Villain

By Cheryl McIntyre

How can you tell a hero from a villain?

If you’re Ember Willis and the villain is Lanely Frost, you can’t.

How can you tell a superhero from a delusional young woman?

If you’re Lanely Frost and the woman is Ember Willis, you don’t care.

For both, finding the balance between right and wrong and love and lust are not the only battles they’ll face.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheryl McIntyre
• Release date: Oct 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781517739560

Cheryl McIntyre

Cheryl McIntyre is the author of the bestselling Sometimes Never series, as well as the Dirty series, Infinitely, Dark Calling, HARD, Villain, and Love Sex & Other Games. She resides in Ohio with her high school sweetheart, their two sons, one daughter, and one fur son.FIND CHERYLFacebook:https://www.facebook.com/CherylMcIntyreauthorCheryl’s Blackbirds:https://www.facebook.com/groups/1006715782777752/Twitter:https://twitter.com/CherylHMcIntyreGoodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6431156.Cheryl_McIntyreAmazon:https://amzn.to/2HudaD9BookBub:https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cheryl-mcintyreInstagram:https://www.instagram.com/cherylmcintyreauthor/Pinterest:https://www.pinterest.com/chm22480/Book+Main Bites Romance:https://bookandmainbites.com/CherylMcIntyreNewsletter:http://bit.ly/1C2azm3BOOKS BY CHERYL:New Adult Romance:~Sometimes Never~Blackbird (A Sometimes Never novella)~Before Now~Long After~Always Forever~Let It Be (A Sometimes Never novella)~Sometimes Never: The Series Box SetAdult Romance:~HardNew Adult Suspenseful Romance:~InfinitelyAdult Suspenseful Romance:~Getting Dirty (Dirty 1)~Playing Dirty (Dirty 2)~Talking Dirty (Dirty 3)~Fighting Dirty (Dirty 4)~Staying Dirty (Dirty 5)~Dirty: The Five-Part Serial Bundle~Grit: A Dirty SequelYoung Adult Paranormal Romance:~Dark Calling (Dark Calling 1)Adult Urban Fantasy:~VillainRomantic Comedy:~Love Sex & Other Games

Book preview

Lane

Right now, the world doesn’t need heroes. It needs villains.

–Magneto

I’ve walked this same hallway for months now. Beige paint and shiny white linoleum. Meaningless abstract art gripping the walls as if to distract from the fact this is where people come to die.

Hospice is just another name for Hell.

I’ve walked this sad hall more times than I can count, but tonight is different. Tonight, I am a man on a mission.

The door to my mother’s room stands open, inviting. I hesitate, my feet faltering just before the threshold. It’s always hard to see her like this—pale and sickly, hopeful and remorseful all at once. Hard, but humbling. She deserves to die with dignity, but all she wants is to die knowing her daughter is somewhere safe. Alive and well. She clings to life for this one purpose, allowing herself to suffer, just so she can hear those lovely words.

I can’t give her that. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so damn hard. But as of eighteen hours ago, I know with certainty, she will never have the peace she’s been waiting for.

How does a son tell his dying mother her only daughter is not only dead, but that she left this world in one of the worst ways imaginable?

My chest aches as I take my next breath, readying myself to face my mom, my mom—the woman I love and respect the most—and deliver the news that will surely be what causes her heart to stop beating.

Lanely, she rasps as soon as she sees me. Her dry, cracking lips lift in a weak smile and she extends her hand. I grasp her fingers in my palm, hoping for just an ounce of her strength as I break the news.

Her other hand comes up, gently caressing the side of my unshaven face. I know I look like shit. I haven’t slept or showered in days. I can’t even recall the last time I ate or drank something that didn’t involve hard liquor.

You look tired, she utters. The words sound as if they’re scraping her throat. Like each syllable is a painful struggle.

I am, I agree. As do you. Right here is where I should tell her why I haven’t been able to sleep. But I can’t. I just…

I can’t do it.

Did you find anything? she asks, her eyes showing a flicker of light—that glimmer of hope that I am not ready to extinguish.

No, I lie. Not yet, but…I will, Mom. I will.

Her thin white-streaked hair slips over one slender shoulder as she nods. I don’t know if she just pretends to believe me at this point or if she’s so desperate for it to be true, she chooses to ignore the lie.

I need to know, she wheezes. Her face contorts in pain, and she begins coughing uncontrollably. I quickly grab a cup of water and hold the straw to her chapped lips.

There was a time when everyone who saw my mother considered her breathtaking. They looked at her hourglass figure, long black hair that shone even in the dimmest room, her bright green eyes that put most emeralds to shame, and her dimpled smile that made even the meanest person grin back. They liked what they saw.

I wonder where those people are now. Where are all the men that came to visit her while she worked at the bakery, hoping to kiss her cheek, covered in a fine dusting of powdered sugar, and maybe get a date when the day ended? Are they afraid this will be their last memory of her? Do they choose to remember her young and vibrant?

What they don’t understand is this is my mother at her most beautiful. Right now. She is strength. She is light. She is hope. She is faith.

Lane, she breathes when her coughing eases. Promise me you’ll find her. Promise me you’ll bring her home safely.

The air is thick with the stench of impending death. I swallow a lungful and look my mother in the eyes. It’s obvious she doesn’t have long now.

I promise, I husk.

It’s the biggest lie I have ever told.

It’s also the most important and worst lie to leave my mouth.

A small smile forms on her lips again as her eyes flutter closed. Her hand goes limp in the confines of my own and the lines of hurt relax in sleep.

I make her a new promise as the last traces of life weaken their grip on her body. I vow to make each one of the people responsible for my sister’s death pay for what they did.

For what I know will be the final time, I say goodbye to my mother—my strength, my light, my hope, my faith—and I allow the darkness to seep inside of me. The warmth leaves me, allowing a frigid cold to set in deep. And I turn off everything I once was.

One

The Chat Room of Doom

You should know better by now. Fate has chosen…and cannot be denied.

–Two-Face

Pyro: Are you there, Frosty? I need to talk.

Frosty the Heartless: I’m here. What’s up sweet-cheeks?

Pyro: You know I hate it when you use demeaning nicknames on me.

Frosty the Heartless: And you know I do it because it annoys you. Also, I think you secretly love it. You just pretend you don’t so I won’t suspect you’re not the hardcore, bra-burning feminist you portray yourself to be.

Pyro: You’re a pig.

Frosty the Heartless: Pigs are delightful.

Pyro: Your point is valid. Pigs are, in fact, delightful. You’re a jackass. How’s that?

Frosty the Heartless: Accurate. So what do you need my wisdom on, my young Padawan?

Pyro: He cheated on me.

Frosty the Heartless: Doubtful. Is he a complete moron?

Pyro: He is. Cheating on me, I mean.

Pyro: And kind of a moron.

Frosty the Heartless: Proof?

Pyro: That he’s a moron or cheating?

Frosty the Heartless: Proof he’s cheated. If he did, it’s proof of the other.

Pyro: I took your advice. I wore the lingerie and tried to seduce him last night. He said, and I quote, I just don’t feel like it.

Frosty the Heartless: You’re right. He is a moron.

Pyro: It’s more than that. My Spidey-senses tingled.

Frosty the Heartless: Oh, right. The superhero thing.

Pyro: Your refusal to believe in my super powers doesn’t make it unreal.

Frosty the Heartless: Doesn’t make it real either.

Pyro: Are we having this argument again?

Frosty the Heartless: No, not at all. I am more than willing to play along with your odd delusions of grandeur. Just don’t forget, if you’re the hero, I’m definitely the villain.

Pyro: It’s not a delusion—it’s my unfortunate reality. And there are no villains—just different levels of bad.

Frosty the Heartless: Mm, food for thought. Now, back on topic. So he WAS in the mood then? Makes sense. We—and by we, I mean ALL MEN—are always in the mood. ALWAYS. Doesn’t mean he’s cheating.

Pyro: He was in the mood to have sex, just not with me. He thought he could get away with the lie because it was still half true. My palms heated and my fingers started burning.

Frosty the Heartless: Right, with your handy power of perception. See what I did there? Handy power?

Pyro: Don’t make fun of me. Not right now. Please.

Frosty the Heartless: Sorry. Continue. What happened then?

Pyro: I touched him.

Frosty the Heartless: Hm. Well, I’m sure being touched by a beautiful woman taught him a very important lesson.

Pyro: First of all, you have no idea what I look like. I may very well be the plainest female on the face of the planet.

Frosty the Heartless: I know you’re not plain. I have a feeling for these things.

Pyro: There is no way you can know that.

Frosty the Heartless: You have your super powers and I have mine.

Pyro: Anyways… I touched him while my hands were still hot. Like, really hot. I gripped his face between my burning palms and let him know that I knew he was lying. I let him feel what I was feeling. He jerked out of my grasp, flaming red handprints on each cheek. He looked at me like he had never seen me before. God, Frosty, I burned him. I hurt him.

Frosty the Heartless: He hurt you first.

Pyro: That doesn’t make it okay. Especially for someone like me. For the first time in my life, I wanted to harm someone. And not just anyone—my own boyfriend.

Frosty the Heartless: Please tell me he is your ex-boyfriend? Don’t be one of those women.

Pyro: One of THOSE women? I smell something offensive.

Frosty the Heartless: That’s just my natural charm you’re picking up on.

Frosty the Heartless: I mean those women who cry and complain about being cheated on but stay with the unfaithful prick. First time, it’s his fault. If you’re there for a second time, then it’s your fault. So again, please tell me he is your ex-boyfriend.

Pyro: He is now. He couldn’t pack his shit fast enough. He told me