Perfect Villain (Dark Lies Duet 1)

“So, what do you say, Armon? Are we buddies or not?” I rest my elbows on my knees, letting the hand that holds my Glock hang loosely between my legs.

He glares at me, spit flying from his mouth when he speaks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he growls.

I crane my neck to look at Tony. “Does it look like I’m kidding?” I point my attention back to Armon and use the barrel of the gun to scratch my temple.

“Not at all,” Tony proclaims behind me.

I smirk and wave my pistol toward Armon. He flinches, and I let out a laugh. It’s loud and vibrates through the space. Hell, it’s even bone-chilling to me.

“How do you plan on fixing this?” I ask.

He groans. “I’ll fix it, man, I swear. J-Just get me to a doctor,” Armon pleads.

“Tony will see to it that you’re treated.”

Armon releases a sigh. “Thank you, Christian. I promise I’ll—”

“After you remedy this problem.”

His skin pales at my words. “Come on. I’m not going to make it. I think you hit an arter—”

Bang.

Another shot to his good knee. Because of the closeness, the blood splatters land on my cheek and the tips of my boots. Armon’s cries continue to grow, drowning out any and everything around me. Adrenaline builds in my chest, much like it does every time my victims scream.

“Jesus fucking Christ. He’s going to need to walk if you want the guns, Christian,” Tony declares.

“His hands still work. Unless he doesn’t tell me what I want to hear in the next five seconds. Then not walking will be the least of his worries.”

Armon opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is heavy panting. The puddle around him is increasing, the blood congealing from the climate.

Hmm, maybe I did hit an artery.

Finally, he gets his words together despite how weak he’s becoming. “O-Okay. I just... give me a little time.”

I suck my teeth and tilt my head. “You had time, Armon. The deal was—” I stop short, distracted by the buzzing of my phone in my back pocket. I remove it but don’t immediately recognize the number. It’s not until I open the message that I realize it’s the app and the context alone tells me who it is. Taj. The fucking prick—correction—the dead man Siân’s currently seeing.

Taj: Hey baby…

I see red. Everything around me fades, replaced by crimson. Those two simple words bounce back at me, taunting me, fueling the part of me I work so hard to keep buried around her. But this, this bitch of a man calling my woman, baby. Who the fuck does he think he is? She belongs to me, and anyone who gets in my way will be dealt with.

“Christian,” Tony calls out, but his voice is barely audible.

All I can focus on is my phone and the scent of blood and dirt in the air.

“Christian. Cosa stai facendo?” What are you doing? Tony yells.

Another text pops up on the screen, and my blood boils. I grip the device so tight my knuckles ache.

Taj: Sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have yelled.

Those three little dots dance along the bottom, showing that Siân is preparing to send him a response. As much as I want to know what she has to say, the only thing on my mind is his words. What the hell does he mean he shouldn’t have yelled? Patience has never been a virtue of mine, and if the app were a two-way setup, I’d end this shit right now.

No one yells at the woman who belongs to me. I’ve let him be because it’s all a part of my plan, but now, I want him dead. A growl bubbles in my throat, my anger spilling over into pure rage. Rage that continues to grow when another text comes through.

Siân: You were an asshole today, and I didn’t deserve that.

If I had my way, this would be done tonight. But there’s more at stake here, an empire and the heir her father promised me all those years ago. If I act now, she’ll fear me, and while the thought of that fuels me just as much, I need more with her. And the only way to have it, to be with her the way I’ve wanted since I knew she was meant to be mine, is to be patient. She has to love me, which means I need to play it cool. The next step, get her the fuck away from him, even if that means making him disappear.

Taj: I know, baby. I love you. Don’t you love me too?

“Motherfucker,” I roar aloud. You’re smarter than that, Siân. Don’t fall for it. Early on, I mastered the art of manipulation, while even the subtlest forms go over others’ heads. Like now, his message is steeped in it. There is more behind those words, there always is, and I would know that better than anyone.