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

I swallow against the rising tide of bile in the back of my throat. “I thought this was Sydney being Sydney, just making shit up. But look,” I shove the phone at him again. “That’s you. Kissing her. Tonight. Right before you kissed me.”

“Because that’s how she wanted it to look!”

Movement shifts behind Reyn and I see Emory coming our way. His expression is steeled in anger, hands balled into tight fists.

“Sebastian,” I say, turning away. “Please. Please get me out of here.”

“You’ve got it.” He slams the passenger door and I press down the lock. Reyn is caught between trying to get to me and the barreling force of my brother. Emory told him not to mess with me, and in this moment, I understand why. Reynolds McAllister can’t be trusted. All he does is take and steal. But most of all he hurts.

Sebastian hops in the front seat, cranking the engine before his door is even shut.

I shut my eyes, but not before Emory takes the first swing.

The Ford’s engine revs, blocking out any noise, and the hot tears I’d been holding in finally run down my cheeks. I don’t look back as we drive away.

The drive is tense, quiet but for the sounds of my hitching breaths and embarrassed sniffles. He drives carefully, which I know is on purpose. If I weren’t so full of this suffocating agony, I might actually be able to appreciate it. As it stands, I’m trying my hardest to gather it all up inside myself until I get home. My abdomen trembles with the weight of it.

When he gets to my driveway, he eases the car to a stop. “I’m really sorry, V. I thought he was doing you right.”

It takes me a handful of swallows before I can speak with an even voice. “Yeah, well, I guess people don’t really change.”

“I won’t argue with that. Once a bastard, always a bastard.” He sighs, pressing his head back into the seat. “B

ut—”

I swipe at my cheeks before looking over at him. “What?”

“But remember, Syd is the master of game-play, and it really does seem like she wants to hurt you.” He taps his temple. “She’s a lot more conniving than you think.”

“He was kissing her, Bass,” I argue. “I don’t think Sydney tricked his lips to fall on hers.”

He doesn’t have a reply to that.

After asking me ten times if he should walk me in, he finally relents and leaves, engine bouncing off the neighboring houses as he goes. My feet carry me unsteadily toward my house, where Firefly meets me on the front walk. He weaves around my ankles with a soft meow. Mechanically, I bend, gathering him up in my arms, holding his soft body against mine. The night is quiet and has a chill. The dry fall leaves rattle in a passing gust of wind that should feel cold on my skin, but it barely penetrates.

I spent the last three years alone, lost. Maybe I’ve always been alone and lost. Maybe these last few weeks have been some tepid anomaly, and now the universe is making sure I know my place. But now that I know what it’s like to be part of something—to love and feel loved—the loss is that much sharper. I carry the cat into the house, sneaking past my parents and up to my room.

It’s not like I make a choice. I already know what I’m going to do before I do it. I think maybe I knew as soon as my eyes set on that photo. Hell, I’ve wanted to do it for weeks already, and only one thing held me back.

The routine settles over me like an old friend, toxic with its tainted comfort. Like the old days, I lock my door first. I lock the window next—no reason to bother with that anymore. I turn off all the lights but the one by my bed. I yank off the dress, tossing it on the floor, and change into something as worn and ugly as I feel. What’s the point of dressing like a princess if you have no prince?

With a pounding heart, the lick of anticipation creeping up my spine, I go around my room, pulling out all my stashes. The baggie tucked in the toe of a sock in my top drawer. The handful hidden inside an aspirin bottle. The six I keep in an envelope taped to the underside of my desk. Pill after pill, hidden in boxes, drawers, pencil pouches, jewelry compartments. I gather them all until I have the full stash. All of them piled on my bed.

Grabbing the bottle of water next to my bed, I pop the first pill onto my tongue and swallow.

36

Reyn

In the end, I do let Emory kick my ass.

But only kind of.

“I love her.”

The words come out in a gasp. I’m hunched over my knees, blood dripping onto the ground below. Emory groans a few feet away, still clutching his stomach. I’d punched him—hard. But just to get him off of me.

“Fuck off,” Em wheezes, grimacing. He keeps his distance, and I’m grateful. Not saying I couldn’t go another round, but my arms are tired and my lungs are screaming, and we’re not actually getting anywhere.