A Deal With the Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 2)

“Yeah,” I admit, my pulse thrumming. “I got a lead on something and I’ve been following up on it.”

She leans forward, demeanor shifting from stiff to eager. Syd can’t resist juicy gossip. “What is it? What did you find out?”

I shake my head. “I can’t say. Not yet. No one knows.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I can see the gears turning. Her eyes widen. “Does it have something to do with Reyn? Is he in trouble again? Or your brother? I love Emory, but he’s got a history of not making the best decisions.” She bites her bottom lip, eyes pensive. “You know, I had a feeling something was up. Things have been weird lately. Afton’s more aloof than ever. Suddenly Tyson’s hanging around all those former Devils…”

I freeze, panic blooming even more fiercely. Shit. Sydney is a nosy, selfish bitch, but she’s right. She’s not dumb. “Look, I can’t say, Syd, but hopefully one day I’ll be able to reveal it—the right way—in a big flashy exposé in the school paper.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, looking down at her sketch. “I wasn’t trying to stalk you, I was just...”

I shrug. “No, I get it. You’re used to me sitting at home all the time doing nothing. It’s a change.” She probably doesn’t miss the bitterness in my voice.

She sighs. “It just sucks that you’re never around anymore. I miss you, you know?” The words sound so sincere that, for a moment, I feel guilty. She’s right, we used to be joined at the hip. And it’s not like I don’t think about her, too. Having all of this stuff, these feelings and new experiences bottled up inside me and not being able to tell her is hard. For a moment, I really miss her.

She turns to me, eyes sparking in delight. “I can be your partner in crime. You and me, hitting the streets, digging up the dirt. Come on, it’ll be awesome!”

I shake my head sadly. “This is something I need to do on my own, you know? It’s the only way to prove to Mr. Lee and everyone else that I have it in me.”

She rolls her eyes. “But like, what if you don’t? You need someone to do the physical stuff, and hey. Cheerleader here. I’m totally agile, like a cat.”

And all my guilt is gone.

Just like that.

“I can handle it,” I respond, smile so tight that my own face feels brittle.

There’s truth to that statement. Truth to all of it, really. And I feel a little better about adding more deceit to the piles I’ve been building lately. Even if I wanted to let Sydney in on this I wouldn’t, I couldn’t, and I don’t. Ironically, the idea of exposing the Devils has started to lose some of its appeal. I’m working on the article less and less, because among all the lies and deceit are a couple hard-earned truths.

One of them is that I’m more interested in being part of the group than taking them down.

With my parents' approval, Reyn is now allowed to sit with us at lunch. For the past few days, I haven’t had to worry about being seen with him. That’s the good news.

The bad news is that it’s harder and harder to pretend everything is normal between us. That we’re just part of the same social circle. That he’s just my brother’s best friend. That we don’t kiss when backs are turned, or steal little grazing glances beneath the lunch table, or as we leave our driveways, or as we pass in the halls.

And it’s getting downright impossible to ignore that I’m falling in love with him.

We sit across from one another in the bunker, along with the other Devils and Playthings. It’s only been a few days since breaking and entering into the Preston House, but Emory holds another card in his hand, the fifth rite.

We’re almost done.

“The next rite is one the Devils managed to maintain through the years, even if it was a little bastardized.” His eyebrows raise. “A test. Seven minutes in Hell—the Stairway to Hell, that is. Like the tattoos, it’s time to get marked. Only this time, by someone in the group.”

“Wait,” Afton says. “I’ve already been marked. Freshman year. Well, and junior year. Does that count?”

Elana nods next to her.

“No dice,” Emory says, shrugging. “You have to be marked by a current member or pledge, but for those of you in a committed relationship, there’s some leeway. The official Devil’s mark is under the ear.” Right, the famous hickey. Many girls have sported them proudly over the years. Last year, Sydney herself had supposedly scored herself one, although I sometimes suspect it wasn’t made by a Devil at all. “Other than that, it’s up to you and your partner how far you, uh, want to take it.”

r /> I can’t help the way my eyes snap to Reyn’s, but he’s already watching me, slouched low in his chair, eyes dark.

It’s awkward listening to my brother vaguely talk about blow jobs, especially when he thinks I have no experience with them. I have no doubt Emory and Aubrey have already gone there, if not further. Emory doesn’t take stuff slow. And Campbell? She built her entire reputation around being the blow job queen, just like Hamilton Bates had his little test. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised this is the one rite that managed to stand the passage of time and they managed to work it in the guys’ favor.

Perverts.

“How are partners going to be established?” Caroline asks, eyes darting around the group.

“Playthings choose their Devils.” The fact that his eyes seem to jump over me gives me an uneasy feeling. “You’ll write down the name of the Devil you want to go to the Stairway with, and turn it in. Since there could be overlap, I may have to make some executive decisions.” He smirks at Aubrey.