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

“Being Vandy,” her eyeroll doesn’t look nearly as fond as she probably thinks it does,

“she tried to clean it all up. George was helping her and then they vanished. Not sure.”

“George?” Fucking pimply faced fucker. I swear to god.

“Holy shit.” Her face lights up, oblivious to my irritation. Oblivious to a lot of things, really. She grabs my forearm. “Do you think she’s like, flirting with him or something? That would be amazing. It’s high time my girl started seeing some action. You know, things have been really shitty for her since that wreck.” Her eyes suddenly widen, her hand popping over her red mouth. “Oh shit, sorry. I didn’t mean—”

I’m not ungentle when I pull my arm from her grasp. “No worries.”

She doesn’t look put out. “I get it, you know.”

My eyes narrow. “Get what?”

“What it’s like to be the center of all the rumors. People love to talk about me. It’s non-fucking-stop. It’s like, just live your own damn life, people. Why are you so interested in mine?” Her mouth runs like a freight train, barreling forward. “I just try to focus my attention on Vandy. She’s really needed my support these last couple years, so I’ve done everything I can to really stick by her side. Even when things were bad.” She leans forward. “I mean, really bad.” She looks like she’s dying to tell me specifics.

“Uh huh.” Jesus, this girl. Emory was right. She’s a piece of work.

“Anyway, I know that you’re not supposed to be spending time with her because of your probation and everything,” she touches my shoulder, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.” My eyes flick to her hand and the way her thumb is rubbing against my shirt.

“Right.” I reach for my phone in my back pocket, acting like I’m looking at an incoming call. “Know what? That’s my probation officer. I need to go take this.”

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, but she nods solemnly. I stalk away from her, making an easy escape down an empty hallway. I expect that by the time I get home, rumors will be flying about the ‘call’ I just received. I don’t even care. I slip to the back of the house and pass an open door. A lamp on the desk casts a dim light through the room, but it’s enough to catch my attention.

I step inside and push the door closed. The room itself is a showcase of leather-bound books, shiny trinkets, and collectibles. While the party rages on down the hall, I take my time, running my hands over the spines of books, inspecting a solid silver figurine in the shape of a bear, an elaborately carved humidor and various cigar paraphernalia. I bypass the photographs of Elana and her family, but linger over a curio cabinet, the central focus being a gold pocket watch.

My body hums like a diviner searching for water.

The watch is too pricey to steal, though. Obviously, a family heirloom. Too flashy, too much attention. I sink into the deep leather chair behind the desk and peruse the cigar offerings instead. I don’t smoke, but the cigar lighter is rad. It’s heavy and flares to life in a billow of brightness and butane when I press the trigger.

Like always when I see a flame, I feel that old background nudge of ‘get away’. I stare into the blue and yellow of it, letting the wrongness of it slide over me like melted wax. It doesn’t give me the same back-sweating panic that it used to, and sometimes I think my little stint with Melanie The Pyromaniac was more about this than the sex. The way she handled fire was a thing of beauty. I’d watch her from afar, too proud to admit that the sight of flames made my stomach roil and my back itch. Given the gentle way she kept bringing it closer and closer, I’m pretty sure she knew. Complete lunatic, and the sex was… fine, but that’s the biggest thing I took away from my time with her.

This thing—this light and heat—only has as much power over me as I give it.

I press off the trigger, kicking back leisurely in the chair.

I’m assessing my prize, testing the weight of it in my hand, when the door falls open and a girl stumbles in.

Not just any girl.

Vandy turns around, her long hair falling over her shoulder, and our eyes meet. I know instantly that something’s wrong. Her eyes are big and wild, and when she reaches up to push her hair behind her ear, I can see a little tremor.

We silently take each other in. She’s wearing a clingy little jumpsuit with thigh-grazing short-shorts, and I don’t even know what it is about this place. It’s like every bit of female clothing in this town was designed to torture me.

Her eyes flick down to the object in my hand and back up to my face, but I’m focused solely on her expression. Her face is drawn and ashen, and I know the way she’s breathing. I’d know that shit anywhere. It’s the same way I used to breathe when Melanie first started setting shit on fire in front of me. All I can think is that the last person she was seen with was George.

“Are you stealing that?” she asks, the judgment thick in her question.

“Just browsing.” I don’t miss her knitted eyebrows, but at least she’s being distracted from her panic. “What? That’s not a crime.”

“Picking through people’s personal belongings without their permission is pretty damn close to a crime, Reynolds.”

“Close, but not quite.” I pick up the cigar cutter and balance the two in my hands. “I’m wavering between the guillotine and the torch. What do you think?”

She stares at me, aghast, unaware that I’m successfully drawing her out of her panic attack. Her arms cross over her chest. “I think you and every other guy in this place should start keeping your hands to yourself.

I hold her eyes as I lean forward, carefully setting the items back on the desk. “Is someone bothering you?” There’s a threat in my voice that I’m all too ready to deliver on.

“No.” She visibly struggles to take a deep breath. “Yes. No. Well… it’s less about the guy and more about me. I told you before, I don’t do things like this.” She gestures wildly, babbling, “I don’t go to parties. I don’t mingle and drink and not embarrass myself. Elana only invited me because,” she gives me a significant look, “well, you know why she invited me. But I’m sure she’s regretting it. I’m clumsy and slow, and I spilled my drink, an