Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(78)

“Ha! I got ’im! I got the frog!” A booming voice had them both knocking into each other as they scrambled to stand.

A crowd had formed in the balcony doorway, light spilling out from the library beyond. And standing before them was a man Trystan hated so intensely, his vision burned in bright, angry color.

Granted, he’d never met the man before that moment, but he didn’t need to know much beyond Kingsley gripped in his fist and the hungry, disgusting eyes roving over Sage like she was a morsel up for grabbing.

“I won a night with The Wicked Woman!” he called, licking his lips as his buddies slammed hands against his back, and Sage stiffened beside him, reaching out to grab Trystan’s arm.

“Oh gods.” Sage’s face took on a grayish hue, like all the blood in her body had escaped to parts unknown. “Lord Fowler?” Sage didn’t go to Trystan for aid, and that fucking stung.

He’d been a right bastard to her for the past few weeks, but surely she considered him a safer option for assistance than a relative stranger who had drugged them before forcing them into a hostage dinner party.

He had just saved her from falling to her death, hadn’t he?

Just as Trystan had suspected, Fowler acted in the same lackadaisical manner he always did, taking the fake crown off his head and placing it atop the man holding Kingsley in his large fists.

Trystan imagined those hands pawing at Sage in the dark, and his magic pooled at his feet. He made no attempt to call it back. He wasn’t in the habit of fighting losing battles.

“I’m afraid our friend The Destroyer here won your game fair and square, Ms. Sage.” Fowler clicked his tongue sympathetically, shoving “The Destroyer” toward them.

“Your name is…The Destroyer?” Sage pursed her lips, looking up at Trystan with a bewildered expression. “That doesn’t bode well for me, does it?”

Trystan resisted the urge to retch.

The Destroyer walked toward them, his large boots clanging against the ground until he was a mere foot away from Sage. Close enough.

Trystan slammed his fist into The Destroyer’s stomach before grabbing the hand that held Kingsley and twisting it behind the reprobate’s back until he cried out and released Kingsley right into Trystan’s waiting palm.

“You rutting bastard!” The man flailed in his arms, but Trystan managed to restrain him with one hand with surprising ease for a man of his size. “I won that bitch fair and square.”

Trystan sighed, placing Kingsley into Sage’s palm. “Hold him.” And before another word was spoken, Trystan had gripped The Destroyer by the collar and flung him over the balcony’s edge.

Brushing his hands against his pants, he listened closely as the man screamed the whole way down.

Sage stared at Trystan with a slackened jaw, as did Kingsley, who pulled up a sign that read: Destroyed.

Fowler clapped, laughing jovially as he patted Trystan on the back. “Well done, old friend. He’s broken three of my favorite chairs, and I couldn’t think of a proper punishment.”

Trystan glared, and Fowler had the sense to take his hand away, but not before pushing Trystan toward Sage until they were toe to toe. “And now you claim your prize!”

What?

“Kindly escort The Villain and his lovely apprentice to the lovers’ suite.”

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

No. This isn’t happening.

“The Villain has won a night with The Wicked Woman!”

Yes. It is.





Chapter 50


Evie


Evie supposed there were worse things in life than spending a night alone with her boss. The Mystic Illness, for one, bedbugs for another, and surely a night with The Destroyer would have qualified for the list—somewhere near the top. Double underlined. Kingsley’s Destroyed sign was the cherry atop a perfectly ridiculous evening. She giggled at the memory as the lovers’ suite door shut behind them.

“Is something about this funny to you?” Trystan asked. Clearly, the night had given its best effort to undo him. His silk pants had a tear at the knee, and his once well-groomed hair was an irreparable mess. The shadows under his eyes that had been mere smudges of purple at the beginning of the evening seemed to have darkened his entire face in the span of a few hours.

“Do you think his parents named him that?” Evie asked, fiddling with the ties at the back of her dress.

The Villain watched her hands with trepidation, but he responded with pinched confusion. “Who?”

“The Destroyer!” she clarified. “Do you think his parents named him that? Or perhaps it’s a family name?”

“Sage, there is no way on the gods’ earth that ridiculous moniker was his given name.”

“Are you truly one to judge ridiculous monikers?” she questioned, ducking when a pillow from the bed flew across the room, nearly smacking her upside the cheek. “I’m only teasing!” She raised her hands in surrender. “Lighten up. It could be worse!” She was tempted to mention the possibility of bedbugs but decided against it when she saw the look of agonizing pain etched into his features.

“There’s no cause for alarm,” she assured him. “We’ll get through one night, and Lord Fowler promised to release us in the morning. He’ll hand over the wand, and we’ll continue our merry little journey. Huh.” She noted, “There’s a mirror on the ceiling.” When she looked back down, her mouth formed a little O. “Sir, are you well?”