Touched by the devil, p.38
Touched by the Devil, page 38
part #3 of Boys of Preston Prep Series
Heston’s laugh rings out again as he slides away from his brother, inspecting me. “Holy shit, dude! She’s in your clothes and everything! Look at her, she’s so…” He raises his hands, gesturing to me, “small.” He tells Sebastian, “Gotta level with you, baby bro, I didn’t really think this whole trashy goth look was your vibe, but hey. I don’t judge.”
“Sugar, go back upstairs,” Sebastian says from behind him, voice low and tight. I don’t like the way he says it, or the way he’s holding himself, or the way he’ll only look at me through the corner of his eyes.
I try to catch his gaze, wondering, “What’s going on?”
But Heston’s eyes are widening in realization, fingers snapping. “Sugar! You’re that new girl at Preston!” he bursts, looking more gleeful than ever. “The one who doesn’t like to be touched.”
I bristle, at both the description and the way he raises his hand, as if to brush my cheek. I rear back, but it doesn’t matter.
Sebastian is already between us, shoving his brother’s shoulder, lips pulled back in a sneer. “Touch her, and I’ll rip your fucking arms off.”
Heston stumbles, but barks a laugh at the way his brother is holding himself, tense and coiled. “And he’s protective! Oh, this is good.”
“Back the fuck off,” Sebastian growls, and Heston raises his hands, even though his smile is all teeth. A chill runs down my spine at the sight of it. I’ve seen that look before. Pure evil.
“Relax, it was just a joke. I’m not going to touch your shiny new toy.” His eyes cut to me, causing a ripple of something wary to course through my muscles. “Although, for the record, I have been informed by certain qualified parties that my dick is bigger.”
I curl my lip in disdain. “Did she say your dick was bigger, or that you’re the bigger dick?”
If anything, it just makes him look more excited. “Ooh, and she’s a feisty one! Bravo.” He gives his brother a slow, sarcastic applause. “Bet you a Benjamin you’ve got scratch marks on your back right now. I’m right, aren’t I?” He laughs again.
I’m not entirely sure I get the source of what’s transpiring between them, but that asshole is way too happy, and when Sebastian swipes the plate from the counter, jerking his chin at the stairs, I can’t find any trace of the man I’d spent the night with. This guy standing here is completely checked out.
I follow him up, glancing back over my shoulder, where I catch Heston’s eye. He stares up at me, that same dark smile curving his lips and winks knowingly. My stomach turns. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because I realize that he knows more about what’s happening right now than I do.
We’re quiet.
Sebastian rustles around the room, packing his bag, and even though he’d fucked me last night—made love to me, if I were capable of such corniness—you wouldn’t know it by the way he’s acting.
“You don’t have to drive me. I can figure something out,” I say, smoothing down my skirt. I’d forced down two pancakes while Sebastian pretended nothing was wrong, even though he barely tried to sell it. “I can go alone.”
He adjusts the collar of his button-down, motions quick and mechanical. “I told you I would go with you. It’s not a big deal.”
It feels like a big deal. Every movement he’s made since we came up has been perfunctory, controlled, the opposite of his nature. “If you think you should stay with the kittens…”
He pauses then, going eerily still. “The kittens.” It’s a long, suspended moment before he breaks out of it, raking his fingers through his hair. “I’ll give Liesel a key to the room. She’ll look after them.”
Our eyes make contact in the mirror over his dresser and I can’t hold it in anymore. “Did I… did I do something wrong?”
Did the sex not live up to his expectations? I thought he enjoyed it as much as I did. It sure fucking seemed like it. I thought I’d gotten to know Sebastian and his rolling tide of emotions pretty well, but seeing him now…
I have no fucking idea what’s going on.
I just know the way it makes me feel, like I might be sick.
A line creases between his eyes and he says, “Of course not. You know my brother sets me on edge. Let’s just go do this thing and get on with it.”
I do know that Heston really bothers him, and it sounds like he didn’t expect him to be here. I cross the room and rest a hand on his back before reluctantly sliding it around his waist—a move that even days ago would have pleased him to no end. But now, when I look into his eyes, I can’t find the teasing heat that resides there. There’s just a blank stare. “I know you didn’t want me and Heston to meet. I get that—”
“No,” he says, stepping away, “you don’t.” He checks the time. “We need to go if we’re going to be there on time.”
I exhale, not wanting to leave it like this. But he’s right. “Doug will flip if I’m late.”
He grabs his coat and hands me mine, arm extended. “Then let’s get out of here. Get this over with.”
Sebastian walks out of the room, leaving me behind. I glance over at the bed, still rumpled from the night before. A small piece of the condom wrapper sits on the floor next to the trash can. Just seeing it creates a ball of tension in my stomach.
The words, ‘Let’s get this over with,’ echo in my ears, as though once we’re finished with this day, everything is over.
27
Sebastian
On the ride to the Briar Cliffs, I do all the shit.
I count to ten. I breathe. I count to twenty. I breathe some more. I count to fucking one hundred, and the breathing isn’t fucking helping.
I eventually turn on the radio, trying to find something to focus on that isn’t this scorching fucking rage simmering just inside my chest. He’s right, is the problem. I do need it. I need someone I can build up in my head to be Heston. Someone I can beat the shit out of. It’s just so goddamn hard to shake it off. This thing—this toxic fucking hatred for him—clings to me like a leech.
He threatened my girl.
Maybe she didn’t hear it in all his bullshit yapping, but I did. I heard it clear as fucking day.
The fucked-up thing is that I actually woke up happy. Sugar had been beside me in bed, sheets dropped down, baring her tits as she breathed softly in slumber. She looked so fucking soft and inviting that it was almost impossible to pull away from her. But I figured after waking her up for a nice breakfast, we could get down and dirty with a second round. If the way she kept waking during the night and rubbing her bare ass against my dick was any indication, she would have been into it.
Instead, I’m sitting here in this fucking car, strangling the steering wheel as she sits beside me, still as stone.
I feel like the smallest twitch will make all of this creeping black fury inside me loose, and she’ll run. She’d be smart to. It hasn’t been this bad in months. Every second of the morning has been devoted to this shoddy charade that I’m not a hair’s width from completely fucking losing it on something.
Because I know exactly what I need to do here.
I’ll fight it. Of course, I’ll fight it. Fighting is what I do. I’m doing it right now, by just sitting beside her, taking her back home. I’m clutching onto it with a death grip, even though I don’t have a plan for keeping her safe.
I didn’t even have a plan to keep the fucking kittens safe. I’m the last person who should be surrounded with all these sweet, breakable things. That’s my problem. I don’t plan enough. I’ve spent weeks twisted up with worry about what might happen if Heston found out about her, but I didn’t chart a single fucking map through dealing with it. Now, here I am, staring down the cold reality of the only thing that’ll make it go away.
I try the counting thing again.
I breathe.
As if the bridge is an invisible line, the instant we arrive on the other side, Sugar’s urgent voice rings out, breaking my concentration. “Pull over.”
“What?”
She pitches forward, hand on the dash. “Pull over. Right here, just…” She inhales, jaw clenching, and oh shit. “Pull over, please just pull the fuck over.”
I hit the brake, shooting out an arm protectively before easing the SUV onto the shoulder. She’s out the door before it even completely stops, bending at the waist and losing her breakfast.
I fumble out of my seatbelt, but she holds out a hand, stopping me as she heaves again. I crane forward to watch her, frozen with indecision. It’s not long though before she straightens, pushing her fingertips under her eyes, wiping at the wetness that’s collected there. I clumsily open the glove compartment, pulling out tissues and wet wipes.
Stupidly, I ask, “Are you okay?”
Sure, she looks fucking peachy, vomiting her guts out on the side of the road. Real fucking bright.
When she turns back to the car, she looks paler than usual, taking four small paces back to the SUV. She closes the door with a soft click, staring straight ahead.
“So, that happened.” When she takes the tissues and wipes from me, her hands are unsteady.
Distracted enough from the static of my anger to make a shitty attempt at levity, I try, “My cooking was that bad, huh?”
She fists a tissue, holding it up to her mouth. “I think it’s just… nerves.”
“Look,” I start, feeling it beginning to build again. “I won’t let Heston fuck with you. You shouldn’t—”
“Heston?” She gives me a confused look, and it suddenly occurs to me that this has nothing to do with him. It’s a startling revelation—like how could the earth possibly go on spinning when my brother is out there, ruining everything? For a second, it makes no sense to me. How could anything be worse than what happened back in that kitchen? The math doesn’t add up. Obviously, everything is about me and my bullshit.
Fuck, maybe I actually am self-centered.
“You’re nervous about being back home,” I realize, feeling like a goddamn moron.
“Being home.” She says this in a daze, like she’s testing the words in her mouth, trying to make them fit. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Grimacing, I twist, digging around in the back seat for a bottle of water. It’s cold from being out here all night, and I watch her press it to her forehead. She hasn’t told me much about her life here. I know her dad was killed in action. I know he left her that Mustang. I know her mom remarried. I know Toby Fuckface exists.
And I know she’s absolutely fucking covered in scars.
But she hasn’t said yet how she got them.
Not like it takes a genius, anyway. The ones on her back are from being whipped. The ones on her thighs… those took me longer to suss out, but I have one exactly like it on the outside of my bicep—the result of a fight outside the Nerd two years ago.
It’s a cigarette burn.
If I had to guess, whatever—whoever—gave her those scars is still wandering around this place.
Softly, I say, “Hey,” and press a hand to her cheek, forcing her eyes to mine. “You know I won’t let anyone hurt you. That’s what this is about, right? I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you—”
She flinches away, face blank. “Let’s just go. Okay? Like you said before, let’s get it over with, and then we can go home.”
I watch her carefully, not missing that she considers Preston her home now. It’s a precarious thing, and I should know. Preston is a fleeting shelter that has its own scars and pangs. People like me and her, we call it home, but it never can be.
Not really.
“Is this the place?” I ask, nodding at the wrought iron archway of the town cemetery entrance. Between the bridge and here, I’ve managed to talk myself into, at the very least, pretending everything is normal. At least for her. It still feels stilted and awkward, pulling this façade over all the frenetic anger that’s trapped beneath.
“Yeah,” she breathes, gazing out her window.
She seems content to pretend, too.
I slow the car and pull up the narrow drive. The cemetery is huge, probably the final resting place of every resident the Briar Cliffs has ever seen. Down the winding road that cuts through the gravestones, a few cars are parked off in the distance.
Sugar swallows and says, “That should be them.” I ease the car up behind a white pickup truck and park. Just before I open the door, she says, “My mom makes all of us do this memorial thing. No one likes it but her. It gets all of us tense, and my mother’s husband, he…” She trails off, jaw going taut.
I let my hand drop from the handle. “He what?”
She chews out her words. “He can be a little abrasive. Just… do me a favor and ignore him, okay? That’s what I do.”
I nod, feeling like there’s something she’s not saying, but if she can let me pretend, then I can at least extend the same courtesy to her. We step out of the car, and even though it’s warmer than it was yesterday, Sugar still wraps her arms around herself.
A woman bearing a striking resemblance to her starts toward us. “Baby,” the woman cries, pulling Sugar into a tight hug, her weathered hand rubbing at her back. “You look so good! You’ve put a little meat on your bones, haven’t you?”
Sugar’s smile is tight and rusty. “The food at school is good.”
“Should be, for how expensive it is.” She brushes the hair off Sugar’s cheeks, and I notice her flinch. Jesus Christ, she really hadn’t been lying. She’s not even comfortable with her mother’s touch. “I’m so glad you made it. Any trouble with the weather?”
“No, not really,” Sugar says, eyes darting back over to where the rest of the guests stand near the tombstones. She swallows, asking blandly, “How are you?”
“Good,” her mom says with a rattling exhale. “You know, getting all of this together was a little hectic. Your Aunt Jane kept trying to interfere, but you know how she is. I let her handle dessert, so she backed off.” She looks at me, like she’s just registering that I’m here, and then back at her daughter.
“Mom, this is…” she glances at me, and even the flash of panic in her eyes is a comforting sight. She hasn’t shown one ounce of emotion since crossing the fucking bridge.
I extend my hand and grin. Easier to pretend when it’s just putting on some charm. Sugar will see it for the ‘bullshit artifice’ it is, but these people won’t have a clue. “Sebastian Wilcox. I’m a friend of Sugar’s from school. Pleased to meet you.”
“Sebastian,” she repeats, shaking my hand and arching her eyebrow at her daughter. “It’s lovely to meet you, too. Honestly, I was worried about Sugar making new friends so late in the school year.”
“No need to worry,” I assure her, dipping my hands into my pockets. “Your daughter has won over just about everyone at Preston.”
“Is that so?” a man asks, striding up behind Sugar’s mother. He rests an arm over her shoulder possessively, eyes fixed on Sugar. “Thought maybe you decided not to show up.”
Her mom’s laugh has a nervous edge to it. “Oh Doug, you know the weather was iffy this morning. Sugar would never miss this.”
I look between them, expecting an introduction. None comes. Instead, I watch Sugar’s eyes lift to Doug’s, see the way her shoulders stiffen, lips flattening into a grim, tense line. I watch her look at him, and there’s fear there, which is bad enough. But there’s also something else, and suddenly, everything begins clicking together.
I’d know that look anywhere.
It’s the same sort of look she gave me, that first time we ran into each other at the garage.
Plastering a smile on my face, I offer this motherfucker my hand. “Sebastian Wilcox.”
He gives me a once over before taking my hand. “Doug Dickinson.” His grip is tight—it screams over-compensation, but I grew up in the world of back-room country club deals and underground fighting. I roll with it. “I see you’ve met my wife, Marie.”
His wife. Not Sugar’s mother.
“Thanks for having me,” I tell her, even though I wasn’t technically invited.
“The chaplain wants to get started,” Doug says, glancing at his watch, mustache twitching with the glare he shoots Sugar. “We’re already running late.”
“Doug’s right,” Marie says, quickly. “Let’s get started.”
They walk off, but Sugar hangs back, looking up at me. I raise an eyebrow, asking, “He always like that?” even though I know now.
I know.
She nods stiffly. “My mom’s husband. Brace for it: he’s always right.”
I realize now that she never calls him her stepfather, just her mom’s husband. We walk up the small hill, and I notice Sugar’s hands are tucked tight in her pockets. She’d introduced me as a friend—not her boyfriend. Maybe she’d take this easier than I thought. With each step closer to the small group of people, her shoulders tense. I watch as the wall that I’d taken weeks to tear down slowly builds back up.
“Where’s the Mustang?” Doug asks abruptly, looking over our heads at my mother’s SUV. “Don’t tell me. That piece of junk broke down.”
“It’s just getting some work done,” she replies, voice as abrasive as the look he gives her. “That’s why Sebastian offered to drive me. The SUV seemed safer with this weather, anyway.”
Doug eyes me, taking in my clothes and my car. I want to ask him how he could let his stepdaughter drive off in a hunk of junk in that condition on her own, but I swallow it back. Someone who’s done what I suspect he’s done to Sugar probably couldn’t fucking care less.
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Marie says, oblivious to the tension, or maybe in spite of it. “Ice so late in the year. Your father would have been so amused. You know how much he loved the cold weather and snow. Especially after basic training at Fort Benning. Said he’d never experienced that kind of heat and humidity in his life and never wanted to again.”
I’m introduced to Sugar’s Aunt Jane and a few other people, including a few older guys in uniform. Sugar’s fine with everyone, mostly, even though she’s tense—except Doug. It’s so goddamn obvious, how can these people not know? How can they not see?
