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Chapter 18 Eden
Two hours into our reality television marathon, a sleeping Geoffrey snores peacefully in the chair beside my bed while my mind continues to spin.
Five minutes after I sent my last message, Geoffrey appeared to keep me company.
Coincidence? I think not. Which leads me back to that weird bolt of intuition I had in the bathroom.
Cain’s lied to me before, but he had no reason to lie about the app.
Damien’s also lied to me once before, and he has every reason to lie about the app.
There’s only one way to prove what has now become glaringly obvious to me.
Angelbaby123: Hey, I know you’re busy, but I have a quick question.
I’m surprised when he responds so soon.
Devil: Go ahead.
Angelbaby123: Do you remember that thing we talked about earlier?
Devil: Can you be more specific?
Angelbaby123: In the bathroom.
Devil: I remember our conversation. Yes.
He skated right past that one, so I go in a different direction.
Angelbaby123: What about after it?
Devil: Is this a trick question?
That’s exactly what it is.
Angelbaby123: No. I just want to know if I’m better in bed than Margaret is.
I hold my breath as he types out his response.
Devil: Self-doubt is an unattractive quality.
Dick. I try again.
Angelbaby123: Sorry, I don’t feel so good.
Devil: What’s the matter?
Angelbaby123: I don’t know. Everything is spi
Less than a second later, Geoffrey’s phone rings. The poor guy leaps up from his seat like a startled cat as he answers.
“Yes, sir. Hello, sir.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Eden is f—”
A bolt of anger strikes through me like wildfire and I run for the door. Eden is not fine.
Eden’s had enough.
“She’s leaving the bedroom,” Geoffrey yells, following close behind me.
I charge down the staircase and then another until there are no more steps and I’m forced to enter a dark, narrow hallway.
Damien must have called Geoffrey off because I no longer hear him chasing me as I trek to the end and make a sharp left.
The neon glow from a gigantic fish tank stationed behind a dark mahogany desk illuminates the room.
Damien doesn’t turn around as I approach, but I see the hand resting on the arm of his chair tense.
My heart beats faster as I come to a stop at the front of his desk. “You’re the Devil.”
He doesn’t say a word. The stupid fish have his undivided attention.
And while the fish are beautiful in all their bright, tropical glory—apart from the isolated creepy one sanctioned behind a divider—this is far more important.
“For weeks you tricked me into thinking I was talking to the man I loved on that app.” I poke the wood with my finger, wishing it were his eyeballs. “I told you things. Personal things.”
My stomach sways. I sent him pictures.
But it’s my next realization that has me reeling.
“You tricked me into going to the ball.” I slam my fist on the desk, infuriation streaming through my veins. “You set me up.”
You seduced me in a closet.
“Some might say I did you a favor.” The arrogance in his tone is sickening. “It would have hurt worse if Cain pulled the rug out from under you, and then lured you back in again and again until he decided he had no more use for you. Trust me.”
That may be true, but it still doesn’t make it right. “What Cain did doesn’t change what you did, Damien.”
“If you came down here looking for an apology, little lamb—you’re out of luck.”
“What about an explanation?” I shake my head, feeling so dumb I could scream. There’s no reasoning with a psychopath. Someone so evil is already too far gone. “On second thought, save it. Every word out of your mouth has been a lie. Why would this be any different?”
I have one foot out the door when he speaks again. “Not every word.”
No. He doesn’t get to do that. He doesn’t get to screw with my head like this. “Fuck you.”
“It’s a shame you don’t aim all your anger at the right target.”
I whirl around at the same time he does. “You’re a hypocrite. Cain might be an asshole, but he’s never done the things you have. And at least when he hurts someone, he’s genuinely sorry for it, which is a lot more than I can say for you.”
The hardness in his eyes is gone, replaced by something much more appalling. Pity.
“Christ. You’re pathetic.”
“Does it feel good?” I ask, tears stinging my eyes, despite fighting like hell to fend them off.
“Does what feel good?”
“Breaking people down to nothing in such an ugly, heartless way?”
Hell, his other victims were lucky. He had mercy on them and burned them to death. He didn’t subject them to this kind of torture first.
As usual, silence is his only response to the questions I want answers to the most.
“That’s what I thought.”
No wonder Cain doesn’t want to be anywhere near him.
Damien King is toxic. Straight venom to the heart.
I’ve barely turned on my heel again when I hear a dense thud.
“I’d say yes, but it looks like someone else broke you first.”