The devil's advocate

His assault in the bathroom isn’t something I can excuse, and I won’t…but there’s a chance I’ve been on the wrong side this entire time and assisting the wrong man.

Cain said Damien knew things about his past and was using it to blackmail him.

Before now, I couldn’t think of a single reason Cain would want to punish Damien for killing the people who abused him. It didn’t make sense.

But if Damien and Cain did certain things in the past, and Damien’s intentionally holding it against him now, while he’s ru

Damien warned me he only did things for personal gain and when it was over between us, I’d be grateful.

But he was wrong. I’m not grateful. I’m fucking hurt.

Because I made the crucial mistake of catching feelings for a man I shouldn’t have…again.

The gruesome feeling in my stomach intensifies. Damien played me like a goddamn fiddle.

Maybe he played Cain like one too? Or…maybe they’re both in cahoots with each other and they like torturing women?

No matter what it is, I don’t want to stick around to find out.

“Eden,” Damien calls out behind me.

I run faster. If I never see him again, it will be too soon.

He wants me gone so badly. I’m gone.

Damien and Cain can have each other. Or fend for themselves. Either way, I no longer give a shit. I’m out. I’m done. I’m through.

Fuck Cain. Fuck Damien. Fuck them both.

My heart will heal eventually. Or maybe it won’t. It doesn’t matter. I only need the physical organ to survive.

I won’t end up dead like that woman.

I won’t be part of their sick game any longer.

I’m a player, not a pawn.

A strong arm wraps around my waist and a large hand clamps over my mouth before I’m dragged backward.

I sink my teeth into Damien’s hand, struggling against his hold as he wrenches me through the open door of an empty conference room, then kicks it closed behind him.

It’s a straight-up brawl as we tumble to the floor. One that ends with him on top of me, pi

Too bad he chose the wrong arm.

Damien was right about one thing, the knife he gave me is good for self-defense. The sick fuck almost looks proud as I hold it up to his neck…until it dawns on him that I have every intention of using it.

“Give me a chance to explain. If you still want to take a stab at me after, be my guest.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Or anyone else. I never will again.

“I know what you’re thinking. I can’t say I blame you, because I’d be thinking the same fucking thing. But I need you to listen to me.”

“No—”

He places my free hand on his heart. It’s pumping so fast it’s practically galloping out of his body. “This isn’t a trick. This thing between us, whatever it is—is real. It might not have started that way, and it sure as fuck wasn’t supposed to end up this way…but it’s the truth.”

Stupid, traitorous heart. “Start talking.”

“Cain and I became friends during our senior year of high school.”

I should stab him just for thinking I’m that dumb. “What I saw looked like way more than friendship.”

He nods. “Yeah, it was.” His voice drops. “For one of us.”

I’m not sure what to make of the expression on his face. There’s something breaking through the surface. Something I haven’t seen from him before.

It catches me by the throat when it hits me.

Pain. The kind you can’t fake. The kind I know.

“You love him.”

“I did.” He holds my gaze. “Not anymore, though. Not since he betrayed me.”

I slide the knife back into my garter. His guard is down for the first time since I’ve known him, and it’s compelling enough I’ll risk the potential consequence.

“What happened?”

He closes his eyes, it’s as if the memory was physically slashing right through him. “Cain fascinated me. Not because he had money or because he was popular. But because I felt something I hadn’t felt with a single soul before him.”

“What?”

He looks down at me. “A co

Something in my chest dislodges. As much as I want to hate him and judge him…I can’t. Because I get it. We had a similar upbringing.

And when you spend your life being ignored by the person who’s supposed to provide, love, and care for you…it leaves you with a gaping hole inside.

A hole you’re equally desperate and petrified to fill. Because the fear of neglect is a living, breathing entity. It lingers in the shadows. Creeps its way into everything you do. It’s your only constant companion.

It makes sense now why Damien asked me if I believed in ghosts.

Because that’s exactly what it’s like. You walk, talk, and breathe, but you never feel. People don’t see you and you don’t see them. They become figurines made of glass. Stand-ins made of cardboard.

Touch is cold. Taste is bitter. Air is suffocating.

Because it’s all you’ve ever known. It’s what you’ve become accustomed to.

You wouldn’t know real if it hit you upside the head with a steel bat because you’ve never felt anything tangible before.

How could you? You never learned how to form a simple, basic human co

Until one day, the impossible happens. Someone comes along, picks you up from the rubble, and dusts you off.

They look into your eyes…and they see you. They see you in a way no one else ever has. No one’s ever tried to.

Suddenly, the world is different. Colors are vibrant. Sounds are clearer. Air is sweeter.

The dead thing in your chest starts to beat.

You’re alive. For the very first time.

Not wanting to lose that, you hold on to them with everything you have. Hell, even some things you don’t.

It doesn’t matter. You’re addicted. Obsessed. You need them like a heart needs a beat. You need them to function.