Cards of Love: The Devil (Devil's Playground #1)
Ashley Jade
Prologue
Obsession is a peculiar thing. Unlike other emotions, it doesn’t happen instantaneously. Instead, it grows slowly—like a fungus invading the dark corners of your mind, contaminating your every thought.
Until suddenly—you’re sick. Infected with an incurable disease.
The object of your neurosis is all you can focus on.
You spend every waking moment fixated on them. Questioning what they’re doing. Who they might be thinking about.
Your evenings are spent conjuring images of them with their current lover. And your nights are spent dreaming about what it would be like to see them again.
Touch them. Taste them. Have them at your mercy…fulfilling every single desire and urge pumping through you.
Until finally…you can’t take it anymore. The lines between fantasy and reality become blurred and you start meticulously plotting strategic steps to enact your encounter.
Looking back, that’s the point my obsession spun out of control.
I should have maintained my distance. But I couldn’t.
Eleven years spent away didn’t dilute my craving—it only made it fester. My sickness was far too advanced and was only getting worse. My need for him was far too strong to be ignored or contained.
So, I continued planning. Seeking the perfect crack in his life to slip through undetected. Once I had it…the only thing left to do was wait for the perfect moment to strike.
But the thing about plans is…
They never work out like you expect them to.
Sometimes life throws you an innocent, young, blonde…curveball.
Chapter 1
Eden
“Are you excited for the annual Black Hallows Masquerade Ball this Saturday?” the reporter, interviewer, royal pain in my ass asks.
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. This chick has officially earned her spot on my shit-list for not only sticking me in the same vapid box as every other eighteen-year-old girl but failing to do her research.
I plaster a fake smile on my face. “Super pumped.”
Negatory. The only thing I’m excited for is watching Netflix and munching on the raw cookie dough I have a date with.
Not looking at all put off by my snark, she continues, thrusting her iPhone at me to record my response. “Is there a special boy in the picture?”
It’s too late to diffuse the question. There’s already a brutal flush creeping from my toes all the way up to my hairline.
Reporter bitch looks like the cat who ate the canary. “I knew it. Pretty girls like you never go unnoticed, do they?”
There’s an unmistakable hint of pettiness in her statement, and I know without a doubt this interview is about to go downhill fast.
Something I probably should have realized sooner given she has yet to ask me a single question about Cain’s campaign for mayor. In other words, the reason we’re having this interview in the first place.
I look around, but her next question forces my attention back to her. “Just between us girls, is it weird having a father who’s only a few years older than you?” She fans herself with the paper in her hand. “Lord knows I couldn’t live under the same roof with Black Hallows’ most eligible bachelor. Not without sleeping in his bed every night.” Her gaze turns calculating. “Then again, rumor has it, affairs with older men aren’t exactly out of the question for you.”
The implication makes me fidget. A rookie mistake.
“He’s my stepfather.” Squaring my shoulders, I find my resolve. “And he’s only Black Hallows’ most eligible bachelor because my mother is dead, you heartless bitch.”
She starts to speak, but I stand up. “This interview is over.”
“What’s going on in here?” a deep voice that sounds like melted chocolate over gravel barks from the other room.
I meet his dark eyes when he enters, refusing to look anywhere else for fear my legs will turn to jelly and the reporter will have a field day. Too late…my control is waning. Today Cain’s wearing his green tie that brings out the subtle flecks of gold in his orbs. Sweet baby Jesus in a manger. I’m so screwed.
Tossing my long blonde hair over my shoulder, I shrug and head for the exit. “Nothing.”
A touch to my elbow halts me and just like that—I’m spilling my guts.
“This asshole from the Independent Chronicle came here to remind me that my mother croaking made you Black Hallows’ most eligible bachelor…and because the town still hasn’t found a new whore to point fingers at, I must be spreading my legs for you.”
Like a good politician about to face a scandal, Cain releases me and turns his attention to the reporter, looking outraged. “That’s absurd. She’s my deceased wife’s daughter.”
My heart, the bruised and battered thing twists in my chest and I look at the reporter. “You can go fuck yourself.” My stare snags him again. “You too.”
A faint shiver of delight zips through me when I see his annoyance simmering beneath the surface. Good.
Maybe now he’ll understand how I’ve been feeling ever since the incident.
The one that ended with him discarding me like I was nothing more than a dirty rag, then come right back around and use me whenever it’s convenient for him.