Kiss The Villain: Chapter 6

I’ve been patient.

Extremely so.

Even when the impulse to inflict pain mounted and multiplied, reaching heights I hadn’t experienced since that time six years ago, I repressed it all.

Leaving no room for mistakes.

This needed to be perfected. To a fault.

There’s no way I’d be caught off guard like that night I was literally brought to my knees.

So I watched him—my criminal professor who’s teaching criminal law.

I learned his habits to a tee and gathered some basic info about him through a private investigator. I had to hire someone who came recommended through dark web research myself, opting not to use the mafia’s resources. If I went that route, the news would get back to Jeremy or, worse, my parents.

The private investigator Nadine, a serious-looking American woman who’s ex-military, is reliable and already came through with some info.

Kayden Lockwood is boringly typical. He comes from a middle-class upbringing in Boston to a lawyer dad and a college professor mom.

He practiced law until a couple of years ago when he decided to take up teaching. He still helps with his father’s medium-sized law firm, Lockwood & Associates, and owns a large portion of their shares.

He has a dull, meticulous life where he repeats the same events every day at the same time, like a fucking clock.

His morning starts at six when he goes for a swim in his building’s pool then works out in the communal gym. Then, for breakfast, he only drinks coffee that he personally brews while reading physical newspapers like a grandpa. He walks to campus—for fucking forty-five minutes like a psycho.

He does his lectures. Talks to professors and students, then walks again to the town center. Shops for coffee beans every day—again, like a psycho. Spends most of the afternoon in a chess club. Then he goes home to listen to loud classical music as he brews the coffee he bought, usually throwing away the full bag right after.

Then he has a drink. Showers. Spends time at his laptop, and finally goes to sleep just to repeat the mechanical cycle again.

And again.

I swear, if I watched the monotonous events one more day, I’d stab my own eyes.

The only reason I kept coming back was because he knew I was there.

He even smiled when he engaged in soul-crushing small talk, as if he’d figured out it annoyed the fuck out of me.

I’m not sure when he found out I was following him around, but he did, and he was completely at ease with it. As if he expected me to.

As if I were predictable.

Well, he couldn’t have predicted this scene.

Because since I knew he knew, I hid my cards.

And because he didn’t seem to care that I was shadowing him like a grim reaper, he was careless enough to let me see the code he puts in the elevator to reach his apartment.

I didn’t even have to figure out a way to hack into security systems or befriend the concierge and, instead, kind of just walked in here—after I made him believe I’d left for the day.

In fact, I’ve been on the side of the building, patiently waiting until the lights in his apartment went off.

Then waited some more until he was fast asleep.

And it was worth it.

Because now I’m on top of him, my knees on either side of his waist over the sheet, and my syringe is in his neck.

The black snake on his naked chest peeks out from beneath the sheet that’s fallen down to his abs as if it’s real and will jump up and bite me at any second.

But I’m the only venomous snake here.

As I slowly push the plunger, taking my time in enjoying this, his sleepy eyes, which were confused a second ago, slowly sober up. There’s little light coming from the streetlamp outside, so I can’t see him clearly, but I can make out his eyes.

Always those damn revolting eyes.

“Really, Carson? Drugs again?” His rough, slightly husky voice echoes in the air with apparent disapproval.

“Shh.” I watch as the liquid slowly spills into his veins. “This one is better. It’ll make you crawl at my feet with desire, Professor, and I’ll squash that limp cock of yours beneath my feet.”

His hands slide to my waist, beneath my shirt, skimming over the skin before he digs his fingers into the flesh.

My spine jerks and I pause.

The fuck is this asshole doing?

“You don’t have to resort to rape drugs. If you were that desperate to suck my cock again, all you had to do was beg and I’d let you choke on it.”

I raise my hand and slap him.

Not a punch—even though that idea is growing by the second—but a humiliating slap.

He laughs, the sound sinister and low in the darkness. I feel his abs tightening and vibrating beneath me, and I don’t like to think how my cock is reacting, getting heavy for no reason.

“Does wanting me so much piss you off?” His rough whisper lingers in the air between us.

“I don’t want you.”

“Breaking and entering while in possession of rape drugs with the intention of using them negates your claim. But I suggest you abandon any fantasies you have about fucking me.”

“I don’t want to fuck you.”

“You won’t. I’ll be the one bending you over and teaching you some manners you desperately need.”

“Like fuck you will.”

“What did I say about vulgar language?” he whispers in a low, gruff tone, his fingers gliding across my skin, back and forth, back and forth. “You’re surprisingly lean but nicely toned.”

“Stop touching me. You’re disgusting.”

“Look at that. We’re birds of a feather.”

I grab his hand and start to shove it away.

I realize I’ve made a mistake too late.

In the split second of distraction, Kayden’s grip tightens on my waist, and before I can react, he flips me over, pinning me beneath him. I try to inject the rest of the drug, but his hand comes down hard, slapping my wrist and forcing me to remove the needle as he knocks the syringe from my grasp. It falls to the pillow, just out of reach. I strain, trying to wriggle free, fighting to push him off, but it’s like trying to move a mountain.

Then, in an instant, a large, strong hand wraps around my throat.

I can’t breathe.

The pressure tightens with terrifying speed, and my airway is cut off in a fraction of a second. Kayden looms over me, his massive body a solid, overpowering wall. The snake tattoo on his skin seems to shift, the cold ink twisting into something more real—more deadly—like the predator it’s meant to be, ready to strike. I can feel its fangs at my throat, and I know with brutal clarity that if he wanted to, he would strangle me to death.

While having that impassive look in his eyes.

And for a brief moment, I can see myself.

Dead eyes. Empty insides.

I gasp for breath that doesn’t exist, clawing at his fingers and kicking my legs, but he’s sitting on them, and I can’t move much.

Through my blurry vision, I watch as he easily grabs the syringe and lifts it, the needle glinting in the dark.

“Let’s see how good this stuff is.”

He lowers his hand from my neck, and as I choke on air, he jams the needle into my skin.

I flail and punch him in the chest, but he injects what remains in the syringe into my veins.

Our harsh breathing echoes in the darkness, turning the silence more oppressive. Apocalyptic, even.

Fuck.

Fuck!

He injected me with the stuff he was supposed to have, and because I wanted to ruin him so thoroughly, I doubled the dose when I got it from my dealer. In his words, “It’ll make you forget about reality and beg for more.”

I was supposed to see Kayden on his knees. Not get a taste of my own medicine.

Fucking again.

I barely think about how I had a needle that was inside someone else in me. My slightly germophobic side is overpowered by a stronger side. The one that absolutely loathes losing control.

His weight disappears from on top of me, and I watch in complete and utter bewilderment as he stands up and turns on the light.

Fully fucking naked.

He was covered by the sheet earlier, so I didn’t know he was actually sleeping naked.

Soft yellow light bathes the room as he looms over the bed where I’m lying. The muscles in his chest contract, making the snake appear monstrous.

I’ve seen countless men naked—in the gym and after football practice in high school. All the time. And I never looked at them twice.

Or with curiosity.

Hell, I truly despise it when Niko walks naked around the mansion because he “has a beautiful body and doesn’t like to hide it.”

And yet, right now, I can’t stop staring.

Objectively, I can admit he has a body that demands attention. It’s the kind of physique that’s the result of taking workouts and physical discipline seriously. Chiseled muscles that carve through his skin, an eight-pack that seems almost too perfect to be real, and veiny-toned arms that speak of raw power beneath the surface.

My throat dries—due to the stupid drugs, no doubt.

This is no typical professor’s body, not by a long shot.

I watch, unable to look away, as his veiny hand drags slowly down his abs, each movement deliberate, hypnotic. His fingers pause at his V-line, the muscles flexing under his touch as they linger there.

But he doesn’t have to go on for me to see his cock standing at attention.

Maybe it’s because his muscular thighs are naked, but it seems revoltingly bigger than the last time.

“Look what you’ve done.” He rubs his stubbled jaw, his eyes looking as dark and empty as the night outside. “Your fight really turns me on, little monster.”

Sick motherfucker.

I sit up in bed, my movements already a bit lethargic.

But I have to get the fuck out of here before the drug kicks in. There’s no way in hell I’ll be in this asshole’s space when that happens.

I need to go back to the drawing board and come up with a better plan to ruin this bastard once and for all⁠—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He stands in front of me, his hand shooting to my face before I can dodge. No, my reflexes are dulled.

I couldn’t dodge.

…right?

Cruel long fingers dig into my cheeks. “You didn’t possibly think you could be a little cocktease, then fuck off, did you?”