by Ashley Jade
No. It can’t be. I’m hallucinating.
I shake my head, convinced the stress of the election is responsible for my current state.
However, my blood turns cold when the man turns his head and a pair of creepy blue eyes meet mine.
His lips curve into a vicious smirk, drawing my attention to the blood on his jaw before he spears her with his tongue again.
My teeth clench as I process what’s happening.
Eden. Damien. Eden. Damien.
It’s the equivalent of stepping on a landmine.
I go to turn the knob, but I can’t. When I push harder, I realize both balcony doors are fastened shut from the outside, preventing me from opening them.
Rage twists my insides as I bring my fist to the glass and pound on it. “Eden!”
She doesn’t know who Damien King is. She doesn’t realize he’s dangerous. She doesn’t know…
She doesn’t know the truth.
“Eden—” My stomach sinks when she goes limp. One of her wrists is tied to the railing, causing her body to sway ever so slightly—my very own pendulum of doom.
Damien stands up and walks toward me with an amused expression on his face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He gestures to Eden, his eyes becoming tiny slits. “Guess that makes two of us.”
Dread claws at my chest. He’s like a piranha teasing his meal.
He’s got me right where he wants me.
It’s all I can do not to find a sledgehammer and break through the glass door separating us so I can rip his jugular out with my teeth.
I open my mouth to speak, but my phone vibrates.
He blows a line of smoke in my direction. “You might want to answer that.”
My jaw tics as I bring my phone to my ear. According to the screen, it’s Andrew Jones—the head of the committee for my political party.
It’s odd he would be calling me when I saw him downstairs earlier.
“Hello—”
“We have a problem,” he says, cutting me off. “David Covey is dead.”
I want to remind him that it’s not so much a problem as it is a blessing, considering he was my opponent, but I’m too shocked at the news. “That’s…when? He was here tonight—”
“I know. I’m not sure of the details yet, but I have a friend who works at the medical examiner’s office and she said she’ll let me know what happened when she does. In the meantime, I called an emergency meeting with the committee so we can come up with a game plan. Governor Bexley was kind enough to offer us his home to set up camp for however long we need it, since townhall is closed until the morning. I’ll see you there in say, fifteen minutes?”
“Yeah, I just have to…” I clear my throat. “I’ll be there.”
“Everything okay?” Damien questions after I hang up. There’s no mistaking the taunting bite in his voice.
“Fu—” My sentence stalls when I hear the front door of the suite open.
“Cain?” Margaret calls out. “Are you in here? Cain?” she repeats and panic lodges in my throat. The click-clack of her heels tells me she’s heading for the bedroom.
I look past Damien to Eden and my chest tightens.
Damien, appearing to enjoy the dilemma he’s created, rubs his chin. “Quite the predicament you’re in.”
“I’ll be downstairs in a minute, Margaret,” I bellow over my shoulder. “Just finishing up in the bathroom.”
Every muscle in my body contracts in aggravation when I turn my attention back to Damien.
I should have known he wouldn’t stay away forever.
“This isn’t over,” I snarl, stabbing the door with my finger.
Damien’s lips twitch in amusement. “Not by a long shot.” He licks his blood tinged thumb. “But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”
Chapter 9
Eden
A beam of sunlight breaks through a crevice in the dark curtains, rousing me from sleep. The streak of light is harsh when I open my eyes, and I turn my head away.
Grogginess has me combating the urge to fall back asleep, and the pulsating in my temples makes it hard to formulate a cohesive thought, but I know one thing is certain.
This isn’t my bedroom.
My mouth is bone dry and my throat is thick when I swallow. However, it’s nothing compared to the dull ache between my thighs and the throbbing pain in my left wrist.
I try to examine the cause of it, but I can’t…both of my wrists are tied to the bedpost.
I suck in a rush of air when I peer down at my naked body. Confusion, followed by a wave of anxiety, shoots through me like a cannon as I recall the events of last night.
I had sex…with someone named Damien King.
The man who was hired by my stepfather and his new fiancée to kill me.
Tears prickle my eyes. On second thought—sleep seems explicitly better than reality.
No. I can cry over his betrayal later. Right now, I need to figure out who this Damien King dude is and what else he wants from me in exchange for his help.
Given he drugged me and has me bound to his bed—my virginity obviously wasn’t enough for him.
I fight back a shiver. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
As if answering my question, the bedroom door opens and it’s not long before his tall, muscular frame is parked at the end of the bed, studying me as if I were bacteria under a microscope.
I’m disgusted that my first thought is how attractive he is, instead of preserving my dignity.
He crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze unwavering. The longer he stares at me, the more humiliated I feel.
Which is exactly what he wants.
My mother once told me vultures’ prey on the weak and broken…and she wasn’t talking about the birds.
Stuffing down my embarrassment, I look him straight in the eye. I refuse to let him reduce me to nothing.
He’s the one who should feel ashamed about tying a naked girl to his bed…not me.
“You drugged me.” I don’t pretend to disguise it as a question or an accusation, we both know what he did. “You realize you could have killed me, right?”
“It was a sedative.” The corners of his lips curl up. “And you didn’t seem to care about dying last night.”
I don’t know what irritates me more—his apparent amusement over my suicidal thoughts…or that he’s right.
Since I don’t have a retort, I scan his tattoos which are on full display due to him not wearing a shirt. They’re intimidating, but beautiful. I rake over the words, ‘Trust No One’ in bold, black ink before focusing on the tattoo that draws my attention the most. Smack dab in the center of his neck is a large skull with intricate orange and yellow flames expanding across his throat. Every time he swallows, I watch them move—almost like they’re flickering.
“Did it hurt?”
His response is short and gruff. “No.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he ever feels anything period, but I have more important things to worry about. “Are you planning to untie me in the near future?”
He narrows his eyes, but I don’t mistake the hint of a smirk on his face. “That depends.”
“On?”
“You.” He walks over to the side of the bed. “The police department will be making a statement regarding David Covey’s death later today.”
I blink, not understanding. “What does that have to do with me?”
His hand sweeps down the underside of my arm. “The committee has been authorized to nominate someone to fill in the vacancy.”
“Spectacular. But again, I’m not sur—”
He places a finger over my lips. “The committee will be nominating me.” His eyes darken as his finger journeys south, lingering between my breasts. “After the funeral, they’ll officially announce me as the new candidate.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “Wait, you’re running against Cain.”
I don’t bother hiding the d
isbelief in my tone. The man is crazier than I thought if he seriously thinks he stands a chance against Cain.
His jaw hardens. “Is that a problem for you?”
“Not for me, but definitely for you. There’s no way in the world you’ll win.”
And why would he want to run for mayor of Black Hallows in the first place?
I’m not sure what to make of the expression on his face. “Your support for Cain is compelling. However, you’ll need to take it down a few notches tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?” I question as he releases one of my wrists.
I attempt to undo the other one, but he shakes his head in warning.
“Tomorrow is the funeral. You’ll be attending with me.”
Anxiety flickers in my belly. “No. Margaret and Cain are trying to kill me, remember?”
“No one will touch you,” he bites out, his face contorting into something dark and menacing. A contrast to the soft kiss he places on my raw and tender inner wrist. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I yank my hand away. “No.” Turning onto my side, I fiddle with the fabric still keeping me hostage. “I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”
I refuse to intentionally make myself a target so the people in town can make fun of me. Last night was bad enough…even with my identity hidden behind a mask.
My belly dips. I swear some of them knew exactly who I was, and they were just waiting for the right moment.
Relief fills me when the knot loosens and I’m able to free myself. Unfortunately, my victory is short-lived because Damien rolls me onto my stomach and pins me to the mattress with the weight of his body. “If you insist on acting like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.”
I want to tell him I’m not acting like a child—I’m battling with an issue he knows nothing about—but he doesn’t deserve to know those personal details about me.
“Treat me however you want. I’m still not going, asshole—”
My breath leaves me in one big whoosh when he jerks both my arms behind my back and fastens them. Before I can process what’s happening, he maneuvers me into a position that forces my head down and my ass high into the air.
I start to argue, but the sharp sting of his hand against my flesh cuts me off.
My vision goes blurry when he does it again. He’s spanking me as though I’m a child in need of discipline. It’s utterly humiliating.
“Is that all you got?” I hiss, refusing to surrender.
The next one is harder than the first two, but I bite my lip and concentrate on maintaining control.
The man can beat me until I’m black and blue if he wants…I’m still not going to that funeral.
“Guess all your muscles are for show…because you hit like a girl.”
I don’t know why, but provoking him stirs something inside me.
Something wicked and provocative.
It’s as if he’s unknowingly providing me an outlet for everything I’ve been keeping inside.
I steel myself, preparing for him to issue the next one, but he doesn’t.
I’m even more confused when he flips me and hovers above me, caging me in with his forearms.
His dark eyebrows knit together as he peers down at me. “Does he hit you?”
For the first time since we met, I detect a genuine note of concern in his tone. However, I don’t understand who he’s referring to or why he’s asking me this.
“Who?”
“Cain.”
I’d laugh if he wasn’t so serious. “Cain would never hit me.”
He’d only pay someone to kill me.
“Karen?”
I shake my head. “No.”
That would have required her to acknowledge my existence.
He surveys me for what feels like forever before he speaks. The intensity behind his sharp blue eyes nearly steals my breath. “Why are you so fucked up, Eden?”
I’ve seen dozens of therapists over the years, and not one of them has ever asked me that question.
They always told me.
“I—” I don’t know him well enough to open up about my mother…or my insecurities and fears, so I do the only thing I can.
I turn the tables around on him.
“Why are you?”
He doesn’t answer, but something is simmering beneath the surface. My entire body vibrates when he edges forward. We’re so close we’re practically melded together.
My skin prickles and the space between us tightens. There’s an inimitable energy between us. A current flowing from him into me—connecting me to a man I don’t know.
A man who’s given me every reason to fear him.
It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever felt.
I part my thighs without thinking and he settles between them effortlessly, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. A breath shudders out of me when he moves his hips and I feel how hard he is. I wish he wasn’t wearing pants so there wasn’t a barrier between us.
I close my eyes and inhale his scent. I have no idea why I’m so drawn to him, but I don’t have the strength to fight or deny it. Whatever spell he’s put me under is working.
I gasp when his hand finds my breast and he gives it a squeeze before venturing lower, cupping me where I’m damp and needy. I spread my thighs wider and nearly choke at the feel of his skin against my slickness. He’s barely even touching me, and every single nerve I have is on fire.
Raising my hips, I move against his hand, slithering like a snake. Pleasure sizzles up my spine when my clit makes contact and my temperature skyrockets when I look up. His eyes are stormy with lust, and his jaw is clenched. There’s something incredibly arousing about the intent way he’s watching me get myself off.
A rough noise escapes him when I repeat the movement and my wetness seeps into his palm. I’m so turned on I can’t see straight.
“Please,” I whimper, needing more.
“Only good girls get rewarded.”
I hiss when he presses his hand to my clit before removing it.
“You gonna be a good girl for me?”
I nod. I’ll do anything he wants right now. My body is completely at his mercy.
My cheeks heat as I watch him lick the length of his palm, his eyes burning into me like hot coals. It’s sweet torture the way he proceeds to tease me with his fingers, slowly dipping one in before pulling away.
“Please,” I beg, growing frustrated. “Ple—”
The second his fingers are inside me, my body goes into overdrive. He pumps them vigorously and I arch my hips, meeting him halfway. The soreness from earlier fades to a dull ache as he works me faster.
“That’s it. Ride my fingers.”
Wet sounds fill the room and my head lolls back as the first stirrings of my orgasm hit me. The tip of his thumb swirls against my clit, keeping a steady rhythm as he kisses the column of my throat.
My toes curl, and I begin panting. It feels so good, I can’t speak. I moan against his lips and he flicks my tongue, teasing me. I open my mouth wider, demanding more, and his tongue plunges inside, greedy and urgent as he swallows the cries of my climax, his heart beating like a jackhammer against mine.
I’m still wrapping my head around what transpired between us and why it feels so intense—when he pulls away abruptly.
His expression is stone when he stands up. I’m not sure what I did wrong, but I feel the cold front he’s giving me down to my bones.
He points to a door across the room. “That is your bathroom. One of my servants will bring you something to eat in a little while.” He strides toward the exit. “There are clothes for you in the closet, including a dress for the funeral tomorrow.”
I sit up in bed and glare at him. “I already told you, I’m not g—”
“Yes, you are. I’ll drag you in there kicking and screaming if I have to, but either way, you’re going.”
“Why?” I demand as he turns the doorknob. “Why is it so important for me to attend the funeral
of a man I’ve never met before?”
“Because we have a deal.” He gives me a menacing smile as he turns around. “And you better get used to it, little lamb, because you’ll be attending a lot more functions with me in the future.”
I swallow hard as bile works up my esophagus. “No. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
His eyes flash in challenge. “You can…and you will.”
I feel the color drain from my face. The only thing I can do is tell him the truth. “You don’t understand, Damien. I have—I can’t do this. Please—”
“The only reason you think you can’t is because you’ve convinced yourself you can’t. Last night—”
“Last night was different,” I interject. “Last night—”
“Was for him,” he seethes. “But you’re not Cain’s anymore. You’re mine.”
The possession in his tone is absolute.
“You didn’t untie my hands,” I yell when he opens the door.
“Not my problem.”
Chapter 10
Damien
“Did he leave a note?” one of the many reporters crammed into the room calls out.
Newly appointed police chief, Raymond Trejo, hesitates briefly before responding. “Yes, he did. However, out of respect for the family, it won’t be released to the public.” He points to another reporter. “You.”
“What about the election? Is Cain Carter our mayor now?”
The cameras flash, and I look across the room to the man in question. He stands stoic in a dark pressed suit, the corners of his lips turned down in a frown. One might mistake his grim expression for sadness due to his opponent’s tragic death...but they don’t know the real Cain.
The only thing Cain’s upset about is officials granting Covey’s committee authorization to nominate someone else.
According to the handbook, had David Covey only waited a few more days to off himself, Cain would have won by default.
Such a pity.
Chief Trejo clutches the sides of the podium. “Uh, well, that isn’t my particular area of expertise, but as I understand it, another person will be stepping in to…fill the vacancy.”
“Do you know who?”
