Wicked Game: a Billionaire Stepbrother Romance (17 page)

“Cleo!”

I rose out of the seat as fast as I could, hurling myself up in anger.
 
“What else are you hiding, Damien?” I asked, taking a step forward.
 
Damien backed up, his eyes growing wide. There was real fear in his expression.
 

Good.
 
No more pathetic victim Cleo.
 

Now I was back to righteous anger Cleo.
 

“What else are you lying about?” I demanded.

Before, I had been angry.
 
But now, I was furious.
 
More than that, I had made up my mind.
 

I was an idiot for coming to Blackwood’s funeral in the first place.
 
I was an idiot for pretending Damien could ever be anything but a manipulative psychopath.
 
And I was an idiot for thinking

I could see it in his eyes.
 

There was more I didn’t know about.

I whirled around, marching back to my bedroom.
 
Fuck this.
 
Fuck him.
 
Fuck everything.
 
I was done pretending this was anything other than the trap I always knew it was.
 

Damien followed after me as I flew down the halls in a rage.

“I don’t understand,” he said weakly.
 
“I don’t understand why you’re so angry.
 
I didn’t mean to hurt you—everything I’ve done has been to help you!”

“Because you lied to me!” I cried, whirling on him.
 
I couldn’t suppress this anymore.
 
I couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t crushed me a second time.
 
“You tried to keep her a secret from me, didn’t you?
 
That day in the dressing room, she was there, and you conveniently forgot to mention she was your ex-wife.
 
I fucking wonder why.”

“Cleo, it’s not like that—”

“It’s exactly like that!” I cried as I turned back to my room.
 
I grabbed the doorknob and threw a glare at him.
 
“Lies on lies on lies!
 
Is this how you always treat women, Damien?
 
Like we’re just toys you can fuck and then throw away?”

“It was never like that.
 
She married me for my money, and I married her because I needed to get married.
 
She meant nothing to me.
 
Like I meant nothing to her.
 
I would have told you about her, but—”

“Oh, is that it, then?
 
She means nothing to you, and you still marry her because she’s useful to you?
 
Just so you can throw her away later?”

“Cleo, please give me a chance to explain!”

“Then explain this,” I demanded slowly and clearly.
 
My eyes met his.
 
“Is there anything else you’re hiding from me?
 
Anything else you’re lying about?
 
Anything else I should know about you and me?”

His silence was enough of an answer.

He looked at me helplessly.

“I wish I could tell you, Cleo,” he groaned.
 
“Fuck, I wish I could so fucking bad.
 
But you’ve got to trust me.
 
Just this once.
 
Just a little longer.”

“I fucking knew it,” I spat, backing up into my room.
 
I ripped my arm away from him before he could grab it and keep me there.
 
“I’m not fucking stupid enough to trust you again, Blackwood.
 
You’re just using me.
 
Like you’ve always used me.”

“Cleo, wait!”

“That’s all you’ve ever done is use me.
 
Did you use her, too?
 
And then even after the divorce she still has feelings for you, and you go off and marry some random woman,” I seethed.
 
“Neither of us mean anything to you, do we?
 
You just use us when we’re useful.
 
Audrey was your good little trophy wife.
 
And I’m your good little fake wife.
 
And the second we stop being useful to you, you throw us away.
 
And the whole fucking time you lie to us.
 
Is that it?”

“Cleo, how the fuck can you think that?
 
I’ve told you how I feel about you—”

“Just like you told me when we were teenagers,” I shouted.
 
He flinched.
 
Good.
 
“And it didn’t fucking stop you from leaving that next morning, did it?”

“You know that wasn’t my choice.”

“I’m so fucking sure,” I cried.
 
“And the letter wasn’t your choice either, was it?”

“Letter?” he growled.
 
“What letter?”
 

That enraged me.
 

How fucking dare he pretend to be confused?
 
I really couldn’t trust him, could I?
 
Either I meant so little to him that he couldn’t even remember tossing me aside, or he was still a fucking liar who manipulated me by pretending to forget.
  
Either way, I remembered how much I hated him.

And I remembered why.

I could not trust Damien Blackwood.

Not now, not ever.

“Just leave, Damien,” I snapped.
 
“Leave me like you wanted to in the first place.
 
I can’t put up with your lies anymore.”

“Cleo, please.
 
Just give me a chance to explain.”

“I’ve already given you too many chances.”

I shut the door in his face.

The second thing I did was grab a suitcase.

I threw the keys onto the ratty couch in the corner of my new motel room.
 
This place, at $25 a night, was the only thing I could afford with the little money I had taken with me.
 
The walls were moldy, and the carpet smelled.
 
The single room was about as big as a jail cell.
 
The clerk had looked at me suspiciously when I paid for a month of rent in cash, but I didn’t care.
 

All I needed was to be away from Damien for once in my life.
 
To escape his disgusting web of lies.
 
To know I wasn’t being manipulated again.
 

That was all I ever wanted.

To his credit, Damien hadn’t tried to stop me on my way out.
 
I refused to look him in the eyes as I carried out my one suitcase of books and clothes.
 
It took three hours to find a motel cheap enough to take me, and I had no idea what I was going to do now.

I flinched as a roach skittered across one of the counters.

I hurried away from it, settling into the couch instead.

I left clean.
 
The only thing I had left of Damien was the flashy cell phone I kept tucked into my pocket.
 
I should still have service until the end of the month, I thought to myself.
 
I had already blocked Damien’s number.
 
Somehow, I knew he wouldn’t be calling anyway.
 

My body stretched out on the couch, and I winced as stray springs cut into my back.
 
Home sweet home, Cleo.
 
But at least you’re finally free of Damien.

I closed my eyes and tried to figure out where to go from here.

Maybe my kidney stealing plan wasn’t so bad.

My murder plotting was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the cell phone.
 
My eyes popped open.
 
Who would be calling me?
 
I stretched over to grab it, wincing as more ragged springs poked and prodded my body from inside the couch.
 
Maybe I should sleep on the floor, I thought to myself as I snatched the phone from beside me.
 
Though I seriously didn’t trust any of these carpet stains.

I glanced at the caller ID.

Eileen’s number?

Why would Eileen be calling?

I frowned and debated answering for a few minutes.
 
A call from my former landlady couldn’t mean anything good.
 
But it’s not like I had a choice.
 

I raised it to my ear.

“Hello?” I asked.

Please don’t ask for money.
 

Please don’t ask for money.
 

Please don’t ask for money.

“Is this Cleopatra?” Eileen’s voice asked on the fuzzy line.

“Yes,” I said, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.
 
“Eileen?”

“Look, kid, I need to know when you’re moving back in.”

I frowned and readjusted myself on the torture couch.
 

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“I’m asking if you’re coming back for your place or what.”
 
I could practically see her inspecting her nails and buffing them on that hideous vest.
 
“Cause there’s no sense in me keeping an empty place, even if you already paid for it.”

Paid for it?
 

I never paid my rent in advance.
 

Hell, I barely paid my rent on time at all.

“My place?
 
I thought I was evicted?”

“Well yeah, but then your backup payment showed up.
 
It was late the last month, but I figured that had to do with you getting all famous all of the sudden.
 
Anyway, you can get your place back now that I got my money.
 
So you moving back in or what?”

Backup payment?

What?

I leaned back in my seat, breathing deeply and trying to figure this out.
 
First Audrey, then Damien, now Eileen.
 
I couldn’t handle so much all in one day.

“Eileen, I didn’t send you any money.”

“Well, no shit, you didn’t.
 
You’ve always been broke as hell.”

Thank you, Eileen.
 
“Then what are you saying about me sending a backup payment?”

 
“Not saying you did, I’m saying your backup payer—”
 
Eileen paused.
 
“Well, hell,” she groaned.
 
“I wasn’t supposed to say that, was I?”

“Supposed to say what?” I demanded, rubbing circles into my temple.
 
Eileen was silent on the other end of the line for a few moments.
 
My headache was building again, and I let out a frustrated groan.
 
“Eileen!”

“Okay, okay, sorry kid.
 
Jeez.”
 
I heard her clear her throat uncomfortably.
 
“I mean, the guy that pays your rent when you miss it, he sent the next check in again.
 
So you can get your apartment back, if you want it.”

“The … the guy who pays my rent?”

“You know we aren’t supposed to talk about it,” she groaned.
 
The phone became muffled as she threw her hands up in the air.
 
“I know that you and him are engaged and all, so it’s not exactly a secret anymore.
 
But I’m not gonna lose my money by breaking the rules.”

“Rules?
 
Eileen, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Goddamn, do I wish I had a billionaire paying my bills,” she added, ignoring my question.
 
“You lucky as hell, girly.”

“Eileen!
 
I don’t understand!”

Eileen was silent for a moment.
 
The line crackled.

“You really don’t know?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking,” I said dryly.

“Alright, alright, alright, don’t get all snippy with me.”
 
She cleared her throat again, obviously buying time to figure out how to break the news.
 
“So … uh, you’re fucking terrible at paying your rent on time, right?”