Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(121)

Gideon knew without looking. “The person who causes everything to go wrong yet warns you first, so you’d never suspect him.”

Keeley gasped. And Gideon kissed her.

She did not resist, didn’t push him away, just melted into him, and it felt so keenly right that they were doing this. Water clinging to their skin, drops falling, his damp hair gripped in her fists as she grabbed at him, pulling him tighter against her. She spun him and slammed his back against the bark, and he didn’t care about it digging into his skin, didn’t care about anything, just her. Only her.

Gideon reached for her, but she stepped back, staring at him like he’d lost his mind. “Why would you do that? What about that moment said, ‘let’s kiss,’ you loon!”

“You kissed me back,” he pointed out, ducking when she threw a stick at his head. “Sorry! I just thought things were getting so serious and you needed something to calm you.”

Keeley wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “You did not calm me. You repulsed me.”

“Is that why I have claw marks on the back of my neck?”

Gideon may have had a death wish, but only a small one.

Keeley looked ripe for killing him but folded over instead, clutching at her knees. “Gods, I’m going to be sick.”

“Hey.” Gideon softened, pushing a fallen strand of gold back behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Keeley looked up at him, heartbreak so clear in the way her solid exterior was cracking before him, revealing hurt, revealing pain.

It wrenched something deep inside him free, killing the sardonic humor and laying him raw before her. Her pain—it made Gideon want to break something.

For it was clear now that the traitor, the one who had sent the office into upheaval, who’d tricked and imprisoned his youngest sister, who’d shown a sinister amount of cruelty without ever revealing their face…

Was the first person to greet each of them every day at Massacre Manor.

Marv.





Chapter 74


The Villain


There were few things in this life that shocked Trystan. After years of betrayal—watching his back for enemies and those who sought to hurt him, to destroy him—he’d learned to weather disappointment with disillusion and disinterest. Human nature was predictable, a pattern. People turned on others for senseless reasons. People chose themselves. It was a theory that had proven true too many times to count.

No, Trystan Maverine didn’t shock easily.

Until he saw Evie Sage slap his mother.

He’d still been trying to rein in his harried thoughts when Winnifred had fled. Likely because every person in the room was watching her. He understood how she felt; he, too, hated the feeling of stares, that vicious cycle of wondering what they thought of you.

Oh…is this sympathy?

I hate it.

The servant was apparently the daughter of the enchantress they sought. Over the years, he’d searched every plausible avenue. When Kingsley was first turned, he’d exhausted himself for weeks and vowed he would never give up. All the while, Amara had hired on the enchantress’s child and had been housing her as a maid since Trystan left home, promising he’d never return.

He hated to break his promises. His word was the only thing he was dependable for. But he had not tried hard enough.

If he had simply returned home in the last decade, he would’ve found Winnifred, and Winnifred would’ve helped him find the enchantress. The prince had been put in danger, robbed of many more years as a human because Trystan had been too cowardly to face all he’d run away from.

The guilt was back, but instead of a sinking feeling, it was a weighted rod to the skull.

Kingsley sat on the table, holding his foot up like a little felon about to be taken into custody. Trystan pulled the ball and chain from his bag and reattached it to the frog’s foot. “How you got out of it in the first place, I’ll never know.”

Kingsley wrote on his sign.

Sorry :(

“Are we doing facial expressions now? Wonderful,” Trystan huffed, ignoring the brush of Sage’s body against his when the front door opened and slammed shut, a dripping Arthur breathing heavily against it.

“The roads are flooded,” Arthur informed them, stumbling in while harsh winds rattled the house. The candles flickered, and the rush of wind resounded through the chimney. “We can leave as soon as they clear. This isn’t a journey we begin in a storm.”

Trystan’s throat caught, and it took him several seconds to regain himself before saying, “We are not going anywhere.” He gestured to Sage and the rest of them. “We are.” Turning his back on Arthur felt better than it should. “And I will decide when we leave.”

Amara glared at Trystan, and he numbed himself to it. He felt nothing. Nothing at all. “You should be happy he’s even still willing to help you,” she said with scorn.

Trystan shrugged. “Happiness is a fruitless endeavor. I make a point to avoid it at all costs.”

Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, and Trystan’s temper frayed. “Son. I understand your anger, but do not let your feelings about us cloud your judgment and risk those you care about for the sake of pride.”

The room went cold. No one said a word. No denials, no objections, just deadened silence. A dark-gray cast twisted about the room as more rain came down. Tatianna and Clare watched the storm outside with trepidation. They agreed with Arthur; it was clear in their stricken faces.