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

Right.

Here’s the anger.

Despite feeling like I’m shaking with the force of it, I keep my voice low and controlled. “I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen. You’re not my father. Even if you were, you’d still have no say over what I do with my time, my feelings, or my body.”

“Oh, I’d love to see what Mom and Dad would say about this.” He crosses his arms, eyes shrewd. “You think this is a bad reaction? Wait until they get wind of it.”

“You’re threatening to tell them?” Having seen this coming miles away, I just shrug. “Go ahead. I don’t give a single solitary fuck.”

Pure disbelief fills his eyes. “Jesus, he really got into your head, didn’t he?”

“You still don’t get it!” My toast pops and I completely ignore it. “This is me, Em! This is who I am, without the pills, without feeling like I’m some defective loser, without my family constantly breathing down my neck and telling me how to feel. This is the real me. Get used to it.”

“Oh, he’s good.” His laugh is completely without humor. “So that’s how he’s playing it, huh? Got you going on some little independence kick? Open your eyes, V, this is what he does. He manipulates situations for—”

“Give me a break.” I roll my eyes so aggressively, I might have pulled something. “Look at his life, Emory. Who exactly is he manipulating with these superpowers of his? He can’t even leave the house without getting frisked. He has to go through three layers of procedure just to have me in his kitchen for an hour. He couldn’t even eat at my table until Mom and Dad un-manipulated their own situation.”

“Poor Reyn,” Emory sneers, nostrils flaring. “He’s such a victim for committing a felony and almost killing you in the process. We should throw him a pity party. In fact, you know what? I’ll design the banner myself.” He sweeps his hand high. “It’ll say ‘that’s what you get, asshole’!”

I push off the counter, feeling my eyes flash red. “Don’t even act like you haven’t been worried about him all this time.”

“That was before he fucked my sister!”

“I know you. If you really thought Reyn was everything you’re saying, he never would have been your best friend.”

He scoffs derisively. “Please. Hamilton Bates was one of my best friends for three years.”

“And look at him now.” I pull out my phone, swiftly navigating to his ChattySnap. I angrily swipe through, shoving the phone in his face. “Building homes in other countries, working at the soup kitchen with Gwen, teaching cello to disadvantaged youth.” Emory just snorts, pushing the phone away. I continue, “Because deep down, you knew Hamilton was a good guy.” I can’t even say that with a straight face. “Okay, he’s an alright guy.” That doesn’t quite feel right, either. “Well, he’s not evil!” Yeah, that’s about as good as I can do.

“This has nothing to do with Hamilton.”

“You’re right,” I agree, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “This is about you being a complete coward.”

He stares at me unblinkingly, voice low and deadly. “Excuse me?”

“If you weren’t,” I explain, snatching my toast, “then maybe you could face the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” His voice turns mocking. “That you’re in stupid, schoolgirl puppy-love with Reyn?”

I’m not expecting the way the words fall like lead in the bottom of my stomach. It momentarily takes my voice away, trapping it into a lump at the back of my throat. He doesn’t even know it, but hearing it said like that—having these colossal, exhilarating, once-in-a-lifetime feelings diminished so callously—is probably the most hurtful thing he’s ever said to me.

I’m still caught in the trap of it when a rumble echoes off the pavement, followed by a solitary blare of the horn. I grab my stuff while Em’s eyebrows draw angrily together. We both look out the window. Sebastian’s shiny blue muscle car sits in the driveway, engine purring like Firefly on my lap.

“Is that Sebastian?” I move toward the door, but he blocks my way. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Finally finding my voice, I flatly explain, “He’s giving me a ride.”

Emory balks. “Like fucking hell he is. First of all, this conversation isn’t over, and secondly, there’s no way in hell you’re getting into a car with a Wilcox.”

I glare at him. “Get out of my way, Em.”

“Jesus Christ, V.” He looks at me like it’s dawning on him that he doesn’t even know who’s standing in front of him. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I know you’re going to get hurt.”

I swallow hard, hand flexing around the strap of my bag. “The truth I was talking about before? The one you’re afraid of facing? It’s that you’re so worried about some guy manipulating my life to fit his own pleasure, taking away my happiness and hurting me, that you’re missing a very essential point.” I look him in the eye and feel the steel in my veins. “It’s you, Emory. You’re the guy.”

I barely watch the words land, using the opportunity to skirt past him. I walk to the car, wrenching open the heavy door and sliding inside. Sebastian looks over at me. He’s wearing dark sunglasses, hair a mess, and sporting a thick layer of stubble over his jaw. I don’t know how I look, but it must be pretty bad, too, because he says, “You okay? Someone’s ass need kicking? Reyn?” He turns to look at the house next door, forehead puckering pensively. “Yeah, he’s strong and fast, but I can take him.”

I sigh and sink down into the leather seat. “Just drive, Bass. Just drive.”