Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

“Look at the back,” the guy says, nodding at the shirt in my hands.

I hold it up and see that, on the back, it says in bold font, “You’ve been marked by the Devils.”

“She’s got it!” the guy screams, jumping up next to me. “Sugar Voss has been marked by the Devils!” He sounds as excited as if he were the one to get it.

I stare at the guy, wondering how he knows my name, but then realize I’m the new girl. Everyone probably knows my name. It doe

sn’t matter. The whole place goes a little crazy, and the next thing I know, I’m walking down to the center court, feeling annoyed and weirdly suspicious about the whole thing.

Afton meets me in the middle and hands me an envelope. “Congratulations, Sugar,” she says, giving me a wink. Before I can say anything, the buzzer blares, announcing the start of the second half, and I’m shuffled off the court with everyone else. I try to locate the main Devil, but the crowd is too thick and the band’s too loud, and then Georgia’s smiling face appears.

“Oh my god! You won!” she cheers, holding her hand up for a high-five. I listlessly slap it. She drags me out to the lobby, and I hear the referee whistle and the game starting back up.

“I guess?” I say, feeling overwhelmed. “Do you know who that was in the mascot suit?”

Georgia’s smile stiffens, but she just says, “I think Johnny Weider is the mascot, right?” I don’t know who Johnny Weider is, but the guy in the mask definitely had familiar blue eyes and abs. “Did you open your prize?”

I look down at the envelope in my hand. I hadn’t. I figure it’s probably a gift certificate to The Nerd or school bookstore. At least that’d be the kind of thing they’d give away at Briar Cliffs, or—who am I kidding. Nothing is given away for free in the Briar Cliffs. I open the flap and peer inside. It’s a check. For a thousand dollars.

I look back up at Georgia, who still has that wide grin on her face. “Holy shit, girl! That’s amazing. You are a lucky devil!”

I stare at the check. Sugar Voss is a lot of things, but lucky isn’t one of them. That game was rigged and I’m pretty sure I know exactly who decided to give me the mark; the Devil himself, Sebastian Wilcox.

23

Sebastian

“Tell anyone and I’ll hunt you down,” I say to Johnny Weider, as I shove the mask in his lap. I take a moment to really assess the situation, and yeah. It looks pretty bad. He has a black hood over his head and his wrists are zip-tied. But it’s not like we roughed him up or anything.

“Tell them what?” he asks, voice wobbly under the single equipment room’s lamp. “I have no fucking idea what’s going on, you psychos!”

Carlton and I grin at one another. We’d basically kidnapped Johnny and held him hostage during the prank so I could commandeer his mascot outfit. Everyone else was able to do a quick change, but I have to hit the locker room shower and clean off the layers of thick red paint. And I’d thought my tattoos would get me out of anonymous showboating. I’d overlooked the possibility of body paint. Emory, who had been the second choice, conveniently remembered.

If everything is going according to plan, Afton, Elana, and Aubrey are keeping up the façade of having no idea what just happened, Caroline is wiping all evidence from the video surveillance, the other guys are back in the lair, hiding the evidence, and Georgia is handling Sugar, who is probably already trying to return the prize.

I clean up quickly, watching the paint run down the drain like a bloody massacre. There’s no time to fuck around, I have to get out of here before the final buzzer. Once I’m clean, I hop out, get hastily dressed, and push out the side door to head across campus to the tower.

“Leaving early?”

I jerk to a stop at the sound of a voice and turn. Sydney Rakestraw leans against the stadium wall, the same one Hamilton and Gwen spent a month of detention painting last year before my brother and the old Devils got themselves disbanded for vandalism. Her knee is bent with her foot propped up behind her, vape pen in her mouth. Classic Sydney, always trying so hard. A cloud of smoke cloaks her face followed by the cloying scent of cotton candy. The last thing I want to do is stop and talk to her, but I can’t help thinking about her in the video Heston showed me.

“Hey, Syd,” I say, coming to a slow stop. “Why aren’t you inside?”

A flicker of annoyance crosses her face, but she lifts her chin defiantly. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Heston?” I guess. When she doesn’t deny it, I add, “I heard you were seeing him.”

“From who? Him?” she asks, a little too eagerly. She pushes off the wall. “Did he mention me?”

If she only knew. It’s awkward coming face to face with her after seeing the video, having seen that pinched, panicked look on her face as my brother brutally fucked her. She’s an annoying shit-stirrer, but I mostly just feel bad for her. “Syd,” I start, running a hand down my face. This is not a conversation I want to have. “You know my brother is bad news, right?”

She laughs and takes a drag from her vape pen. “I know he’s sexy and popular.”

“He’s also an abusive asshole.”

Her jaw clenches, but she blinks and recovers. “You had your chance to have an opinion on who I date. I don’t really give a shit about what you think now.” She barks out a mean laugh. “And you’re one to talk. You and Little Miss Hot Mess are quite the couple. You’re both freaks. You think you’re so much better than your brother? Don’t think I don’t know what you did to her, and here the two of you are, boning anyway.”

Hot, instant anger rolls up my spine. “I’m nothing like Heston,” I grind out, fists clenching around the strap of my bag. “What happened with Sugar was an accident. When I’m with a girl, I treat her right. Heston doesn’t know the first fucking thing about it.”