Wicked Villains (Ruthless Villains Book 2)

I twirled the kitchen knife in my hand. Faint moonlight fell in through the window and gleamed against the edge. It wasn’t as sharp as I would have liked it to be, but it was better than nothing.

Glancing up, I stared at my closed bedroom door as if I could see through it and all the way to Callan’s room across the hall. I almost felt a bit bad for him. Stealing the knife had been easier than I had expected. I had noticed earlier how he reacted every time I bit my lip, so I had done that on purpose right as I finished cutting our slices of pie. He had been so distracted by it that he hadn’t noticed that the knife disappeared into my sleeve instead of being returned to the pan.

The most nerve-wracking part had been when the kitchen staff came back to clear the table. I had thought for sure that they would see that the pie knife was missing. But thankfully, the person who removed the pie was not the same baker who had brought it. Maybe that was why my little theft had gone unnoticed. Regardless of the reason, I was thankful for it. Now, I had a weapon. So all that was left at this point was getting the damn manacle off.

After placing the stolen knife back on the mattress, I grabbed the lockpicks and moved my foot into position before inserting them into the lock.

Outside the window, the night watched me impassively. The rest of Callan’s household appeared to have gone to sleep long ago because the mansion was utterly silent. Well, apart from the faint creaking of wood that came from the guard outside when he shifted his weight on the chair.

My hair slid across my face as I bent down to see better. I pushed it back and hooked it behind my ear before continuing my efforts to pick the lock.

While I worked, my mind kept drifting back to that dinner with Callan earlier tonight.

Confusing feelings swirled inside my chest. I knew that he had only done it because he wanted an excuse to ask me about Malcolm Griffith. But that didn’t make me feel annoyed or bitter. On the contrary. I actually liked that Callan had asked me for advice on what to do about Malcolm, because that meant that even though I didn’t have my magic, Callan still considered me an asset. And that made a whole bunch of my emotions tangle together like twisting vines. Some of them were also far too connected to my childhood and my relationship with my family, and I didn’t want to examine those too closely right now, so I pushed them aside.

I sat up straight and stretched my neck. My shoulders ached from the hunched over position I’d kept for the last few hours, so I rolled them back a couple of times to relieve the tension. An owl hooted outside the window while I glanced down at the manacle around my ankle. If I couldn’t get it open soon, I would have to call it a night and try again tomorrow. But every day I waited increased the risk that the knife I had stolen would be found, so I had to make this work soon.

Bending over again, I inserted the lockpicks once more.

Giving Callan advice on how to deal with Malcolm had been a temporary solution. I couldn’t let Malcolm take him out because I needed Callan to survive so that I could kill him myself. But I could feel the days slipping through my fingers. Malcolm always made a solid plan before he acted, but it had been five days now since he found out what we had done. He would be making his move soon. And if I got caught in a war between Callan and Malcolm while my magic was still bound, I would not survive it.

My mind drifted back to Callan again. Hell damn it, I didn’t know what to make of him anymore. I still hated him, of course. But I also found that I quite liked the way he looked at me. It was ridiculous even thinking it, but sometimes it felt like Callan looked at me as if I was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. And it sent a sparkling sensation through my chest every time. I had to be imagining it, though. Which of course just made the whole thing even more embarrassing. Perhaps I—

The lock clicked open.

My stomach lurched and I jolted back on the bed. Forcing out a long breath, I just stared down at the padded manacle for a few seconds. Then I reached forward and gently gripped it. My heart pattered against my ribs. Moving carefully, I opened the manacle fully and placed it down on the mattress.

Disbelief surged through my mind.

I had gotten the lock open. It was the middle of the night and everyone was sleeping. And I had a knife.

This was it.

This was the night I would kill Callan Blackwell and get my magic back.

My mind still couldn’t quite process the thought, but I forced myself to climb out of bed anyway. After sneaking over to one of the drawers, I changed into my riding clothes. They would be easier to fight and escape in than a dress.

Once I was done, I went back to the bed and grabbed the kitchen knife from the pale sheets. The wooden handle was cool against my palm as I gripped it in my left hand and then hurried over to the door. It opened inwards, but thankfully, the guard was at least sitting on the right side so that I could just stick out an arm instead of having to lean across the whole door. I would still have to time it exactly right, though.

After blowing out a steadying breath, I slowly pushed down the handle and edged the door open an inch. Then I paused.

The seconds stretched by, but nothing moved outside.

While keeping my grip on the handle, I eased the door open another few inches. When the gap was wide enough for me to stick my head through, I let go of the door.

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I feared the guard might actually hear it.

Pressing myself up against the doorjamb, I leaned out just a tiny bit so that I could glance towards the chair.

A man with short brown hair was sitting on it. I was pretty sure that his name was Jesper, or at least that was what Henry had snapped at him when he was angry yesterday.

Jesper was resting the back of his head against the wall and was staring up towards the ceiling. I could almost read the boredom on his face.

Moving slowly, I lifted my hand so that it was level with Jesper’s exposed throat. My pulse thrummed in my ears. If I missed, I would never get another chance to escape again.

I released a silent exhale.

Then I struck.

My hand shot out and I drew the knife across Jesper’s throat in one fluid motion.

A surprised gurgling noise came from his mouth. Darting out into the corridor, I slapped my hand in front of his mouth before he could make any more noise. His green eyes pulsed with both pain and shock as he stared up at me, but any effort to stand up was swept away by the rush of blood that ran down his throat and turned the top of his pale shirt red.

I stood there, watching the light dim in his eyes, while keeping my hand firmly pressed over his mouth. His body jerked a few times, but thankfully, it didn’t produce too loud a noise.

Once his eyes had glassed over, I removed my hand and looked his body up and down. Hell, I missed my poison magic. Slitting someone’s throat was so messy.

After casting a quick glance up and down the deserted corridor, I snuck across the dark wooden floorboards until I reached the door to Callan’s room. I tightened the grip on my now bloodstained knife. Then I carefully pushed the door open.

Silvery light from the bright summer moon filtered in through the window and fell across Callan’s face. He looked… peaceful. His sharp features were softened by sleep and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths.

My own heart was pounding so hard against my ribs that I was having trouble hearing anything but my own heartbeat. Moving silently, I slunk forward until I was standing right next to the bed.

Callan had partly kicked the covers off his body. The cream-colored sheets lay bunched around his waist, leaving both his chest and one leg bare. It made him look strangely innocent.

For what felt like an eternity, I just stood there, looking down at him. This really was it. All I had to do was lift the knife and plunge it into Callan’s heart, and I would finally be rid of his complicated presence in my life.

Hesitation blew through me.

It was followed by a flash of irritation. Why was I hesitating? Ramming a blade through Callan’s heart had been my main goal ever since that day five years ago when he had ridden up to my newly built mansion, shot a force wall at me, and then proceeded to put his boot on the back of my neck, shoving my face into the floor, while telling me to grovel for his forgiveness for building a house on what he claimed to be his lands. And now I finally had my chance. My shot at revenge long overdue. So why was I hesitating?

I realized that I had been gripping the knife so hard that my fingers ached, so I relaxed my hold and flexed my hand on the handle.

Then I drew in a soft breath and moved up so that I was standing level with his heart. I allowed myself one last moment of confused hesitation, and then shoved the feelings aside. Callan was my enemy. I was his prisoner. And I needed him dead so that I could get my life back.

Moonlight glinted on the blade as I raised the knife and positioned it above his heart.

Blood rushed in my ears.

Holding the knife with both hands, I blew out another long breath.

I rammed the knife down.

Callan’s eyes shot open.

Panic crackled through me as those dark brown eyes of his locked on me.

A scream ripped from Callan’s throat as the knife sank into the flesh below his collarbone.

The blade was buried all the way to the hilt, but I stared at it in disbelief because it was located in the wrong spot. I had aimed for his heart. What the hell was the knife doing below his collarbone? My hands must have moved on their own and yanked the knife sideways. It had to be due to the shock of seeing him wake up. That had—

Callan’s hand flashed up towards me.

I jumped back, ripping the knife out of his body.

Another groan of pain tore from his chest, but he leaped out of bed and landed on the floor in front of me.

At last, my mind caught up with what was happening. Callan wasn’t dead. I had stabbed him. But he wasn’t dead.

Oh fuck.

He threw a force wall at me. I dove behind the bed and rolled across the floor to escape it. It smacked into the white marble with a wham.

I jumped to my feet to find Callan darting around the bed. He lifted his right hand and brought it to his left to call up more magic. It looked like he was having trouble lifting the arm on his injured side, so I flashed forward before he could throw another force wall at me, and rammed the knife towards that side.

Alarm flickered in his eyes and he instinctively tried to block it, but his left arm remained hanging uselessly by his side. I spat out a curse as the blade sailed past right next to his chest as he twisted aside at the last second instead. Hooking his leg behind mine, he used his uninjured shoulder to tackle me to the floor.

Air exploded from my lungs as I hit the wooden floorboards with Callan on top of me. Pain pulsed in his eyes as he landed awkwardly, and blood welled up from the wound. It ran down his bare chest as he leaned forward, trying to rip the knife from my grip.

Outside the door, the sounds of pounding feet and shouts of alarm echoed.

Another bout of panic shot through me.

I bucked my hips to get his weight off me, but it did nothing to even lift him. Yanking out my arm from where it had been pinned underneath me, I drove my fist into the side of his ribs while trying to bring my knife back into position.

Callan let the strike to his ribs go through and instead focused on getting the blade. I twisted it at the last second, and he had to snatch his hand back to avoid getting his palm cut open.

The door crashed open somewhere behind me.

Shit. I needed to kill him before it was too late.

Yanking my arm to the side, I slashed towards his throat.

A blast of wind smacked into my arm. It was strong enough to snap it to the side and slam it down against the floor beside me.

Then Callan disappeared from above me.

Panic clanged through my chest.

No. No. No.

I rolled up on one elbow and swung again, trying to stab him before he got out of reach.

My stolen knife flew from my grip as a large boot kicked it out of my hand. I let out a cry of pain as the kick connected. The cry was abruptly cut off and transformed into a gasp as a white bolt of lightning flashed through the room and struck me in the chest.

Dull pain pulsed through me when I crashed back down on the floor, but it was eclipsed by a much sharper stab as another lightning bolt hit me. My body shook uncontrollably and my lungs seemed to clench up, making it impossible to breathe.

“Callan!” Henry snapped. “Are you okay?”

“She fucking stabbed me,” Callan growled back. “Yuito, Paul, lock her in the dungeon. Henry, get Sam.”

“On it.”

“Yes, boss.”

I knew that I should be doing something. Fighting. Resisting in any kind of way at all. But I couldn’t for the life of me make my muscles obey me. So I just lay there on the floor, my limbs twitching, while trying to push air in and out of lungs that suddenly felt too small.

“Where did she even get a bloody knife from?” Callan snapped, and then hissed in pain. “And where the fuck is Jesper?”

Two pairs of rough hands appeared on my arms, yanking me off the floor.

“Dead,” Henry answered. “Looks like she slit his throat before sneaking out of her room.”

“Hell fucking damn it.”

My feet slid across the floor as Yuito and Paul dragged me towards the open door.

“Boss, you’re bleeding a lot,” Henry continued. “Maybe I should send someone else and stay here until Sam comes.”

“No.” Callan sucked in another sharp breath between his teeth as if he had done something that caused pain to flare up again. “You’re the only one I trust to get Sam here in time.”

Summoning the last of my strength, I raised my head and looked up at where Callan was standing. Blood ran down his skin, leaving red trails across his chest, and he was clenching his jaw hard. He snapped his gaze to me. Lightning flashed in his eyes as he held my gaze for a few seconds. Then I was dragged around the corner and he disappeared from view.

Henry raced into the corridor after us.

When he reached me, he bent down and buried his fist in my collar before lifting my face closer to his. “Remember what I said when you got here? You and I have a problem now.” Rage burned in his eyes as he growled, “I’m going to make your death excruciatingly painful.”

Even if I could have somehow mustered the strength to speak, I wouldn’t have had the time to actually reply because he abruptly released my shirt and then sprinted down the stairs ahead of us.

Amid the dull pain and the crackling lightning that still seemed to shoot up and down my body, another feeling made itself known.

Regret.

Soul-crushing, mind-numbing regret.

What the hell had I done? I’d had a chance to kill Callan once and for all, and I had missed. And for what? Because he had looked at me when I was about to shove a knife into his heart? I had killed countless people before. And I hadn’t hated most of them even nearly as much as I hated Callan. So why had I shifted my aim at the last second? It made no fucking sense.

My limp legs produced a thudding sound as Yuito and Paul dragged my body down the stairs. I let my head loll forward so that I could rest my chin on my chest. Dark hair fell like a curtain in front of my face.

And that feeling of regret intensified.

I had been right before. This had really been it. My one chance to get both my revenge and my magic back. And I had wasted it.

There would be no coming back from this.