Page 15 of Betray Me (Devastation Game #2)

Now

Tonight, Jaden Winkle is on duty—a twenty-six-year-old graduate student who supplements his income with overnight security shifts.

I’ve watched him for weeks, cataloging his habits: how he takes smoke breaks every hour on the dot, how he scrolls through dating apps when he thinks no one’s looking, how his eyes linger on my legs when I pass him in the dining hall.

I dress carefully for tonight’s mission—a short black skirt that hugs my curves, a silk blouse that clings in all the right places, heels that click against marble floors with predatory precision.

The same tools I’ve used since childhood, weapons disguised as feminine appeal.

Some habits are harder to break than survival instincts.

My reflection in the hallway mirror shows a stranger—Belle Gallagher, master manipulator, about to seduce her way into classified files. For a moment, I feel sick at how easily I slip back into this role. But desperation makes monsters of us all, and I need those files more than I need my dignity.

Jaden looks up from his desk as I enter, his eyes widening with surprise and something else—hunger. It’s always hunger with men like him, barely concealed beneath a thin veneer of professionalism.

“Miss Gallagher?” He straightens in his chair, attempting to look official. “It’s pretty late. Is everything okay?”

I let my voice catch slightly, projecting vulnerability like perfume into the air. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Jaden. I couldn’t sleep, and I was hoping… I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think someone’s been following me.”

His expression shifts immediately to concern mixed with opportunity. Hero complex—another weakness I’ve learned to exploit. “Following you? Have you reported this to the administration?”

“I tried, but they think I’m being paranoid because of… well, you know.” I gesture vaguely, letting him fill in the blanks about my family’s situation. “I was hoping maybe you could check the security footage? Just to put my mind at ease?”

Jaden glances toward the bank of monitors displaying feeds from across campus. Protocol clearly prohibits showing students surveillance footage, but I can see him wavering, male ego warring with regulations.

“I shouldn’t really…” he starts, but I step closer, close enough that my perfume mingles with his cologne—something cheap and cloying that makes my nose itch.

“Please, Jaden. I don’t know who else to ask.” I let my fingers brush his arm, a featherlight touch that makes him swallow hard. “I’d be so grateful.”

The word ‘grateful’ hangs between us, loaded with implication. His pupils dilate slightly, and I know I have him. It’s almost too easy—these men who think they’re predators, never realizing they’re the prey.

“Well… I suppose I could take a quick look,” he says, moving to one of the monitors. “Which areas were you concerned about?”

I lean over his shoulder, close enough that my breath tickles his ear. “The library, maybe? And the administration building. That’s where I’ve felt most… watched.”

His hands tremble slightly on the keyboard as he pulls up the feeds.

The screens flicker between different camera angles, showing empty corridors and darkened classrooms. I study each frame carefully, but I’m not really looking for a stalker.

I’m memorizing the security setup, identifying blind spots, calculating how long I’ll need to access the physical files.

“I don’t see anyone suspicious,” Jaden says, his voice rough. “But I could… I could keep an extra eye out for you. Make sure you get back to your dorm safely.”

“You’re so sweet.” I let my hand rest on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles. “I feel so much safer knowing you’re looking out for me.”

This is the crucial moment—the transition from professional concern to personal interest. I’ve done this dance a hundred times, each step choreographed by years of necessity.

But tonight feels different. Tonight, I’m choosing this manipulation, using it as a tool rather than being forced into it by my father’s demands.

The distinction should make me feel empowered. Instead, it makes me feel dirty.

“Belle,” Jaden says, turning his chair to face me. Our faces are inches apart now, and I can smell coffee on his breath mixed with the lingering scent of cigarettes. “I want you to know that whatever happens with your family’s situation… I don’t judge you. You’re not responsible for their actions.”

The kindness in his voice almost breaks my resolve. Almost. But I think of David Stone’s investigation, of the police sketch that looks like my face, of the gaps in my memory that might hide unspeakable truths. I need those files more than Jaden needs his innocence.

“That means more to me than you know,” I whisper, letting vulnerability creep into my voice. It’s not entirely false—there’s something seductive about being seen as separate from my family’s crimes, even if it’s an illusion I’m carefully constructing.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with surprising gentleness.

For a moment, I let myself lean into the touch, remembering what it feels like to be touched without calculation or pain.

But then his eyes drop to my lips, and I see the shift—concern transforming into desire.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmurs, but he’s already leaning closer.

“Sometimes what we shouldn’t do is exactly what we need,” I breathe against his mouth.

His kiss feels warm and clean, nothing like the calculated seduction I perform. It stirs something deep in my chest—something close to hope. Maybe there are men who can want me without using me.

Maybe one day, I’ll find a man worthy of that kind of trust.

Jaden’s other hand presses against the small of my back, drawing me closer as we kiss. The monitors reflect the physical contrast of us—his broad, muscular body caging mine in his chair.

I don’t want to do this, but I need to. It’s the only way to make sure he’s on my side—the only way to guarantee my safety.

Slowly, subtly, I begin unbuttoning his shirt.

He catches my hand, pulling back. “Belle, this isn’t a good—”

“Shh,” I whisper, pressing my mouth to his neck. “Let me do this.”

We are dancing a familiar dance—giving him an out, letting him feel noble and virtuous, pretending he’s the one resisting.

It never ceases to amaze me how easily men can lie to themselves.

He hesitates, and I can feel him slipping away from me, rationality overtaking his instincts. I switch gears, using a touch more forcefulness—men with hero complexes don’t always respond well to the shy, damsel-in-distress routine.

“I want you, Jaden.”

His breath catches.

“I want you so badly,” I continue, unbuckling his belt with practiced efficiency. “But I’m scared.”

Just the right combination of innocence and vulnerability to undo him.

He lets out a groan as I run my fingers along the length of him. He’s larger than expected, solid muscle beneath a softer layer of flesh. I kiss his throat, jaw, cheeks, making sure to avoid his mouth. When his body is shuddering, his breathing ragged, I step back.

“Please,” I murmur, playing the role of the seduced.

Predators always respond to weakness.

“I’ll protect you.” His voice is low, thick with desire. “I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.”

“Thank you.”

The words taste bitter, because he’s not doing it for my sake—he’s doing it for his own ego. But that ego also grants me access to the files I need.

Before I fully process what’s happening, Jaden’s body presses against mine, his chest against my back, his hands caressing my hips. There’s a hint of a breeze from the open window above the desk, and I fight the urge to claw away from his touch.

I start kissing his neck, then his ears, then his shoulders.

I lean over his desk, just close enough, and he begins pushing up my skirt, fumbling with my underwear.

I close my eyes. Taste coffee. Smell cigarettes.

Feel my knees slam into the edge of his desk as he presses the tip of his cock against the back of my thigh.

I clench my jaw and remember why I’m here.

And then, just as he’s about to push into me, just as I’m preparing for the inevitable invasion, he pulls back.

“Condom,” he mutters. “Hang on.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch him pull his wallet from his pocket and fish out a square foil wrapper. He tears it open with his teeth, his concentration total as he slides the condom over himself. Then, he positions himself once again.

“Ready?” he breathes.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He moans as he enters me, and my chest tightens as I feel him filling me. There’s a brief spike of pain as his hips slam into the bones of my buttocks, digging into the very edge of the desk, but I grit my teeth and try not to think.

But then he starts moving inside me.

Each thrust jars my body, bruising my pelvis against the desk.

I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, his sweat-slicked hands gripping my waist, and the aching tightness of my jaw as I bite down on my lip.

The coppery tang of blood fills my mouth, and I have to force myself to breathe steadily.

Jaden makes muffled groaning noises as he drives himself into me, and even through the thick numbness in my brain, I can hear the rhythmic slapping sound his hips make as they hit my ass.

I stare at the floor, my eyes roaming the carpet until I focus on a single particle of dirt.

My gaze fixes on it as he slides in and out of me.

He lasts six minutes, which I grudgingly respect.

When he finishes, his entire body goes slack, and I slide to the floor.

Without looking up, I gather my things and cover myself.

My clothes will hide the worst of it, but there’s no hiding the bruises around my hips, the red marks his fingertips left behind.