Cards of Love: The Devil (Devil's Playground #1)(17)

Her mouth drops open and she looks at Damien to defend her honor.

I tense, preparing for a fight. I don’t want one, but it’s pretty much unavoidable at this point thanks to my outburst.

To my surprise and bemusement, Damien remains silent as he takes another drag off his cigarette, appearing undeniably lackadaisical.

“All right, it’s settled then. We’re over.” Straightening her spine, Katrina bats her eyelashes at Damien. “Call me later?”

Damien stares at her blankly. “I thought we were over?”

She looks about as confused as I feel. “Me and Cain are over, silly. Not us.”

Damien looks positively disturbed. “I don’t do girlfriends.”

“Of course not,” Katrina coos. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a week. It’s too soon for that kind of talk.”

“Fucking,” Damien corrects. “I fucked you twice in the same week.” He takes another long drag off his cigarette. “And only because I thought you already had a boyfriend and therefore not looking for one.”

Well, this is awkward.

Katrina smiles nervously. “Can we not talk about this in front of Cain? I don’t want to upset him more than he already is.”

Jesus Christ. I suddenly feel like a child in the middle of a divorce.

“I’m not upset.” I’m a little upset.

“Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but just because I shared the same cunt with your boyfriend, doesn’t mean I share or inherit your relationship problems. The pussy is the only part I’m interested in.” Damien stubs out his cigarette. “Unfortunately for you, yours is now past the acceptable expiration date.”

Dammit, he not only screwed my girl, he also had a better breakup line.

Katrina understandably looks offended. “You’re an asshole.”

It’s my turn to snort. Telling Damien King he’s an asshole is like telling a deaf person they can’t hear. Utterly pointless.

She grabs her purse. “The two of you can go to hell.”

And she must be blind because I’m pretty sure I’m already here.

Damien laughs as she closes the shed door behind her.

“Something funny?”

He looks around. “You talking to me?”

“What are you, DeNiro? Of course, I’m talking to you. Who else is here—” The sound of clanking outside snags my attention. “What was that?”

He curses under his breath. “That was the sound of us getting fucked.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He walks over to the door and pushes. “She locked us in here.”

I walk over and try it myself. “Shit.”

He rolls his creepy eyes. “Told you.” He pulls out his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m gonna call someone who can get us out.”

I look around. “We can probably get ourselves out. We are in the shop shed.”

His tongue finds his cheek. “See a blowtorch around here?”

No. There’s nothing but wood and basic hand tools. None of which do us any good since we’re locked on the inside.

“Exactly.” He brings the phone to his ear. “Yo, Bagels, it’s D. Listen, I need a favor. I was fucking some bitch in the school shed, but shit went south, and she ended up locking me in here. My phone’s about to die so don’t call me back. Just get your ass to the shed with some bolt cutters.” He’s about to hang up but pauses. “And an eighth of that green lady. I’m good for it.”

I glare at him. “Did you really just call your drug dealer for help?”

The last thing I need is to be discovered in the school shed with Cheech and Chong’s long-lost brother and an eighth of weed four months before graduation.

My father will kill me.

He picks his cuticles. “If you’re so concerned, call one of your own contacts and handle it yourself.”

“I will.” I feel around for my own phone but come up empty. “Shit.”

“What’s the matter, Mr. President? Find a hole in your polo?”

Annoyance skitters up my spine. “I left my phone in the cafeteria.”

He throws his at me. “Knock yourself out.”

I go to dial, but the phone screen goes black. “It’s dead.” Panic rivals my annoyance. “The only person who can help us now is a drug dealer named Bagels who’s probably too stoned to remember his actual name let alone go on a rescue mission.” I scowl. “How the hell my girlfriend cheated on me with someone like you is beyond me.”

He lights another cigarette. “Bagels will come through. Dude can’t say no to a sale. It’s why I asked him to bring weed.” He shrugs. “As for your chick…that’s simple. I’m richer and I fuck better.”

For a moment, I contemplate how to kill him and get away with it. Money is an extremely sore subject for me. Always has been. On the outside, my family looks like they do pretty well. And we would be…if it weren’t for my father’s bad habit of needing to be bigger and better than everyone else around him. His spending habits were easier when he still had my mom’s trust money coming in, but he blew every cent of it—leaving nothing for me or my brother like she wanted.

In the last three years alone he’s purchased two boats, four cars, a vacation home, and tons of other expensive things he’ll never be able to pay off in his lifetime if he doesn’t stop.