A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

A deep angst in my gut.

Ledger did a number on him.

Last night I was so out of it, I barely noticed the extent of the damage he had done. But under the bright kitchen lights, I can see it all.

The red-purple bruises, dark and angry and so painful looking. Both his eyes are red and swollen. His lip is cut. His jaw is bruised up and I can’t be sure but I think his nose is dented.

Maybe I gasp or make a distressing noise at the pain that he must’ve felt last night, must still be feeling, because he looks up and his wolf eyes connect with mine.

All those conflicting feelings that I always experience when he’s around make my knees weak, but I pace myself and start with the most obvious thing. “This isn’t my home.”

Instead of answering me, those wolf eyes of his take me in and for the first time I realize what a wreck I must look right now.

My dress is all wrinkled. I probably have sleep lines on my face, or at least my features must be swollen with it, with sleep. My hair feels all messed up, flowing down my back, my braid coming untied during the night.

“You sleep well?” he asks.

“What is this place?” I ask, looking around. “What am I doing here?”

He pushes something away, a book, I notice, and straightens up. “It’s a vacation home.”

“What vacation home?”

“A place where people go to take a vacation.”

“Is it yours?”

“For now.”

I’m confused. “What —”

“You never answered my question,” he cuts me off. “Did you sleep well?”

“What? That’s not even the point. The point is —”

“The point is that you were tired. You could barely stand up. I had to carry you to my Mustang. So I’m asking you how are you feeling when you shouldn’t have been out at midnight in the first place.”

God.

Him and his stupid protectiveness.

I fist my hands in frustration but then release a sigh and answer just to get this over with so we can get to the point. “I’m fine. Thank you. I shouldn’t be here. I should be back home. I should be with my brothers.”

“And I’ll take you there.”

Frantic, I walk closer to him. “You’ll take me there. Are you insane?”

“Not the last time I checked,” he answers casually, every single bruise on his face standing out against his vampire skin.

“Oh my God,” I breathe out. “You are insane. Do you know what will happen when my brothers see that I’m missing? They’ll freak out. They’ll lose their minds, and then you’ll roll in, in your Mustang, dropping me off, and they’ll think that you kidnapped me or something.” I shake my head and look over his shoulders and out the kitchen window. “No, you will not take me home. You need to put me in a cab right now. It’s still dark out so maybe they don’t know that I’m gone yet, okay? Call me a cab.”

“No.”

“What?” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Do you not see how this is going to look? They’ll call the cops on you, Reed, and I’m not even kidding right now.”

“I know all the cops.”

“Fine.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Then they’ll kill you themselves. Ledger already did half the job, didn’t he?”

“He did, and they’re welcome to try.”

Agitated, I unfold my arms and fist my fingers. “What are you doing? I need to get back home, Reed. Conrad would be so worried and furious and —”

“He has nothing to do with this.”

Finally, Reed’s voice is raised. His tone is tight and angry, matching the occasion.

Suddenly I remember what I told him last night. About abortion. Up until now I didn’t, but as I stare into his intense eyes, his tight mouth, I remember.

“Does he?” he asks with clenched teeth.

I swallow. “No.”

“Good. We’re on the same page then.”

“But —”

“Your one week is up.”

The calmness in my belly vanishes. It’s not the nausea that plagues me every morning though. It’s the flutters. The heat. The life inside of it.

It’s like she’s waking up.

Even though she isn’t more than a few cells, occupying the littlest of spaces, I still feel her waking up and I take a deep breath. “I know.”

His jaw clenches then, as he stares at me and slowly stands up, his bar stool screeching against the floor. Again slowly, he puts his hands on the island, his fingers splayed out, his veins standing taut. As if he’s using the island to keep his balance.

As if his body is trembling as badly as mine.

“Tell me,” he says in a low voice, the muscles of his shoulders stark in his white t-shirt. “Give me the words.”

I wanted to tell him a week ago when he asked me at the bar. But I’m glad I didn’t because I had nothing figured out then. I have a plan now and he’s a very important part of it.