And to all the bloggers who love and support me, thank you so much! You are invaluable with everything you do.
Mad love,
Dani xo
About Dani René
Dani is a USA Today Bestselling Author of a dark and deviant romance. She lives in the picturesque city of Cape Town where wine is plenty, and the views are spectacular. She's also a proud member of the Romance Writer's Organization of South Africa (ROSA). When she's not writing, she can be found binge-watching the latest TV series, or working on graphic design. She has a healthy addiction to reading, tattoos, coffee, and ice cream.
www.danirene.com
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Voodoo Love
JD Hollyfield
Lust, deception and voodoo magic.
Beware of what you wish for, wicked one.
It just may come true...
Copyright
Voodoo Love
Copyright © 2020 J.D. Hollyfield
Editor: Word Nerd Editing
Proofreader: Novel Mechanic
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To Gina.
Thanks for being my three of cups on this one.
1
Dry.
Like the Sahara Desert.
My eyelids can’t even muster enough moisture to open them. I’ve cried so much over the last two weeks, there isn’t anything left. So now, I lie in bed—our bed—my eyelids stuck shut, not a single tear left in me, and pretend everyone has forgotten about me as I wither away in self-pity and denial.
Six years.
Four of those dating, and two spent as his fiancée. Only to find out on the night of our rehearsal dinner he’s been cheating our entire relationship.
There was no “oh shit, I just got caught” moment, either. No begging for forgiveness. There was only relief he didn’t have to live two lives anymore. He wasn’t sorry he completely crushed my world and ripped the rug out from under me and tainted every single memory we’ve ever made.
That lying, cheating, piece of shit bastard was relieved.
Okay, maybe the dam’s not completely dry. Wetness begins to leak from my swollen eyes.
Six years ago, we met at Marlin’s Park at a baseball game. He was sitting in front of me, rooting for the opposite team. The sun was blazing, the beer was flowing, and before we knew it, his friends were flirting with my friends and we were…well, we were in the public bathroom having the best random, rivalry sex. We talked shit the entire time he had me pressed up against the nasty public stall as he fucked me into oblivion.
It was hot, drunken, totally-out-of-character-for-me—did I mention hot?—sex.
You can judge me. I judged me. Who the hell meets a guy and spreads her legs four innings later for a hot, muscular, terrible-taste-in-sports stranger to ram her so good, the players in the outfield may have heard her moan? Me. That’s who. Because I was young and careless. And he was like no one I’d ever met.
Now I wish he was no one I’d ever met.
Our one-day stand turned into multiple days and a shared apartment, dog, and mutual friends. Everything had fallen perfectly into place for us. We had similar interests, and where we differed made us stronger. He had his designated areas in the apartment where he could put his sports memorabilia, and I had mine. We worked. We were happy. We were in love. Or so I thought.
As they say, time flies when you’re having fun. Four years zoomed by. Not that it was all bells and whistles. Like any couple, we started to learn what didn’t work for us. One was messy, while the other was overly tidy. One worked all the time, while the other spent too many nights sitting around watching dinners turn cold. And out of nowhere…time slowed down. I guess we weren’t having fun anymore.
I started becoming jealous of his busy work life and his work buddies he spent more time with than me. We fought about him not making time for me, and he’d argue his job was what would secure our future. In my head, I had to ask what future? I barely ever saw him and we weren’t having sex as much anymore. To be honest, his interest in me had taken a dive, and I’m an idiot not to have seen the signs earlier.
You know, if your younger self knew what your older self knew now, she’d tell that naive idiot to run for the fucking hills—fast.
But I wasn’t very athletic, so I stuck around. I hid behind all the neon signs and played dumb. Because I wanted our happily ever after.
The first time he got physical with me was the first time I accused him of cheating. He’d left his phone out, and when I went to grab it to read the incoming text, he pushed me. Pushed me. I stumbled back and fell into the coffee table, severely bruising my tailbone. He realized his mistake too late and spent the entire night explaining why he panicked and put his hands on me for checking his phone.
“Are you cheating on me?”
“What? No! Why would you think that?”
“Why did you get like that when I was going to check your phone? What are you hiding?”
“Babe, nothing. It’s just…I’m setting up a surprise for
