Page 168 of Villainous Intent

I could still feel the sting of his dismissal at the Nexus. The way he’d gone cold, retreating behind that impenetrable mask. I wouldn’t survive that again, not after a night of being held in his arms, not after feeling what it was like to be touched with something that felt dangerously close to tenderness.

“So I’m going to go,” I continued, even as I wanted to lean into his warmth. “Before you have the chance to push me away again.”

I tried to pull away, but Cipher’s arm tightened around me, holding me firmly in place. My heart raced as I searched his face for any sign of the coldness that had destroyed me last time.

“What do you want from me, Cipher?” My voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

“Stay,” he said, and it sounded like a plea. Just a simple request that seemed to cost him something to make.

This wasn’t the arrangement. The rules of our twisted deal were simple: he provided the violence, the dominance, the loss of control I craved to escape the pressure of my own life. I could handle the monster. I knew how to survive the Villain.

I had no defense against this.

He brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his gaze never wavering. Every soft caress fractured another piece of my resolve. He was ruining everything. He was making it impossible to walk away. If he bruised me, I could at least pretend to leave angry. If he fucked me and threw me out, I could leave numb.

But this tenderness was breaking me.

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer, afraid of what he might see in my eyes. Without thinking, I ran my hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

My fingers brushed against something rough and uneven hidden beneath his hairline, just behind his ear. I paused, tracing what felt like a horrible scar that ran along his scalp. It was long and uneven, feeling almost like a fault line running across his scalp.

Cipher went still beneath my touch, his breathing suddenly shallow. The change was instantaneous, like a switch had been flipped. One moment he was warm and present, the next...

His hand shot up, fingers wrapping around my wrist. He pulled my hand away from his head, his expression shuttering before my eyes. And there it was, the wall, just as I’d feared. I reached out with my free hand, placing my palm against his cheek, forcing him to look at me. “What’s the scar from?”

“It’s nothing.” His voice was cold, clinical. The voice of Cipher the Villain, not the man who’d just asked me to stay.

I nodded slowly, sliding out of his grasp and out of the bed. I grabbed my jeans from the chair, pulling them on while my heart cracked in my chest.

“You want a connection without any of the actual vulnerability,” I said quietly, buttoning my pants. “You want me to stay, but you won’t let me in.”

“I have no vulnerabilities,” he replied, his voice flat.

“Everyone has vulnerabilities, Cipher. Even you. The difference is whether you trust someone enough to show them.”

I’d been about to leave, to walk away with what little dignity I had left, when his voice stopped me.

“What’s the cuff for, Annie?”

My entire body went rigid. My hand automatically reached for my wrist, fingers curling protectively around the metal band.

“That’s none of your business,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

He sat up in bed, the sheet bunching around his waist. His eyes never left my face, studying me with that calculating gaze I’d come to both dread and crave.

“You want me to let you in without trusting me enough with your own vulnerabilities.”

I stared at him, caught between fury and a strange, recklessness. If he wanted to play this game, then maybe we could as long as we had rules.

“You know what?” I said, a dangerous calm settling over me. “You’re right. We both have vulnerabilities. So let’s stop dancing around them. How about this, we trade uncomfortable questions. An answer for an answer. No secrets, no deflections.” I tilted my chin up. “I’m willing to do it if you are. Or are you too afraid to play by someone else’s rules for once, Mr. No Vulnerabilities?”

His eyes narrowed. “Deal. Ask your question.”

“How did you get that scar?”

The muscle in his jaw ticked as he stared at me. For a moment, I thought he might refuse to answer, might call the whole thing off.

“I was eight years old. The doctors thought I was having seizures.” His fingers drifted unconsciously to his hairline. “I wasn’t. I was just thinking. Working through problems in my head. But I would go so deep into my thoughts that I’d become unresponsive.”