Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,12

not what it looked like to me.” He shrugs, taking a tiny sip from his glass. Classic fucking Gene, taking his time, making himself at home in my fucking club. “You know what I think it is? I think you’re losing your charm, son. Happens sometimes when men get out into the real world.”

I clench my teeth, only barely holding back what I really want to say to this fucker. I’m not your fucking son. “Charm has nothing to do with it. Her cunt will fall on anything.”

He hums. “Anything except you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, old man,” I bite out, fed up. Every night it’s the same shit—Gene trying to provoke me, always pushing and prodding. I tolerate a lot of shit from this guy and his flunkies, but after seeing Georgia here tonight, I don’t have the patience for it. “For the record, I don’t need some balding Northridge failure to teach me how to pull tail. No one negs anymore. Negging’s for middle-schoolers who spend too much time on X-Box Live and old fucks who still think hitting on their servers is anything more than a complete waste of time.” I give Tara a meaningful look.

Gene stares at me, lips flattening into a tense line.

Well, so much for holding back.

“Fine.” He sets down his drink, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. From the dark gleam in his eye, I’m already dreading what’s about to come out of his mouth. “Why don’t we make a wager, then?”

I wave to Tara for a refill, sensing from the way my pulse quickens that I’m going to need it. “A wager on what?”

“Whether or not you can fuck that feisty redhead, of course.” He smirks at Tara when she stops to take my glass, sliding me another.

“Fuck no,” I say instantly, head shaking. “I start my community service tomorrow, and my PO has been so far up my ass, he can probably smell my breath. The last thing I need is my Ghost of Bad Fucks Past running to the sheriff again.”

Gene leans back, thumb tapping the table as he watches me. “If you win, I’ll cut your debt in half.”

I freeze, drink halfway to my mouth, before slowly putting it down. “You can’t be serious.” Fuck. That’s fifty grand off my debt.

“Oh, I can be very serious,” he insists, and I don’t need that cruel slant of a smile to know it.

My eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why do you suddenly care where I put my dick?”

“I don’t. I just know you can’t do it.” He shrugs, looking at me pensively. “You know what your problem is, Wilcox?”

“My problem?” I casually take a crack. “Probably the two years’ probation for a variety of bullshit charges. Although,” I add, rubbing my chin, “the fact that I owe a Northridge loan shark a hundred grand, and he’s holding my business hostage until I’ve paid off my balance isn’t exactly helping matters.”

He laughs, low and mocking. “Those aren’t your problems, sonny. Those are symptoms of a problem.” He looks down at the dance floor, watching the mass of people below. “My Northridge boys always used to say you were a sociopath. Matter of fact, that’s why I took a chance on you. Something like that could be useful in a pinch. But I know what you really are, Wilcox.” He meets my gaze, eyes hard. “You’re a spoiled little brat who doesn’t know anything about people. You don’t know what it’s like to feel responsible for somebody, because no one would let you close enough to find out. You don’t know what it’s like to feel guilt or regret, because there’s nothing you care about more than yourself. You’re not a sociopath. Sociopaths are useful. Sociopaths are smart. But you, you’re just...” He tilts his head, searching my eyes. “Well, you’re just a sad, overrated snob. Imagine my disappointment.”

I roll my eyes, wishing I could shut this motherfucker up, just once. “Is there a point buried somewhere under all that self-indulgent navel gazing? Because I actually have shit to do tonight.” Like pack.

He gives me a sharp smile. “Get the girl to fuck you and I’ll reduce your debt by half. I’ll even waive the interest—every cent.”

I don’t even need to think about it, thrusting my open palm at him. “Done.”

Big Gene looks at my hand before taking it. “Oh, Wilcox. That, right there?” he says, giving our linked fists a single bob. “That’s your problem. You never even asked