Kiss The Villain: A Dark MM Enemies to Lovers Romance

For as long as I can remember, there’s been a void inside me.

An emptiness that can’t be filled, sustained, or eliminated.

It’s like a hole of nothingness, stretching wider and deeper every day, every month, every year.

At first, I despised it. That thing that made me different from my parents. That thing that made me different from other kids my age.

But then I saw Kill embrace it. He had a void, too, but he called it a superpower. He was proud of it—proud of his brain, his perception, his ability to crush others under his heel.

He didn’t hide it. He flaunted it, doing whatever he wanted, whenever and however he wanted.

But not me.

Because, unlike Kill, I care what Dad thinks.

I need his approval. I love his approval. I crave it.

The thought that he might one day look at me with disapproval like he did with Kill is my worst nightmare.

So I stitched that void up with pieces of my soul and shoved it into the darkest corner of my mind.

The closest I’ve ever come to filling it was when I killed David. When I felt his essence flow into my hands. When his wide, lifeless eyes stared up at me, knowing I was his god at that moment.

A rush of life poured into me in the form of his blood. It filled that void to the brim, and I think I sighed in relief as I stared at his jacked-up body lying on the bed.

The same bed where he assaulted Harper for years, until she took her life to escape him.

Maybe I smiled. Maybe I laughed, like a madman, because for the first time, that void felt full.

I was euphoric.

Deliriously elated.

Floating on a peaceful cloud, sitting in my quiet, beautiful white room.

Until I remembered Dad.

Until I imagined that frown on his face.

And all my joy crashed and burned.

The same frown he’s wearing now as we sit in my room. The walls are painted black-green, a muted color that matches the rest of the decor. I keep staring at the sheets—black silk.

Like in the apartment.

I hate silk. It reminds me of my bloodied white room. The one I can never clean up.

It’s been two days since Kayden had his bodyguards take me on a private jet from Chicago to New York, then drive me to my parents’ house.

Nadine—his chief of security or whatever she calls herself—made the arrangements. Or, rather, Simone. That’s her real name. Nadine was the alias he made her use so he could lie to me.

Mom’s been crying and fawning over me nonstop since I got here, and it’s making my head throb.

I hate how emotional she can get. Maybe because I don’t have that switch in my brain, so I can’t relate.

And while I usually understand her love, her overwhelming emotions are like nails on a chalkboard right now, worsening the pounding in my skull that hasn’t stopped since I left.

She said she’d make my favorite dishes for lunch, and honestly, I’m relieved she’s gone. Mom’s a good person. She’s dedicated her life to us and to charity. I shouldn’t be an ungrateful little cretin.

But with my mood swings, I need her gone. The last thing I want is to snap and hurt her.

It’s not her fault she gave birth to two monsters.

But that leaves me with Dad.

And Grandpa, who hasn’t left my side since I got here.

Dad—Asher Carson—is basically a younger version of Grandpa. Jet-black hair slicked back. A strong jawline. Deep-green eyes. The only thing I inherited from him.

He’s calm and collected. Not emotional like Mom. The only time I’ve seen him lose his cool was when Mom was in the hospital and we thought she had cancer. It turned out to be benign, but for those few days, he was aimless. Distraught.

I remember watching him and thinking, This type of love is dangerous.

Because the strongest man I know would crumble if he lost her.

And I remember thinking, I’m glad this kind of love will never find me.

But, boy, was I fucking mistaken.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened now?” Dad asks, his voice soft, though tension cuts through the undertone like a blade.

“Leave him be,” Grandpa replies, his tone firm but measured.

Grandpa’s frown is less pronounced than Dad’s, his upright posture defying his age. Wisps of white hair brush against his forehead, settling into the deep lines etched on his face. Those lines, carved by time and experience, lend him an air of quiet authority, even when his expression softens.

He doesn’t need to shield me from Dad. He shouldn’t have to.

I needed to do this a long time ago.

“Dad, I’m trying to have a conversation with my son,” my father snaps, his frustration spilling over. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of it.”

“It’s my grandson, so I’m not staying out. You leave.”

“Can you not fight?” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was kidnapped and tortured, Dad. That’s what happened.”

The room falls into a weighted silence. Both of them stiffen, their reactions like opposite sides of the same coin.

Dad inches closer to the bed, his face caught between fear and fury. “Who was it? Is this because of the mafia connections?”

“No.”

“Then who? Who hurt you like this, Gaz?”

“Oh, this?” I gesture at the bandage on my forehead, then lift my arm. “I did these myself.”

Grandpa closes his eyes, his expression twisting in quiet pain.

I brace myself.

Stop breathing.

Wait for the disappointment to surface on Dad’s face.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, his expression is unreadable, and I hate that more.

“Why?” he asks, his voice soft but sharp enough to cut me deep.

The word rips through the tendons holding my sanity together.

I shrug, feigning indifference. “Because I wanted to get rid of something in my blood. It was poisoning me, and it hurt. So I decided to take it out.”

“Then you should’ve hurt them, not yourself.”

Heat floods my face, and I shift uncomfortably on the bed. “You…you’d be okay with that? Me hurting others?”

“If they hurt you, why not? Why the fuck would you hurt yourself instead of them, Gareth?”

I stay silent, my heart hammering so loudly it drowns out his words.

Dad’s okay with me hurting others.

He said it’s okay.

“Son.” He takes my hand—the one not covered in little Band-Aids. The ones I refused to let Mom replace because I can still feel Kayden’s touch when he put them on.

I stare at Dad, probably looking lost as hell. “Yeah?”

“I want you to tell me why you hurt yourself and not them. You’re not someone who’d hurt himself. Ever.”

“Leave the kid alone,” Grandpa says.

“Be quiet or get out, Dad,” my father barks, the tension between them sparking like static electricity.

“Why are you so sure I wouldn’t?” I ask, my voice barely audible, even to myself.

“Because you’re outward, not inward. That’s why I got you into hunting, archery, and shooting. I wanted you to channel your energy at a target instead of yourself, or…” He trails off. “…people.”

“Christ,” Grandpa mutters under his breath, the weight of Dad’s words sinking into the room.

My teeth dig into my lower lip. “Y-you…you knew?”

“That you wanted to kill people?” His lips tug into a faint, almost bitter smile. “Sort of.”

“H-how?” My voice cracks before I can rein it in.

“My suspicion started early.”

“How early?”

“When you were eight. Nine, maybe. You’ve never been the type to let things slide, especially when it came to what you considered yours.”

“And that made you think I wanted to kill people?”

Dad leans forward, his green eyes locking with my identical ones. “My suspicions were confirmed after the fight with Gilbert in school. You were both ten, and you beat the crap out of each other until a teacher intervened. It seemed over after that. But then at Killian’s birthday party a month later, you asked Gilbert if he wanted to see the toy he’d been begging his parents for. A toy you asked your mom for two weeks prior. You took him to the indoor pool, pushed him in, and held his head underwater. If I hadn’t followed you out of suspicion, you would’ve drowned him. And you had a poker face the whole time.”

“He pushed Kill down the stairs,” I snap, clenching my fists. “He twisted his ankle and almost broke it. He needed to pay.”

I purse my lips, stealing a glance at Grandpa, who gives me a sad smile.

The words tumble out before I can stop them. It’s the concussion talking—or maybe it’s the aggression that’s been festering in the void for years.

Gilbert was the first person I wanted to kill.

The demons in the void whispered that the world would be better off without him. When I was holding Gilbert under the water, I heard a noise, so I ran off. When I came back, I saw Dad pulling the waste of space out of the pool and helping him, but I hid from his view, then called Grandpa to pick me up, and I spent a whole week at his place.

I was terrified Dad would have me diagnosed like he did to Kill. That he’d hate me, reject me, and stop liking me. But when Dad picked me up from Grandpa’s, he took me and Kill hunting for the first time.

I believe that’s when I became self-conscious about the image I needed to portray in public. To ensure that I’d never be caught in a Gilbert-like incident again.

“Is it because Kill is your brother or because you think of him as something that belongs to you?” Dad’s tone remains soft, almost clinical. “Tell me the truth.”

“Both. But more because…”

“Because?”

“Kill belongs to me. No one is allowed to hurt what belongs to me.”

Dad’s jaw tightens. “Is your brother an object to you?”

“Kill, an object?” I laugh, though the sound comes out hollow. “He’d throw a fit if he heard that.”

Neither Dad nor Grandpa laughs.

My voice drops, more serious now. “I know he’s a person—a massive headache of one—but…I’ve always felt like you brought him into the world for me. To keep me company. So I wouldn’t be alone. In a sense, he exists for me, so no one else gets to hurt him.”

“And Harper?” Dad presses. “Did you feel the same about her? That she belonged to you? Is that why you killed her father?”

My head snaps toward Grandpa. “You told him?”

“No,” Grandpa sighs, leaning back. “He figured it out a couple of years ago.”

Dad’s expression sharpens. “After a little altercation with Senator Baltimore.”

The air thins around me. My ears ring as the senator’s name stirs the truth I uncovered.

Baltimore—the man who assaulted and killed Cassandra. The senator Kayden wiped off the face of the earth after her death.

I’ve done my research since yesterday, getting sucked in to reveal the truth. That’s the senator who was dealing with the Davenports a couple of years ago, around the time of her death, and then a few months later, he died.

And so did the governor and a whole bunch of people.

Because Kayden was so heartbroken about his wife, he wiped out people like they were flies. And I was on his list, too.

“What about the senator?” I ask, my throat dry.

Grandpa rubs his temple. “He was the police chief and an old friend at the time you killed that scum. I called in a favor to clean up the scene, but Baltimore kept some evidence—DNA, fingerprints—for leverage.”

“Did he blackmail you?”

“Once. He was at the peak of his career and made a mess by raping and killing a woman with his friends.” Grandpa’s voice lowers, his words measured.

“Were…were you there?” My voice barely rises above a whisper.

“No, I left as she was walking in. But I pieced it together later. He threatened to use the evidence against you if I didn’t stay quiet. Said, and I quote, ‘Just bury your head in the sand if you don’t want your psychopath of a grandson thrown in jail for all the inmates to use as a warm hole. As you know, pretty faces like his are popular.’”

Dad’s grip tightens around my hand. “I was in the room when he made that threat. Your grandpa told me everything afterward.”

“You knew?” My stomach churns.

“Yes, Gareth.” His voice softens. “I only wish you’d trusted me then.”

“It wasn’t that. I just didn’t want to wake you up,” I mumble, unease eating at me.

“It’s okay, Gareth. I know you didn’t trust me. Not after Killian.”

“W-what?”

“You hated me a little after Kill was diagnosed.”

“No, I would never hate you, Dad.”

“But you did, and that’s fine. You couldn’t help it. Because Kill is like you and part of you, so you felt like I let you down by letting him down, and you hid your true nature from me. So I would never find out.”

My jaw nearly hits the floor. “You… Is that why you never had me diagnosed even though you suspected it?”

“I didn’t want to lose another son. It was hard enough being despised by Kill.”

“D-Dad, I…never despised you or anything of the sort. I was scared that you’d…you’d see the real me and find me disturbing.”

“Never, Gareth.” He strokes my cheek. “You’re my son, I’d never find you, or your brother, for that matter, disturbing. But I understand I went about explaining that the wrong way.”

“Hotheaded, more like,” Grandpa mutters.

“Can you not add fuel to the fire?” Dad throws him a glare. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you weren’t friends with that snake Baltimore.”

“So it’s my fault I saved my grandson from prison?”

“No, but it would’ve been smarter to let us use the mafia connections instead of him.”

“Would that be before or after you throw a bitch fit?”

I can’t help the small smile that stretches my lips, because Dad said he’s not disturbed by me. Or worse, scared.

“At any rate,” Grandpa says after they’re done fighting. “Your father managed to have the evidence stolen and burned after Senator Baltimore died, so you don’t need to worry, my boy.”

“You did that for me, Dad?”

“Of course,” Dad replies, his voice steady. “I’d never let you go to prison.”

“Even if I kill again?”

Dad’s eyes darken, but his answer is firm. “I’d prefer you didn’t. But yes, even then.”

“It’s not like I’m a serial killer or anything, don’t worry.” I pause. “Though I think I would’ve become one if I didn’t have a loving family, so there’s that. I also found something to fill up the emptiness…”

The words linger as a realization punches me in the gut.

Oh.

The void hasn’t plagued me in months.

Because of Kayden.

I was so obsessed with him, so distracted by his sheer presence, bursting at each of his praises that not only did the void shrink, I also forgot about it.

He filled it, saturated the emptiness with his existence, his touch. He took me to that peaceful white room.

But now, knowing I was just another stand-in for her, the void is back. Ten times worse than before.

Wider.

Deeper.

Emptier.

“Something?” Dad prompts, his tone expectant. “Is this about the numerous calls we received about wooing a certain girl?”

I gulp. “I…it’s not about a girl.”

His brows knit together.

“It was a man,” I admit, my voice faltering.

The silence is deafening.

Yeah, this isn’t how I wanted to come out—if this even counts as coming out.

Well, fuck it. Who cares?

Obviously, my dad and grandpa do, because they’re just staring at me.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. We’re not together anymore,” I grumble, sinking into the bed like it might swallow me whole. “And before you ask, I don’t think I’m gay. Maybe bi. Not entirely sure, and honestly, I don’t want to box myself in. What I do know is that he’s the only man I’ve ever been attracted to. You know I’ve only dated girls, so this might be…a surprise.”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being gay or bi,” Dad says, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to read my mind. “I’m just trying to figure out who this guy is. Someone we know?”

“He’s not important,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze.

Grandpa’s chair scrapes back as he bolts upright. “Gareth Anthony Carson!”

“What?” I jerk my head toward him, my heart thudding.

Dad’s glare shifts to Grandpa. “Why are you yelling at my son?”

Grandpa pinches the bridge of his nose. “This someone…he wouldn’t happen to be the same man who called me to say you were ‘under his care’ and then hung up in my face, would he? No, that’s not possible. Right, Gareth?”

My lips part, and the room tilts slightly.

Kayden called Grandpa? To let him know I was okay?

“It’s true?” Grandpa’s face turns red, his voice rising. “God fucking dammit, Gareth! He’s your father’s age!”

“Actually,” I cut in, holding up a hand, “he’s thirty-three. Dad is forty-seven. So you’re way off the mark.”

Grandpa’s shoulders stiffen, his jaw tightening. “That’s not the point here.”

“Then what is the point? That I fell for someone who happens to be older?”

“Yes!” Grandpa’s voice booms, his frustration palpable. “He is old, Gareth. Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve protected you from him.”

“I didn’t need protecting!” My voice slices through the tension, sharp and biting. “I’m not some fragile doll. I can handle myself.”

“Clearly,” Grandpa grits out, leaning forward. “Until you end up kidnapped and injured. You’re still a child⁠—”

“I’m twenty-two!”

“And he’s in his thirties!”

“Can we not make this about the numbers?” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “You’re acting like I brought home someone on Social Security.”

Grandpa’s lips twitch, betraying the faintest hint of amusement before his scowl returns. “Gareth, this isn’t just about his age. It’s about the dynamic. Did he manipulate you? Use his position to⁠—”

“No,” I snap, cutting him off. “I threatened to kill him if he left me. Happy now?”

Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.

Grandpa finally exhales heavily, rubbing his temples. “Threatened to kill him or not, you’re my grandson, and I don’t like the thought of anyone taking advantage of you.”

“Noted,” I reply dryly. “But maybe trust me when I say he didn’t.”

Dad, who’s been quietly observing the whole exchange, leans back, his expression unreadable. “Can someone fill me in?”

Grandpa scoffs. “Well, your dear son thought it was a fantastic idea to go out with Kayden Davenport.”

“The Kayden Davenport?” Dad’s brows shoot up.

“The one and only,” Grandpa mutters darkly.

“I didn’t even know his last name was Davenport,” I add with an awkward shrug. “Does that help?”noveldrama

“Age aside, he obviously played you to try to get to me.” Grandpa sits back down. “Fucking bastard. I will send people to kill him. Don’t worry, Gareth. It’s not your fault for falling for that snake’s tricks.”

“So let me get this straight,” Dad says slowly, his voice even. “Kayden Davenport, whose wife was raped and murdered by Senator Baltimore and his friends, and who definitely killed or had them killed over the past couple years, is the same person you’ve been…in love with?”

“I haven’t been in love!” I shout, my face heating.

“He hasn’t been in love with him,” Grandpa yells simultaneously, his voice laced with denial.

Dad’s lips twitch, but his gaze sharpens. “All right. I definitely believe you. Was he the one who kidnapped you?”

“No,” I mumble. “He saved me. It was his wife’s brother.”

“Is the brother dead?” Dad’s tone hardens.

“I…don’t know.”

“Probably not,” Grandpa interjects, crossing his arms. “Considering the two guards stationed outside since you were dropped off.”

My brows knit. “Two guards?”

“Yes,” Dad confirms. “The woman who drove you here and another guy built like a brick wall.”

Nadine didn’t leave? Or Simone—whatever her name is. Not my fault she has two identities.

“Don’t send people to kill him, Grandpa,” I say, flicking my thumb on the corner of my lip. “We’re nothing to each other now, and he promised not to hurt you. We don’t owe each other anything.”

“Like hell we don’t!” Grandpa snarls. “He used you. Lied to you. Asher, we need to do something about this.”

“He did it for his wife,” I argue softly, my chest tightening. “I think you’d do the same, Dad.”

Dad’s gaze hardens, but his voice is calm. “Gareth, you’re far from okay if you’re hurting yourself instead of him.”

“I’ll blow his head off if he comes near you again,” Grandpa adds with a growl.

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. I guess we’re safe since I’ll never see Kayden again.

Even if he’s still in my blood. Even if I can’t remove him unless I rip myself apart.

But I won’t do that—not when it’ll make Dad and Grandpa look like this. Distraught. Torn.

Grandpa feels guilty for involving Baltimore, but he shouldn’t. He had nothing to do with Cassandra’s death. Nothing to feel guilty about.

Dad, though, is another story. He’s regretting not handling Baltimore himself. In his mind, if he had, none of this would’ve happened.

But that means I wouldn’t have met Kayden.

And that’s a reality I hate more than this feeling.

An hour later, the door to my room bangs open, and my brother strolls in with Glyn trailing behind him. He looks slightly disheveled, like he just rolled out of bed, which is rare for Killian.

Dad and Grandpa exchange glances before standing up and leaving the room. Not without first giving me a look, though. Not sure what it’s supposed to be. Concern, maybe?

Do they think I’m fragile or something? That I’m breakable? Please. I don’t do feelings, so this…thing isn’t affecting me.

At all.

It’s not like I’m itching to go back to him. Or that I keep glancing at my fingers because he bandaged them. Or that I’m fighting the urge to call him just to hear his voice.

I haven’t smelled him in more than a day, and I’m pretty sure that’s the reason for the headache.

Morbid withdrawal. That’s it.

That’s all.

“Oh my God, are you okay, Gaz?” Glyn rushes to my bedside, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Her messy bun wobbles as she sits, dressed in casual jeans and an oversized sweater. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she hasn’t slept well. Probably fretting over Killian, who’s standing a short distance away with both hands stuffed into his pockets.

“We were so worried about you when you disappeared.” Her voice wavers slightly.

“I’m fine.” I grin at Kill, ignoring her mushiness. “Were you also worried about me, brother dearest?”

“She dragged me here against my will.” He juts his chin toward Glyn, but his eyes are locked on me, scanning me up and down like he’s taking inventory. His expression is as unreadable as ever, but his gaze darkens slightly upon seeing my bandages, betraying him.

Kill might pretend he’s indifferent, but I know better. My brother is someone who thinks I belong to him, just like I think he belongs to me. Sure, he gives me shit, but if anyone dared to touch me, he’d raze their entire existence to the ground.

Guess that’s our warped way of showing care.

“He’s lying,” Glyn pipes up, giving him an exasperated look. “He lost his mind when you went missing. Made everyone look for you, including my brother Lan—whom he never talks to. Can you imagine? He actually said, ‘You, stop being a waste of space and use your skills to do something useful for once in your miserable life.’ He even stormed the Serpents’ territory and nearly killed everyone just to confirm you weren’t there. It was terrifying, honestly.”

I bite my bottom lip to keep a smile from breaking through. “I’m touched.”

“I did it for Mom and Dad,” Killian grumbles, his gaze snapping to Glyn in warning. “They’d start crying, and I didn’t want to deal with the drama.”

“I appreciate it anyway,” I say with a shrug.

“He’s still lying.” Glyn rolls her eyes dramatically. “He was agitated the entire plane ride.”

“Motion sickness, not agitation,” Kill corrects her without missing a beat.

“You don’t get motion sickness.” She glares. “Would it kill you to admit you were worried about Gareth?”

“Who did that?” he asks, completely ignoring her, his gaze zeroing in on my bandages. “Do we have a name?”

“Why? So you can kill them for me?” I quirk a brow.

“It can be arranged.” His tone is matter-of-fact, like he’s offering to pick up groceries.

“Thanks, Kill, but I’ve got this under control.”

Because I’ll get over the man who gave me a lifeline, only to cut the rope.

And when I do, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.