Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

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.”