating.

While I’m confident Simone and her men can hold their ground for a while, I can’t stay here. Not when the situation is escalating by the second.

I’m the best-trained fighter in this house aside from her, and my presence down there could mean the difference between survival and a bloodbath.

Gareth doesn’t seem fazed by the loud noises as he slides on his T-shirt. Normal people would at least be apprehensive, even with security in place, but he just looks at me with those slightly wide eyes. An expression he has when he tries to figure me out, read the emotions on my face.

“Give me a knife,” he says. “Actually, that’s useless. I want a gun, though I’ve never shot at people before, but there’s a first time for everything.”

He’s grinning, practically bouncing in place with excitement. Goddamn menace would be murdering people left and right if given the chance.

“You’re not coming with me, Gareth,” I say in my firmest tone, the one I usually use when he’s being a brat.

A frown appears between his brows, and I can’t help but look at that bandage. This is the first time I’ve felt remorse in my life—because of him, because he hurt himself for me—and I don’t know how to stop this feeling.

One would think I’m immune to that, considering I slowly but surely killed my father using one of Julian’s undetectable drugs.

Years.

It took fucking years for his lungs to fail, but we got there. People thought it was because of the smoking, and we left it at that.

Yes, I became his favorite, and I honestly didn’t care for the fuckery he put me through with Vencor. The dark part of my soul enjoyed that shit. What I didn’t enjoy, however, were childhood images of my beaten-up mother curled up in depression and Ma Jina hiding in a room to cry so my mother didn’t see her.

I never forgave him for that.

After he helped me establish myself in the corporation and Vencor, he had no use being alive.

So off he went.

And I never regretted it. Not once.

But looking at Gareth’s Band-Aid and stitches sends a burn of discomfort through my bones.

“What do you mean I’m not coming along?” Gareth’s voice is low, controlled, but the tension threading through it is unmistakable. His anger simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

Before I can answer, the door flies open, and Jethro stumbles inside, clutching his laptop like it’s a lifeline, shielding his eyes with Moka’s cage as she hides inside. “I better not see any dicks, lovebirds. Are you covered up?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank fuck.” He puts down the cage and straightens. “Simone’s out there fighting for her life shounen anime style.” He whistles, shaking his head. “I disabled their communications, but your brother sent an army, Kayden. Goddamn, he really hates your guts.”

I grab Gareth’s wrist, pulling him toward Jethro. “Take him through the tunnel. I’ll meet you at the port.”

Jethro grins, already edging toward the door. “Don’t mind if I do. Fighting isn’t my thing, so let’s get out of here, Blondie.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Gareth yanks his wrist free and faces me, his jaw tightening. “I’m coming with you.”

“I said you’re not.”

“And I said I am.”

“You want to die or something?”

“Do you?”

“Sorry to interrupt this touching moment of overprotective banter,” Jethro interjects, inching toward the far-right door leading to the tunnel. “But the fighting is getting closer, and I’m not staying to be collateral damage.”

I shove Gareth toward the tunnel, my hand firm on his back. His muscles tense beneath my grip, rigid and defiant.

“Kayden, I said I’m not going⁠—”

“Listen to me.” I grab his shoulders, forcing him to face me. My voice drops, firm and unyielding. “Your presence will put me in danger because I won’t be able to focus on anything but you. I can protect myself better if I know you’re safe. Do you understand me, Gareth?”

His lips part, trembling for a moment before he presses them into a thin line. “Am I your weakness?”

“Not a weakness,” I say, my voice softening. “But you’re the most important person to me, and I need you on your way to the port. Now.”

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t abandon Simone. I’ll get her and follow you. All right?”

I see the resistance in his eyes, the stubborn refusal to leave. Or maybe it’s his fixation, that all-consuming need to keep me within reach.

That’s why he came here in the first place. Gareth doesn’t like the thought of someone else ending my life.

But I’ve already made my decision.

“I won’t die.” I brush my lips against his forehead, and he goes still, a faint shiver rippling through his body. I step back, meeting his gaze. “You didn’t allow me to, remember?”

“You better not,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up to wrap around my throat. His chin quivers, his grip firm but hesitant. “I didn’t forgive you yet.”

“All right, we really need to go.” Jethro reaches for Gareth’s arm, casting me a wary glance.

“Protect him,” I tell Jethro, my tone brooking no argument.

Jethro gawks at me. “Pretty sure it should be the other way around. I’m the nerd in this situation.”

Gareth steps toward me, but I turn, pushing the door shut.

And lock it.

As I walk out, a gun in hand, I send Jethro a text.

So maybe I lied.

Pretty sure I’m dying today.

Even if my brother’s men don’t manage it, the other founding families will. In their eyes, I’m an anomaly—a dangerous precedent that needs to be wiped out. And as a high-ranking member, they’ll want to make an example out of me, a gruesome one at that.

But at least Gareth is safe.

A long breath escapes my lungs as I move through the chaos, firing at anyone in my path. Each shot is a message—a dent in Grant’s little army for daring to come at me at the worst possible time.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Simone shouts, swinging her knife at a guy’s throat. Blood splashes across her face, matting her hair, and I notice her jacket is ripped and soaked with red.

“Helping?”

“Fuck, Kayden, you should’ve left!”

“And let you die alone?” I grin, reloading. “Am I that much of a monster?”

I raise my gun and shoot a guy aiming his rifle at her, right between the eyes. The crack of the shot echoes, but I’m already running low on ammunition.

Simone takes a hit in the leg, and she stumbles.

“Shit,” she grits out, blood streaming down her thigh as I rush to her side.

I sling her arm over my shoulder, half carrying her as the men under her command create a shield around us, returning fire.

We barely make it outside when I see Grant.

He stands with a few of his men, his posture rigid, his face as stoic and impassive as ever.

“Take her,” I order Isaac, shoving Simone toward the car as she twists in my grip, shouting.

“Kayden, don’t be fucking stupid!”

“Just protect them for me, yeah?” I wave her off, ignoring the way her bloodied fists pound against the window as the car screeches out of the driveway.

Her muffled screams echo as I turn to face my brother.

“Let her go, Grant.” My voice is steady, calm, the finger on my trigger unwavering. “It’s the least you can do after your shitty timing.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t order his men to detain me or shoot.

But his eyes—those silver eyes that are identical to mine—glint with something dangerous, something calculated.

All I can see is Harrod.

The resemblance is uncanny. Same cold stare. Same dark hair. Similar facial features.

And it disgusts me.

Grant isn’t just a carbon copy of our father—he is him, to the very core.

And we all know how much I loathe that man.

Looking at Grant makes my blood boil, those same murderous thoughts bubbling to the surface, thoughts I harbored for Harrod.

Funny thing is, I much prefer Grant’s son over him.

Though, I’d have preferred a cute little niece instead.

But anyway.

“You’re not going to shoot me?” I ask, leaning back slightly.

“I don’t like killing my family members,” Grant replies evenly, his calm exterior betraying the storm brewing underneath. “You know that.”

“Oh, so this is just to scare me a little? You sure love theatrics. Must be because you were never loved. Your mom abandoned you, and I ranked first on Dad’s list.”

I’m provoking him. Need to wipe that calm off his face and keep him talking—anything to buy me more time.

Jethro and Gareth should’ve reached the open water by now. They have to be out of Grant’s reach before he realizes what’s happening.

Grant’s face contorts, his mask of composure slipping just a fraction. “I can always make an exception for you.”

“Actually, you should’ve done that a long time ago, back when your mom died. If you’d killed Dad then, he wouldn’t have forced Mom into marriage, and I wouldn’t exist. You could’ve been king of the world. But no, you craved his approval too much to come up with that plan, didn’t you?”

I glance at my watch. Five more minutes. Maybe ten—to be safe.

“Not all of us engage in patricide, Kayden.” His words are laced with something deeper than hatred.

Rage.

So he’s known all along. My grin widens. “You knew?”

“That you’d been poisoning him? Slowly, methodically? Of course I knew. Though by the time I figured it out, it was too late.” He exhales sharply, his breath heavy with bitterness. “I even told him you were killing him. You know what he said?”

“That he didn’t believe you because he loved me too much?”

Grant’s laugh is low, cold. “He said, ‘At least he has the balls to.’”

Well, that’s one way to look at it. Dear old Dad always did admire my mind. He loved that I wasn’t squeamish, that I didn’t flinch when taking a life, and that I used everything to my advantage—including my marriage.

Harrod always said I reminded him of himself. He was wrong. I’d never be the disgusting abuser he was.

Still, I’m a little bummed he wasn’t hurt by my betrayal. I wanted him to die bitter and broken, not resigned.

“Don’t be jealous you were never his favorite.” I sit on the step across from Grant, resting the rifle on the ground. Blood smears the cigarette I pull from my pocket. “Lighter?”

One of his men hesitates, looking at Grant. When he doesn’t object, the guy lights my cigarette.

“You think you’d still be his favorite if he knew you were gobbling cock?”

“It’s one cock, actually.” I exhale a stream of smoke. “But no, he wouldn’t approve. Not that it matters.”

“You’re not even ashamed?”

“Of what?”

“Being a lesser fucking man.”

“For preferring dick?” I chuckle, slow and deliberate. “You actually believe Vencor’s bullshit about how being gay makes someone ‘imperfect’? Oh, Grant. I hate to say it, but Dad was right—you really are an idiot.”

Grant grabs a gun from one of his men’s holsters and points it at me.

“My.” My grin widens. “Poked the daddy issues?”

“You know, I never liked you, Kayden.” His voice is low, simmering. “You always had things easy. Rachel was abused. So fucking what? She wasn’t driven to her death like my mom. And you always had her, didn’t you? Her and another mom. Meanwhile, Dad liked you for some reason I’ll never fucking understand. No matter what I did, he always put you first. Always. I should send you to join him.”

“Wouldn’t you be jealous if Dad and I reunited in Hell without you?” I let the smirk stretch across my face. “Though even if you joined us, he’d still like me better. Want to know why? Because, unlike you, I never begged for his attention like a desperate little bitch. I earned it. Till the day he died, Harrod respected me. He never respected you.”

The click of the gun echoes, and I close my eyes.

I guess Gareth and Jethro are far enough now.

Still, I doubt Grant will pull the trigger. He knows he can’t control my side of the business if I’m gone.

But then again, maybe I pushed him too far.

And his daddy issues aren’t adorable like Gareth’s, they’re destructive. Like the way he raised his son to be ruthless, as if Harrod’s ghost is still on his shoulders telling him exactly what to do. So, just in case, I don’t want to have my last thoughts filled with Grant or Harrod.

Bright eyes rush through my mind, ethereal green eyes that pierce through me with every look, full of life and something I could never quite reach. I picture his smile with the dimples that always tightened my heart, like he was a force I couldn’t control but couldn’t stop wanting.

I fall into the memory of how his breath would catch, a soft sigh escaping him when I ran my fingers through his hair, the way he’d close his eyes in a kind of surrender.

I picture him asleep in my arms, his face relaxed, his breathing even, holding me close like he never wants to let me go.

And I feel peace.

“Kayden!”

For a brief moment, I think I’m conjuring up his voice, but then again, he doesn’t sound this frightened in my head.

Never frightened.

I open my eyes and, sure enough, Gareth is running toward me.

What the⁠—

My eyes stray to Grant, whose gaze shifts between us, his lips curling into a smirk as realization dawns.

He knows.

And he’ll kill Gareth, not because he has to, but to teach me a lesson. To make me feel the same anguish he endured when Dad killed his girlfriend.

“I knew you were lying! I fucking knew it!” Gareth screams, his voice raw and thunderous as he lunges for a gun on the ground.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.

I run toward him at full speed, my focus narrowing until there’s nothing but the need to shield him. My body crashes into his, my back to Grant as the shot rings out.

The sound is deafening, a sharp crack splitting through the chaos.

Pain blooms in my side like an explosion, radiating outward in jagged waves.

But Gareth is fine.

I’m on top of him, and he’s fine.

It’s fine.

This is fine.

My ears ring, muffling the world around me. I hear Simone’s distant voice—panicked, shouting orders. That’s good. Maybe she brought more men. She’ll protect him. She likes Gareth, enough to spill everything about me if it means earning his forgiveness.

He’ll be fine.

Gareth’s frantic tears grip my face, and salty droplets slip into my mouth as they stream down his cheeks.

“Kay…Kayde…no…no…you fucking idiot. What have you done?” His voice cracks, filled with anguish I’ve never heard before.

I love his voice. But not like this. Not when it’s laced with so much pain.

“Kay…please…fuck! You said you wouldn’t die. You promised…you promised me!”

His hand presses tightly against my side, futilely trying to stop the flow of blood. He’s shaking all over like a live wire.

“Please…don’t go…I’m begging you…please…don’t leave me. Baby, please…”

I lift a hand to his face, smearing his beautiful skin with blood as I try to wipe away the tears.

Don’t cry, I want to tell him.

But no words come out.

The world blurs, darkening at the edges as the pain dulls into a distant throb. All I can do is let the darkness swallow me whole, carrying me away from his broken voice, the tremor in his hands, and the tears that feel heavier than the bullet in my side.