Cards of Love: The Devil (Devil's Playground #1)(25)

I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. None of this shit makes any sense. “Why would you be okay with people thinking I’m you?”

He drops his cigarette and steps on it. “So you can be you without having to suffer the consequences. Every text you send to Mrs. Miller and whoever else is through my phone number. No one will be able to trace it back to you. Therefore, you don’t have to worry about your past coming back to haunt you.”

His statement only confuses me more. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m not really sure. Maybe I’m in the mood for a friend.”

“You don’t have friends.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, let’s say I went along with…whatever this is. How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.”

I hand him back his phone. “Thanks for the offer, it’s tempting, but I’m gonna pass.”

“Why?”

“Are you dense? You just said it yourself. I can’t trust you. Why in the world would I open myself up to that potential pitfall? There are plenty of girls my own age I can hook up with without all the bullshit yours bring.”

“You’re right.” He stops walking when we reach my car. “There are plenty of sweet, wholesome girls who would give their left tit to suck your right nut…but you and I both know it’s not the same. People like us need more than that. Their idea of a thrill is jerking their boyfriends off in a movie theater. Not the same shit we’re into.”

“You don’t know what kind of shit I’m into.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He shoves me against my car. “I saw you in that classroom, brother. You’re like a goddamn bomb ready to explode. And if you don’t relieve some of that pent-up tension inside you, sooner or later you’re going to detonate.” He punches the side of my car. “Boom.”

“No offense, but you’re fucking crazy. I don’t know what you think you know about me, but whatever it is, I guarantee you it’s wrong. I’m fine, Damien. Unlike you, I’m normal.” I open my car door. “Go find someone else who wants to ride shotgun to your twisted shit.”

White-hot pain sears through my body when he grabs my neck. “You have a bruise the size of Texas on your back, dude.”

He releases me, but I stay put, too afraid to move or speak.

“And before you accuse me of stalking you, I have gym eighth period. I’m guessing you have gym seventh because you were still in the locker room changing when I arrived.”

Finally, I find my voice. “I think you’re mistaken.”

He snorts. “About the line of bruises spanning from your neck to your ass…or the fact that your daddy is responsible for putting them there?”

In two fluid movements, my hand is wrapped around his throat. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” I tighten my hold, watching his face change colors. “I fell down the stairs last week.”

It’s a lie and he knows it. But admitting your dad is still beating the shit out of you when you’re about to graduate high school isn’t something a man does.

Neither is disclosing the fact that your own brother picked up his bad habits. What started out as a regular argument last week ended with my brother taking a chair to my back.

Which of course led to my father taking off his belt while I was too weak to defend myself—because according to him, I must have provoked his favorite twin.

My family has problems…every family does. However, my family problems are my business, not his.

Despite his red face, Damien doesn’t struggle. Instead, his blue eyes blaze, challenging me. Like he wants to see how far I’ll go.

He coughs when I release him. “Like I said…boom.”

“I thought you said you had Mrs. Miller for eighth period?” I yell when he stalks off.

Between the phone and his fixation on my personal life, I can’t help but feel like he intentionally set me up to walk in there.

And if he’d go that far, there’s no telling what else he would do if I agreed to this strange friendship.

He turns, arms wide. “Thought you said you had a student council meeting today?” He flips me the bird when I stay silent, his expression growing sinister. “Looks like we’re both liars.”





Chapter 14





Cain





“I’ve arranged for the local newspaper to come by this week and do a story on the engagement,” Milton Bexley informs me, his eyes zipping around the room. “Where is that goddamn waitress with the shish kabobs? Swear this event goes farther downhill every year.”

“You already finished your second plate of hors-d'oeuvres, Daddy. The doctor said you need to watch your diet and cholesterol,” Margaret scolds, nudging him with the stick of her purple masquerade mask.

A waitress appears at his side a moment later. “Would you like more?”

“Yes.” I down the rest of my whiskey and place the empty glass on her tray. “Make it a double.”

Milton nods. “Me too.”

“Right away, sir,” the waitress says at the same time Margaret hisses, “Daddy.”