The devil

Chapter 30 Damien

Past…

“Did you speak to Detective Trejo?”

“Jesus Christ.” My heart rate accelerates at the sound of Cain’s voice in the pitch-black room. “Give me a heads-up next time.”

My eyes adjust, and I see the desk chair Cain’s sitting on shift slightly, but he doesn’t turn around. He keeps his focus glued to the tank—which is weird as fuck given the neon lights are turned off.

Then again, Cain’s not exactly normal. Neither of us are.

We’re two screwed up peas in one fucked-up pod.

Which is why I can’t blame him for what happened to Mrs. Miller.

If the roles were reversed—I might have sacrificed someone Cain cared about in order to save myself. Save us.

Like my father always says. You have two choices in life—you can either be the lamb…or the slaughterer.

Cain finally got tired of being the lamb.

My chest constricts, and I feel around for my cigarettes. I don’t blame Cain for standing up for himself, but it sucks that Mrs. Miller got caught in the crossfire.

Cain didn’t mean it—I remind myself. He had no other choice. It was her or us…and he chose us.

Just like I did.

“Yeah, I talked to him.” Fetching my lighter, I put the flame to the end of my cigarette and take a long drag. “Listen, I don’t know if you heard but—”

“Mrs. Miller’s dead.” His voice is flat. Devoid of any emotion…not even shock. “Her husband beat her to death.”

“Yeah,” I utter, the gravity of it all settling in my gut like a brick. “It su—”

“How did everything go at the precinct?”

His immediate change of subject sends a spike of irritation through me. “You mean apart from finding out Mrs. Miller died? Fine, I guess.”

His heavy sigh tells me he’s about as irritated as I am. “Did you stick to the story? Or did you throw a curveball like you usually do?”

I cross my arms. “I didn’t throw any curveballs. I told you, I got your back.”

“Why?”

My eyes narrow. I don’t like that he’s questioning my motives when he already knows he has my unconditional loyalty. Or how he won’t spare Mrs. Miller’s death more than a second of his time considering he’s partially responsible for it.  

And I’m feeling all kinds of fucked up about it.

Dragging a hand over my scalp, I mutter a curse. “You already know why, Cain.”

“Because you’re a cocksucker who’s infatuated with me.”  

There’s no teasing in his voice. It comes out like an accusation.

“Yeah, well. Last time I checked, your feelings were mutual.”

With the way Cain’s been on my dick lately, I thought he moved past his hang-ups about our situation.

I thought he realized, just like I did weeks ago—that what we have—this eerie pull between us—isn’t wrong.

“Christ.” His laugh is antagonizing. “You’re either too stupid to realize, or too obsessed with me to notice.”

The energy in the room transforms into something ominous and my muscles tense on instinct. “Realize what?”

“That two people can feel the same emotion for two very different reasons,” he says slowly like I’m a small child incapable of comprehending something so extensive.  

And fuck me, because I’m starting to feel like one. Cain’s not being straightforward with me. He’s speaking in riddles and then cutting me off with nasty remarks…like a politician having a debate with his opponent.

But I’m not Cain’s opponent. I’ve never been his opponent. We’re a team.

Before I can ask him what his problem is, the lights in the neon tank turn on. Usually, I have a divider between the regular fish and my piranha until he’s ready to eat them.

But there aren’t any regular fish. There’s only my piranha in the main part of the tank…and what appears to be a new piranha on the other side of the divider.

“For instance, take these two piranhas,” Cain states. “Your piranha has been fed today. He is calm.  Relaxed. In control. But the other one? He’s hungry, Damien. It’s been so long since he’s been fed, he’s downright desperate. It doesn’t even matter what kind of food he gets, or where it comes from…he’ll do anything for it.”

More riddles. More smoke screens. It’s all I can do not to reach over and shake the shit out of him until he gives me something real.

Something that doesn’t twist my insides like every word out of his mouth does currently.

“Is there a point—”  

He clicks a button on the remote next to him. “Watch what happens when the two piranhas meet.”

“Cain—” It’s too late. The hungry piranha is already devouring the other one.

He never saw it coming.

Cain spins around to face me. “Two hungry piranhas can never coexist in one tank, Damien. Sooner or later, one will lose.”

His expression twists. There’s so much animosity radiating from him I nearly rock back on my feet. “Much like the piranha you kept on the other side of the divider…you stalked and salivated over me for weeks, waiting for the right opportunity to feast.” He rises from the chair. “But when it didn’t come fast enough, you decided to create your own by screwing my girlfriend—and then while I was at my lowest, you used the leverage you gained to lure me into your fucked-up playground.” His eyes become tiny slits. “When I resisted, you seduced me with temptation and lust… utilizing Mrs. Miller as bait until I finally caved.” He walks toward me slowly, sizing me up. “However, me participating in your bedroom games wasn’t enough…because it wasn’t what you really wanted. Our mock friendship was merely a trap. A divider that enabled you to get a closer look at your meal…because you weren’t going to stop pursuing me until I was all yours.”

Cain’s not wrong. I needed to find out what made him tick…see if we were cut from the same cloth as I’d suspected.

But in order to find all that out, I had to invite him into my world and get under his skin like he’d gotten under mine.

I had to find out why my interest in him was becoming all-consuming. An unbearable itch that would kill me if I didn’t scratch it.

And once I realized why…he didn’t stand a chance in hell of escaping me. He was mine the moment I decided I wanted him to be.

Just like everyone else I’ve ever wanted. Only unlike them…Cain’s special.

However, if Cain didn’t want this, he could have stopped it before it spun out of control. Instead, he kept coming back for more.

Kept toying with me. Kept pushing my buttons.

Because he likes my attention. And he craves the things I do to his body.

He’s addicted to his pedestal. Same way I’m addicted to him.

“You can stand here and point fingers at me. You can even make yourself believe you were taken advantage of if that’s what helps you sleep at night.” Taking a step forward, I close the distance between us. I smirk when I feel the growing bulge along his thigh. I haven’t even touched him and he’s already hard. “But we both know my interest wasn’t one-sided. You enjoy being my prey.” Leaning in, I lick the shell of his ear. “The only thing you didn’t like? Was the idea of sharing your pedestal with someone else. Which is why you got rid of Mrs. Miller.”

“You’re right.” The sound of his zipper lowering has my own dick hardening. “It’s no secret I’ve always had a problem sharing my toys and getting along with others.”

The bitterness in his tone is unmistakable. I want to remind him this is no longer a competition because Mrs. Miller’s already dead and I’m already his—but he presses down on my shoulder, urging me on my knees. “Now why don’t you give me something to take the edge off while I finish the rest of this conversation?”