Touched by the devil, p.16
Touched by the Devil, page 16
part #3 of Boys of Preston Prep Series
I gently close the door behind them.
A good female-drama crying jag will probably buy us five minutes.
Reynolds is in the back, already raising his chin at me in acknowledgement. Right-o. Time to find the lucky victims. Not that it’s hard. Pierce’s crew all sits in the back corner, clustered together like a goddamn knitting circle.
I snap to get their attention, ignoring all the other prying eyes. “Pierce, Tharp, Brennan. Get out your phones and line up against the wall.”
The three of them blink back at me like morons.
“What?” Pierce says, face blank. “Why?”
I shrug. “Because I asked so nicely. Chop-chop, fuckwits.”
Brennan crosses his arms, reclining back in his seat. “I don’t know what this is about, but I’m not one of your sheep.”
“The thing is, I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I’m doing this in front of someone I don’t particularly want to do it in front of.” I gesture vaguely at Sugar, knowing she’s watching me. Knowing this is probably going to erase all the work I’ve done in convincing her I’m not some asshole bully. It fucking sucks and I’m not in the mood for it. “So how’s this? Either you get out your phones and line up against the wall, or Reyn and I will come back there and get them ourselves.” I leave the threat unspoken, but it still comes through.
Reyn pipes in, “I guarantee to you that this is the only way you leave class today with phones still in your pocket.”
Pierce is first because he’s a pussy. Tharp follows because following is what Tharp does. Brennan puts up a token protest, but ultimately lumbers from his seat, face angry-tight.
“This is bullshit. You’re not the campus police.”
“Police,” I say, sending Reyn a grin. God, these guys are lucky I’ve had so many orgasms in the past twelve hours. Otherwise, this impulse I’m feeling to feed this motherfucker his own teeth might be too much to resist. “Ah well, we could call the police instead. They’d probably be really interested to see what you’ve got on your phones. Pretty sure that kind of video gets you put on a list, best case.” I know instantly that they know what this is about. They all go shifty and start lining up against that wall real damn quick. “Go on, unlock them. Faster would be nice.”
Dr. Ross isn’t going to suffer Afton’s histrionics for too much longer.
Reyn and I double-team it, going through Tharp and Pierce’s phone first. The video of Georgia—recorded during her Freshman year—is there. This thing has been following her around for years now. You can’t see her face. No one except the Devils actually realizes who it is. But Georgia knows. She knows whenever she hears guys talking about it just whose tits, moans, and ass they’re whispering about. She always knows and it fucking destroys her, every single time. Apparently, these three had been ‘discussing’ it a couple days ago, sending her into a tailspin.
No one fucks with a Devil or a Plaything.
No one.
So I delete it. But I also go into his media history and cloud storage to make sure there aren’t any copies there, either.
Brennan’s phone is a goddamn landmine. “Jesus,” I groan, seeing way too much of this guy’s dick. “That’s just nasty.”
“You know who the girl is, don’t you?” he asks, laughing. “It’s one of your friends, isn’t it? Probably not Afton. She’s too leggy. Caroline’s too mousy, and there aren’t enough scars for it to be Van—”
His head slams back against the wall, but it’s not my hand around his throat.
It’s Reyn’s.
“I’m sorry,” he says, teeth gnashed, nostrils flared, “kind of seemed like you were going to say something about my girl. Go on. Continue.”
The class behind us is charged and all gaspy, shifting forward in their seats, eager for a fight.
I let out a low whistle, head shaking. “Done fucked up, Brenny boy.”
Eyes bulging, he wheezes out, “I wasn’t going to say anything!”
“And you’re going to stop guessing at who it is,” I advise, slamming his phone into his chest. “Because the day you figure it out, is the day I beat your ass so badly, you won’t even be able to remember there was a video at all. We clear on this?” I look at Pierce and Tharp, waiting for their nervous nods. “Good shit.” I give Reyn a pat on the shoulder, but he doesn’t let up on Brennan’s throat. “Dude, strangle him to death or let him go, I don’t give a fuck either way, but let’s move this along.”
He releases him roughly, giving him one last shove into the wall. “You’re all fucking disgusting for watching that shit.” He thrusts a finger at Tharp. “One of these days, she’s going to come forward and report it. You remember that the next time you’re passing around porn of a freshman like the sick fucks you are.”
“Oh shit,” someone in the class whispers. “That girl’s a freshman?” Georgia’s video is a thing of Preston legend. Every straight dude has probably seen it by now. Fuck, I’ve seen it—long before I knew who Georgia even was.
The whole thing is broken up when steps sound out in the hallway. The three sickos all dart to their seats, but Reyn and I take a more casual approach, striding leisurely down our respective rows.
I can’t help a testing glance at Sugar as I pass.
She’s staring right back at me, face paled and slack. I give her a tight, thin smile in response, but she sits there frozen, eyes tracking me as I move past.
I slide smoothly into my seat just as Dr. Ross enters the room.
The lecture might as well be given in the form of radio static for all I absorb of it. I’m too busy freaking out about Sugar on multiple fronts. She didn’t look mad. She didn’t really look like anything at all. Surprised, maybe. A little wary. She sure didn’t look like she wanted my dick. And now I have to untangle all her reactions to me. Like when she glances at Dr. Ross and I catch the profile of her face, teeth pressing down into that plump, eager bottom lip…
Is that about what happened last night, or what she just witnessed?
Fuck, this girl doesn’t need a knife. She’s going to kill me by means of just existing there, inches away, still as a statue, not giving me a goddamn thing to go off of. All I can see is her shiny, dark hair tumbling down her back. Her posture is ramrod straight but slanted toward her desk, away from me. I get the occasional whiff of her honey-scented shampoo, but that’s it.
The bell rings, snapping me back to reality. My classmates move quickly, packing up their things, still whispering about the little show at the beginning of class, but I sit back and watch Sugar, trying to figure out what’s going on. I let her leave first, watching as she slings her messenger bag across her chest. Her skirt bounces with every step that carries her away from me. I inhale, finally able to breathe something that isn’t laced with honey, resigned to getting on with the rest of my day, not knowing a damn thing.
And then she looks back over her shoulder.
At me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Me.
I jolt from my seat and pause to give Dr. Ross a grin, “Have a good day.”
“I will,” she replies, adding, “you stay out of trouble, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Always, Dr. Ross, always.”
Except here I am, following Sugar Voss down the hallway, looking for trouble. I see her at her locker and walk up.
“Look,” I start, eyes roaming the hall unseeingly. “I know that probably looked bad, but you have to believe me. Those guys deserved it. And I didn’t lay a hand on any of them, which to be honest, was pretty generous considering how much I wanted to.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I get more and more tense as the seconds tick by. If that put her off—for the sporadic, blink-and-you-miss-it seconds she’s ever on—then it’ll suck.
But I wouldn’t have done a single fucking thing differently.
Finally, she puts a book into her locker and turns to me. “That whole thing was about…” She looks around shiftily and there’s something in her eyes. Something perceptive. “…about someone we both know. Wasn’t it?”
I prop a shoulder against a locker, shrugging. “Can’t say.”
The corners of her eyes tighten as she assesses me, and she looks suspicious. Wary. Tense. But she doesn’t look pissed off. She doesn’t look like she hates me. “Because if it were, then I’d probably understand.”
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to keep the relief from my expression.
She nods. “Probably.” She does this thing where she wets her lips and I can’t help but watch, eyes glued to her mouth. Sugar never wears lipstick, but sometimes her lips are a little shiny, like she’s wearing something convenient and utilitarian. Chapstick.
I wonder what it tastes like.
She turns back to her locker, like that’s it. Like that’s all there is to say.
“Are you really going to pretend like nothing happened yesterday?” I ask, voice low enough not to attract attention.
She freezes, turning slowly, barely glancing at me through her hair. “Yesterday was a mistake,” she says, voice quiet and thin. “A regret.”
“You didn’t look very regretful when you were grinding down on my dick.”
She struggles with her massive biology book, trying to leverage the weight of the other things in her locker. I reach in and pull it out, handing it to her. She takes it and slams her locker door, then starts off down the hall.
This time, I run after her.
“No way,” I yell, catching up to her. “You don’t get to run off again.”
This time, the majority of the hallway glances our way. I even see Sydney zero in on us, so I’m sure it’ll be all over ChattySnap in ten minutes flat. I know I should let this drop. Pushing the matter isn’t going to lead to good, grindy, orgasm-inducing places, but I just can’t leave it like that.
“Come on,” I say, jerking my head toward the door that leads outside. She finally turns to glare at me—the ice princess returned. I tilt my head at her, shoulders dropping. “Please.”
Sugar probably relents more out of annoyance than anything else, but I hold open the door as we step out to the underused, covered walkway.
The instant we’re alone, she asks, “Why are you so fixated on me?”
I look her up and down, deciding that nothing but complete earnestness is the best tack here. “Because you’re sexy. Strong as hell. Really bitchy. What can I say? You tick my boxes.”
She gathers her hair back, away from her face, looking flustered. “If all that shit in the Cliffs never happened, would you even pay me any attention?”
It’s a valid question. “I saw you before I got in the fight with that asshole, you know. I noticed you; the blue hair and the big eyes.” I look down at her mouth, then back up. “I wanted you then, too. I picked a fight with that guy half because he was being a dick to you, and half because I wanted to impress you. I saw you. Just like I see you now.”
That answer doesn’t soothe her like I’d hoped. If anything, she looks unnerved. “This isn’t something I can do, Sebastian.”
“Yeah, you can. You did it last night. Did it pretty well, too. Just do it again.” I shove my hands deep into my pockets. “I’ll follow the rules, whatever they are.”
She laughs darkly. “Something tells me you’re not that hard up, Wilcox.”
“Christ, Voss. You really don’t know anything about me.” I can get pussy anywhere, anytime. All these hot sparks just looking at this girl sends up my spine? Only one person can give me that. “Not yet, but you can.”
Sugar eyes for me for a minute, her hand squeezing the strap of her messenger bag. She doesn’t look particularly accepting of any of this, so I brace myself for a blow—physical or otherwise. Mostly I expect her to walk away. Maybe run. She’ll probably tell me to fuck off and stop harassing her, once again.
It’s okay.
I’ve got stamina for days.
But for the second time, I’m not prepared when she pushes up on her toes and brushes her hot lips across mine. It doesn’t take me long to seize it, to lean hard into her kiss, sending her stumbling back. She lands against the metal door but doesn’t flinch away. If anything, she just bounces off it, right back into me.
I place my hands beside her head, palms flat against the door, knowing that if I want this to continue, I’ve got to keep them to myself. I tower over her, kissing her back with greedy, wet, sucking kisses. Fuck, she tastes just as good as I remember, tongue licking forcefully against mine. My heart beats wildly, banging hard against my chest. All I want in this moment is to feel the rest of her, but I know better. Jesus Christ, I know better.
Across campus, the bell in the tower chimes, a warning that our next class starts in five minutes. As hard as it is, this time I’m the one to pull away first, stepping back and giving her space. Her mouth is shiny and red, her chest heaving.
Being around this girl is a fight against my instincts—against all my impulses—and the best thing for me to do is walk away before I give into every one of them.
“How’s the jaw?” Ben asks when I take a seat between him and Caroline in the Devil’s Lair.
“Shut up,” I reply, slinking down in my seat. “Don’t pretend a chick or a dick hasn’t wanted to slap that smug expression off your face before.”
“Maybe, but not after I kissed them.”
I scowl and ignore him, waiting for the meeting to start. The Devils mingle around like we’re waiting for a pep-club meeting to begin or something. Emory glances at the time impatiently, ready to start. He shoots Carlton a dark look when he strolls in late. Like everyone else, I’d gotten the black envelope in my locker this morning with a time written on a small card. After the rites last fall, we don’t meet as often. We still hang, of course. Hell, we’re probably closer to each other than most of us are to our own families. But it’s been a while since we’d received an official notice.
Tyson bursts though the door next. His hair is still damp, and he carries the strong scent of chlorine. “Sorry,” he says, grabbing the seat next to Elana. “Practice ran late.”
He’d been recruited last year from Northridge for the diving team. It’s probably the first time a non-legacy has ever been initiated into The Devils, but we’re living in a new world order. I mean, hell, the Playthings are all equal members as well.
“No worries,” Emory says, eyes sweeping over to Carlton. “At least you have an excuse.”
“Dude.” Carlton shakes his head. “I told you I had some business to attend to.”
“Yeah well, I’m not into your business. Especially when it holds the rest of us up.” Everyone here is perfectly aware that Carlton is Preston’s resident drug dealer. Everyone also knows that Vandy spent two weeks in rehab dealing with her painkiller addiction. “You wanted to be a Devil. That obligation comes first.”
“Jesus Christ, Em—”
“Stop!” Vandy says, shooting them both glares. “If you guys want to fight about this, do it on your time. Stop wasting ours.”
Reyn’s hand hangs easily over Vandy’s shoulders, his fingers grazing the cuff of her sleeve, and I roll my eyes. I guess at some point they were hiding their relationship, but I can’t imagine them being anything other than joined at the hip. It’s not that I don’t approve. Reyn takes good care of her and she’s totally obsessed with him. They make a solid couple. It’s just that after what happened with Sugar today, seeing all the handsy bullshit is grating on my nerves a bit.
“Can we get started?” I bite, my arms crossed over my chest. “I’ve got shit to do.”
Emory narrows his eyes at me, but I just stare back, ready to be done with this. He sighs. I mean, what did he expect? He wanted to be the leader of a bunch of entitled assholes.
“The homecoming prank was awesome. We carried it off without a hitch. But now it looks like one-off. There are so many rumors and speculations about who did it, and as I’m sure many of you know, there are people trying to take credit.”
Afton snorts. “I heard some bitch in fifth period claim it was this group of guys on the wrestling team.”
“Same.” Ben adds, “There are a few kids trying to act like they know who did it or were directly involved. Obviously, we can’t say anything, right?”
“Right,” Reyn says in a hard tone. He’s on probation, and if word gets back that he had anything to do with the prank—which involved breaking and entering, tampering with security and video equipment and vandalism—he’d be massively fucked. He looks up at his best friend, Emory. “What do you want to do?”
Emory gives his best evil grin. “I think another prank is in order. Basketball season is in full-swing. The men’s varsity team is doing well, right? They’ll probably go to the playoffs. I’m thinking one of those games is where we should focus our attack.”
“Elana, Aubrey, and I will be there,” Afton says. “Cheer and dance squads. So we already have an in.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” He nods at Ben. “You’re in the band. They go to all the games, right?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, good, that’s a solid lead. We’ll spend the next few weeks working up a plan.” Emory looks out over the group. “Everyone down with that?”
The general consensus is yes, and when it’s clear that’s the focus of the meeting, I stand quickly, ready to get the hell out of there. My brain’s already at the shop, elbow-deep in a half-rebuilt transmission. I’ve slipped one arm into my jacket when Georgia approaches me. The expression on her face doesn’t bode well. We’d decided not to tell her about what went down this morning, but maybe she found out anyway. People at Preston do love to yap their goddamned mouths. It’s not that Georgia’s a weak person—not by any means. But sometimes the smallest reminder of that video is enough to ruin her entire week.
“Georgia,” I say, piling on the charm. “How are you this evening?”
At least she looks better today. She didn’t go all out with the makeup and hair, but she’s put together, bouncing back. “Stuff it, Wilcox,” she says, arms crossing. “What happened with Sugar?”
