A Deal with the Devil - Angel Lawson Page 0,213

soft gasp at the feel of it, but cards her fingers through my hair as I come down, heels sliding lazily down my thighs.

“Fuck, that’s,” I pant, lungs burning. “That’s the best sex I’ve ever had.” I regret saying it as soon as it emerges. Not because it isn’t completely true—because it is. But because this wasn’t just about the sex.

Vandy is fucking beaming, though. “For me, too.”

“Well, yeah,” I laugh breathlessly, rolling off of her. “Since it probably didn’t hurt this time.” And then I turn to her, worried. “It didn’t, right?”

She curls into my side, fingers grazing over my tattoo. “It didn’t hurt.”

We lay there for a few minutes, catching our breath, but it grows weird really quickly being naked like this in Vandy’s room. Too exposed here, in a place I’m not supposed to be.

“I hate that my brother messed up your pretty face,” she says, reaching up to gently graze my bruised cheek.

“Aubrey’s probably thinking the same thing, but…” In all the panic and grief of last night, I’d completely forgotten to tell her. “We might have worked things out.”

She gets her elbow beneath her and jerks up, eyes wide. “You did?!”

“Might have,” I stress.

She doesn’t look any less buoyed, dropping onto my chest with a big grin. “That’s amazing, Reyn!”

I run my hand down her back. “I need to get home, though. Take a shower. Ice my nose. Find some rice.”

“You’re hungry,” she guesses as I rise, tugging on my shorts.

I give her a look. “For my phone. The video, remember?”

Her face falls. “Reyn, I don’t need to see it. It doesn’t matter, because I believe you.”

I roll my eyes, because as nice as that is to hear... “Look, for once I have some proof that I’m not a fuck-up, and you’re going to watch it.”

The sounds of her protest are lost behind me as I get my damp suit from the bathroom, grimacing as I pull it on. It’s still bloody, only now it’s wrinkled and smells like sweat and old water.

“Talk to Em today, okay?”

She wrinkles her nose distastefully but says, “I will.”

“I’ll call you later,” I say, throwing on my jacket and heading to the window. I push open the frame and sling a leg out, giving her one last look. She’s adorable wrapped up in her blankets, cheeks still flushed from us being together. Seriously, I’d give just about anything to crawl back into bed with her, but the last thing we need is for someone to walk in on us, or for my dad to notice me missing—if he hasn’t already.

I shut the window and look up at the sky, it’s pinkish purple, the sun rising over the lake. I get to the edge and turn, placing my hands on the rooftop. The fall is easy and I land with a quiet thud.

“Don’t move,” someone barks. “Put your hands up, boy.”

The voice rattles me, surprises me, yet at the same time doesn’t. Fuckin’ Jerry. Right on schedule.

“Which is it?” I ask with a snort. “Put my hands up or don’t move. I can’t do both.”

“Goddamn smart-ass mouth,” he sneers, and a moment later his hand flattens against my back, slamming me against the house. My face hits the siding, banging against my lip, reopening the cut. Blood pours hot and bitter against my tongue. He barks some fast orders into his walkie-talkie before breathing down my neck. “I knew I’d catch you. I knew if I kept watching, you’d finally trip up.” His hands are on me, frisking down my sides. As if he has the right to pat me down.

“Get your hands off me, Jerry.” I glance toward the house. Dad’s car is in the driveway. “I want to talk to my Dad.”

“Sure, once the cops get here, you can talk to him all you want. Down at the Sheriff’s station.”

He digs in the front pocket of my pants and pulls out my roll of picks. Shit.

Then he goes for my jacket pocket and I twist sharply away. “Get your hands off of me,” I seethe. “You have no right to search me. None. You’re a security guard, not a fucking cop.”

He lunges forward once again and I turn away, but not before he grabs my pocket. Vandy’s pills fall to the ground like confetti, dozens of white circles dotting the ground.

Fucking Jerry crouches down to pluck one up, looking like he’s about to cream his pants with glee.

“Jerry? What’s all this ruckus out here?” a woman’s voice calls.

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