Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

“You know where this would go perfectly? The bedroom.” Mom has a whole wall full of black and white photographs in there, which is exactly what I was thinking of when I saw it. “How are the other ferals doing? Has this one had her litter yet?”

“Not yet,” I say. “But I suspect it’ll be pretty soon. Sugar and I are checking on them every day.”

“Sugar?”

I point to the frame. “The girl who took the photo. She feeds them too.”

“And her name is Sugar?” Her smile is bright and delighted. “What a beautifully unique name.”

“It fits the owner,” I offer.

Mom tilts her head, studying me for a moment. I do my best to keep my expression noncommittal. I hate it, but no one in this house needs to know about Sugar. My conversation with Hamilton confirmed that last night.

“And how are you doing?” she asks as she sits on the loveseat in the sun. A stack of paperbacks and an ashtray sit on the end table. She reaches for her pack of cigarettes. “How are your classes? Your last report card looked good.”

“I’m holding on. Dr. Ross is a hardass, but I should get an A.” As

much as I hate academics, I’m still good at it.

She frowns at the language but says nothing, tapping out a cigarette. “And lacrosse?”

“Still waiting for the all-clear.” I lever myself to my feet, rocking back on my heels. “Tell Dad if he wants to donate to the athletic association, now would be a good time.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t need your father’s money to get back on the team. Just take care of yourself.”

“I will,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I need to run, though.”

Her smile wavers, but doesn’t disappear. “Okay, sweetheart, but you bring that girl around when you’re ready.”

“What girl?” I ask, blankly.

She shakes her head, more observant than I give her credit for, and opens her novel.

I head down the hall and duck into my room to grab a pair of boots out of my closet. As I step back out and shut the door I hear, “Hey there, little brother.”

The hair on my neck stands on end at just the voice alone. The sight of him standing in my doorway makes my stomach want to turn inside out. “Heston. What are you doing here?”

“My mini-mester isn’t over for a few more weeks. Just chilling here until the frat house opens back up.” He gives me a weird grin and the resulting paranoia makes me wonder if he heard me talking about Sugar to mom. Luckily, he just says, “Anyway, I found something to entertain me while I’m in town.”

“Oh yeah?” I mutter, grabbing my keys off the dresser. “What’s that?”

“That sweet little thing you were flirting with at the car show.” My stomach drops, mouth turning bone dry. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Sydney Rakestraw.”

I frown, even though it feels like my heart just restarted. “Sydney? Dude, I told you. Jailbait. She’s a junior.”

He shrugs, uncaring. “Seventeen’s legal. And hey, she doesn’t fuck like she’s a junior.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, tossing the clothes from last night in the laundry. “Sydney is a mess. I don’t know if that’s really who you want to get involved with. She’s always causing a shit-ton of drama. She tried to stir shit up with Vandy and Reyn last fall.”

He narrows his eyes. “What, you jealous I got to her first?”

I snort, biting back the response that I actually had been there first. I’m not proud of that drunken hookup, though. “Fuck who you want. I’m not jealous.”

Because he’s obsessed with the sense of competition that only exists in his twisted head, the expression on his face says he doesn’t believe that at all.

“You should be,” he says. “Check this out.” He holds up his phone, and although it’s pretty clear from the jump that I’m watching porn, it takes me a second to get past the slapping flesh to figure out what’s going on. It’s a girl on her stomach, face covered by her hair, neck turned sideways. A hand cinches around her neck as he stands over her, pounding into her aggressively. A queasy feeling builds in my stomach. I can’t see his face any more than I can see hers, but there is one identifiable mark. A devil tattoo, on his bicep. My brother’s tattoo. He grins down at me. “Damn, this girl lets me do whatever I want to her. You missed out on this one.”

“Are you sure she’s into that?” I ask, unable to look away for a reason I can’t quite put my finger on. “It looks like she can’t breathe.”