A Gorgeous Villain

by Saffron A Kent

  “Because I saw your picture,” she explains. “One of your stupid girlfriends posted a picture of you on her Insta. With location. Ballad of the Bards. You can’t outrun social media, bro.”

  Fucking Insta.

  It’s how half the time my sister knows what I’m up to. I usually tell people to keep it on the down low. That I don’t want the whole world to know what I’m doing. But apparently, it’s a big ask.

  “Well if you already know, then why are you asking?” I say to Pest.

  “Because I was giving you a chance to tell me everything on your own.”

  “There’s nothing —”

  “Did you see her?” she asks excitedly and I clench my jaw. “Tell me you saw her. Please. I know she was there. She goes every Friday.”

  Yeah, she does.

  Turns out, she climbs over the fence to go to this shady bar in a shady part of town with her friends.

  Every Friday.

  When Pest first told me about it, a couple of years ago, I wanted to drive down from New York. I wanted to scale that fence myself, find her in her dorm room and shake some sense into her.

  I’ve even thought about ratting her out to her brothers.

  A million times, actually.

  Because what the hell is she thinking? Sneaking out to a bar in the middle of the night. Dancing with drunks. Who I’ve always been pretty sure watch her.

  They watch her when she spins. When she rolls her hips and writhes her body. When she laughs.

  Like she was doing tonight.

  And I was right.

  They were watching her. They were leering at her. A couple of them even dared to dance with her. I took care of that though. One look from across the distance and they skittered away like bugs.

  Fucking pussies.

  So I have thought about it, putting a stop to it and keeping her safe and in her dorm room where she belongs. But then Pest stopped me.

  My sister reminded me that she’s there, at St. Mary’s, because of me. Her freedom was taken away after how I broke her heart so I really don’t have any say in the matter, in what she does or doesn’t do.

  But fuck that.

  Fuck that to fucking hell because this is about her safety. This is about her well-being. And she doesn’t just sneak out once a week. She does it twice.

  Twice, for God’s sake.

  At least, she did this week.

  If I hadn’t been driving around last night, unable to go to sleep because I was back in this hellhole town, I never would’ve known.

  It was pure coincidence.

  Me coming upon her as she emerged from the woods. She was so engrossed in her own world that she didn’t even notice me, a car with glaring headlights down the road, and Jesus Christ, what the hell was she thinking?

  That’s why I went.

  That is the only reason why I went to that bar tonight, to give her a piece of my mind.

  And because she was fucking crying at her studio and I… I just… needed to see her after that. But that’s it.

  My fists are clenched as I clip into the phone, “I saw her.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  Tempest sighs. “Oh my God, Reed. Talking to you is like pulling teeth.”

  “Well, then there you go. You shouldn’t.”

  “As if.” I bet she’s rolling her eyes. “I’m not letting you go so easily. This is the first time you’ve seen her in two years. Two years, Reed. I’ve been telling you and telling you to go back and see her. Or just talk to her, but you wouldn’t. So of course I’m gonna ask questions. And if you want me to leave you alone, you could just answer them and be done with it.”

  She’s right. That’s the best course of action here.

  “Fine. Ask your fucking questions.”

  She squeals into the phone and I have to pull it away and wait for her to just fucking talk as I shake my head.

  “Okay, so did you talk to her?” she asks excitedly.

  I clench my jaw for a second before replying, “Yes.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Global warming.”

  She sighs again but she isn’t deterred. “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me. Just tell me this: were you mean to her?”

  “I’m never mean.”

  “Oh my God.” She gasps again; my sister is dramatic. “You were, weren’t you? Why, Reed? You’re supposed to be nice to her. You know that she’s miserable in that place. You know that.”

  I clutch the phone tightly. “Well, she wouldn’t be in that place if she hadn’t stolen my car.”

  And if my father hadn’t fucked with her because of it.

  “She stole your car because you were being a dick to her.”

  “I was being honest.”

  “Yes, and in the process you broke her heart. She was in love with you, Reed.”

  There’s a pain in my chest.

  Like someone has kicked it, my ribs, on purpose.

  Like Ledger, her brother, has kicked my chest and punched my stomach because I broke her heart.

  “And how is that my problem?” I snap into the phone, trying to ride through the burning pain. “I never asked her to fall in love with me. But she did, stupidly.”

  I don’t do love. I don’t even know what love is.

  All I know is that I have a father who may or may not be a fucking psychopath, whom I’d like to strangle with my bare hands one day. I don’t have space for anything else in my life other than that.

  “Falling in love with you is not stupid,” Pest says.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose as I sigh. “Yeah, let’s make a rule okay, Pest? When we talk to Reed, we don’t use the L word.”

  I purposefully use the tone that I know she’ll hate. That’s the only way to get her to shut up. But again she isn’t deterred. “I’m not going to shut up, just so you know. I know you want me to but I’m not going to. I’m going to keep talking and I’m going to tell you that yes, you can be rude and very insensitive sometimes. For example, right now. And you can be controlling and you think you know everything but you’re not that bad, Reed. You think you are but you’re not. Look what you did for her. How you saved her —”

  I cut her off right there. “Is there anything else?”

  I’m ready to end this conversation but she doesn’t let me go. “Are you really never going to tell her?”

  “Pest,” I warn.

  “Seriously, Reed? You’re never going to tell her what you did for her. How you got her out of that whole stupid juvie situation with D —”

  “Keep talking and I’ll hang up,” I cut her off.

  Her sigh is long and loud. “Fine. Fine. Whatever. I won’t say a word. Except.”

  “Except what?”

  “Except to tell you that I love you,” she says sweetly.

  I’m suspicious. “You love me.”

  “Yes,” she chirps. “And I think you’re the best brother in this whole world. Even though you broke my best friend’s heart.”

  Despite everything, my chest warms, but I do have to ask, “What do you want?”

  “Nothing.” She’s outraged. “I just… I know how much you hate seeing Dad and now you’re back there. So I don’t wanna fight with you.”

  I swallow.

  The only good thing about the past two years is that I was in New York, close to Pest. So if she wanted me, I could go to her immediately. I could be there for her.

  But now I’m here and it fucking sucks.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her.

  “You always say that. But I know. I know you hate Dad.”

  “As I said, Pest, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” I say because she doesn’t have to.

  She’s my little sister. I’m supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.

  “But I do,” she replies. “You’re my brother. Actually, you’re not only my brother, you’re my
everything. You’re my person, Reed. And you’ve been there for me like no one else has. Not Mom, who doesn’t really have the energy for anything other than Dad. And definitely not Dad and —”

  “That’s because he’s an asshole.”

  I don’t really care how he treats me. How he uses me or manipulates me or fucks with me. How he wants to control me. I don’t even care about the fact that my mother doesn’t have the time or energy for me.

  I don’t need their time or love or affection or whatever the fuck kids get from their parents.

  But Pest is sensitive. She needs them. It hurts her that Mom doesn’t care about her and that Dad has no use for her. All she’s really got is me.

  The guy who knows nothing about love or how to be sensitive and shit.

  But I made a promise when we were kids. When she’d come to me, crying and upset, that Mom wouldn’t play with her or that Dad wouldn’t see her science project, that I’d be there for her.

  I’ll protect her, and that’s one promise I intend to keep.

  “Yes, he is,” she says, breaking into my thoughts. “But I don’t need him. Because you take care of me. You’re my hero.”

  “I am, huh?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, then you should listen to me and stop calling me in the middle of the night for no fucking reason.”

  She growls. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  I chuckle. “Go to sleep, Pest.”

  “Okay, fine, I will, but first you have to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll say sorry to her. When you see her.”

  Pain in my chest flares up again and I tell her, “I’m not seeing her.”

  “You are,” she tells me. “Because I’m going to tell you exactly where she’s going to be tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  She ignores me. “And you’re going to apologize to her for being such a dick tonight. Promise me. And you’re going to apologize to her for what happened two years ago. I know you want to.”

  I grit my teeth. “I don’t.”

  “You do too,” she protests. “Because that’s why you spent the better part of last two years drunk and oblivious. So much so that you worried me.”

  I did – for a little while there – and I will never forgive myself for that.

  As I said, she’s my little sister. I’m supposed to take care of her and not the other way around.

  Even so, I tighten my muscles. I absolutely refuse to give in to her, to my sister’s demands. It’s exactly what she does when she wants me to do something for her.

  “Reed? Promise me,” she prods.

  I clench my eyes shut. “Fine.”

  Looks like I’m seeing her again tomorrow.

  Even though I made another promise to myself that I never would.

  It’s Saturday.

  Meaning, today we get to go out. Legally, with permission, without having to sneak out.

  Well, only me and Wyn.

  Poe can’t go because her privileges were recently revoked by one Mrs. Miller, her guidance counselor. And Salem can’t go either because she’s new and she needs a certain amount of good girl points before she can earn the privilege for a day outing.

  Their plan is to spend their precious free but still imprisoned time at the library because we have a big trigonometry assignment, which I’ve already done. I’ve been telling them to do it for days now but they haven’t listened. So now they’ll suffer.

  Our day passes are good for six hours or up to five o’clock in the evening, whichever comes first.

  And I don’t want to waste even a single second of that on the wrong side of the iron gates. So Wyn and me are off as soon as we can, catching the same bus that I do Thursday nights. Although this time of day, it’s full of people, most of them St. Mary’s girls.

  Our first stop is what used to be my most favorite place in the world. These days I don’t like going there but I do anyway because it’s important: Buttery Blossoms.

  “You sure you don’t want it?” Wyn asks, referring to the cupcake she’s currently eating, scooping out the silky chocolate frosting with her little plastic spoon and offering it to me.

  Of course I want it.

  It’s a cupcake, for God’s sake. And a Peanut Butter Blossom at that.

  But I can’t have it.

  And it’s not because I’m a ballerina who needs to follow a strict diet.

  Or at least, it’s not only because of that.

  It’s also because I’m a stupid girl who fell for a villain.

  So I don’t get to have any; it’s my punishment.

  I shake my head, digging into my stupid fruit cup. “Nope.”

  Wyn frowns and puts it in her mouth, licking the spoon. “Are you sure? Because this is very good.”

  I hate her.

  “I know.” I narrow my eyes at her. “I work here over the summer, remember?”

  I do.

  Again, because I’m a stupid, brokenhearted girl who needs to remember.

  Who needs to remember all the ways she was stupid in the past so she doesn’t fall stupid again.

  Wyn takes another bite of her frosting. “Yeah, I don’t know how you can work here and still not eat this. This is so good, Callie.”

  If she says it one more time, one more, I won’t be responsible for what I do.

  As it is, it’s so hard to sit here and watch her eat my favorite thing in the world and not have any myself.

  As hard as it is to see new knitting patterns in those online magazines and on Pinterest and not getting my knitting needles out and getting down to business.

  Because once upon a time, I not only fell for a villain, I made him a cozy sweater too.

  So all of this is my punishment.

  No cupcakes even though I force myself to work in a cupcake shop and no knitting even though I make myself browse through those magazines all the time.

  “Wyn, if you don’t stop oohing and ahhing over this cupcake, I’m going to…”

  I trail off then.

  Because something absurd happens.

  Something out of this world. Something that I never even imagined would happen.

  Something like him appearing out of nowhere at our table and sitting down — actually, literally — across from me.

  He’s sitting across from me, at our table.

  At Buttery Blossoms.

  And he’s staring at me with his pretty gray eyes all intense and piercing.

  What?

  “What?” I say out loud. “What are you —”

  He turns away from me and focuses on Wyn. “Hi.”

  Her eyes pop wide at his voice. I don’t blame her. It’s deep and smooth, rich.

  Like the chocolate frosting that she’s been consuming.

  “Hi,” she says in what I think is her breathy voice.

  “I’m Reed,” he introduces himself and offers her his hand.

  I watch that hand, stuck out in the air, with long, graceful fingers. With broad, masculine knuckles, and I don’t…

  What is he doing here?

  Wyn has no choice but to offer hers and shake his hand. “I know.”

  He wraps his fingers around her palm and gives it a squeeze.

  That I somehow feel in my own hand.

  His grip. His strength.

  And for some reason, I want him to let go of her hand.

  I want him not to touch her and it’s so absurd, this thought, that I shut it down immediately.

  “So you’ve heard about me,” he drawls in that voice again.

  But this time, he also brings out his sexy, charming smirk and I grit my teeth.

  Wyn swallows. “Yes. And your Mustang. The fact that you love it. And like, it’s your most prized possession.”

  “Well, you know everything about me then.” He squeezes her hand again and I fist mine in my
lap. “And I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Wyn,” she blurts out, kind of dazed by his attentiveness. “I mean, Bronwyn. But people call me Wyn.”

  “Bronwyn,” he repeats. “That’s a pretty name.”

  “Thanks,” she replies, blushing and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears.

  Finally, Reed lets her go. “So Wyn, I’d like to ask you something.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “I’d like to talk to your friend here and I’d like to do it alone. So you wouldn’t mind giving us a minute, would you?”

  She glances at me, unsure. “I’m not…”

  He smiles at her again, that jerk, his wolf eyes all hypnotizing and beautiful. “I promise to keep her safe.”

  Yeah, says the villain.

  I decide to jump in then. “No.”

  I even bang my hand on the table and they both look at me.

  Wyn is slightly startled, but Reed is all relaxed and casual.

  Out of the two, I only have eyes for one of them though.

  The villain who’s just promised to keep me safe. Who I really, really hate to admit looks gorgeous right now.

  Even more gorgeous than he did last night.

  At night, Reed looks like a gorgeous, otherworldly creature.

  In the daylight though, he looks untouchable. His vampire skin appears indestructible.

  Like even the sun can’t touch him or his moon-kissed skin.

  Like even the ball of fire up in the sky pales in comparison to the glow in his animal eyes.

  And he’s wearing my most favorite thing in the world: his white hoodie.

  All soft and cozy and so familiar that I feel something lodge in my throat.

  Lodge and hurt.

  Even so, I manage to sound stern as I say, “She’s not going anywhere. But you’re leaving. Because I don’t wanna talk to you.”

  Obviously, he settles himself at our table even more.

  I should’ve known.

  This is what he used to do back at Bardstown High, when I’d tell him to go away. Either from the auditorium or the dusty closets that he was so fond of locking me in.

  Right now, he slides down the booth seat — pretty pink leather —and widens his thighs. His boots inch forward on the floor and almost touch my black Mary Janes.

  Resting his hands on the white table, he says, “That works out then. Because I don’t want you to talk. I just want you to listen.”