Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,143

cabinet before I’ve even had my morning piss. I feel too much like I have a hangover for someone who didn’t even drink yesterday.

When I get back out into the living room, the empty food cartons are gone. The laptop. The bra, the shirt, the shoes. Like she’d never even been here.

To think I’d been so disappointed in that ten grand last night after realizing it could have been a hundred. Now I lay it all out on my table, in the spot the laptop used to be, and stare at it, mouth resting on my knitted fists.

I sold that video of Georgia for this money. I lied about the countdown timer—just a little trick I talked Ozzy into adding so Gene would think the encryption was temporary—but it doesn’t make it any less true. I sold that moment. Her moment. A moment of vulnerability, maybe full of something she still hasn’t had a chance to understand. How could she, when even I don’t?

And what the fuck did I sell it for? Two months of my goddamn Escalade?

Suddenly, this money doesn’t look disappointingly small. It looks really fucking big now. Huge. Important. Like something I need to make matter.

And I’m not sure that’ll make it any better.

Warren picks me up at the gate early, a ride I’d arranged late last night over a bitter cup of coffee at The Nerd. He gives me a nod when I get in, slipping my seatbelt over my chest.

“Change of plans,” I tell him, clearing my throat.

He looks fine with where I ask him to take me, although he shoots me a concerned look. “You still have the money, right?”

I take a second to realize what he’s asking. I know I look tired and rumpled, probably sullen, so I’m quick to chew out a terse, “I didn’t gamble it.”

“Good. That’s good, Heston.” He nods, sending a small grin to the road. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

I stare out at the passing scenery, face feeling barer than carved stone. “Don’t be.”

We have to wait in the car for ten minutes for the place to open, but for once, Warren doesn’t try to make conversation. He lights a cigarette and rolls down his window, watching the passing traffic until a short little round man waddles up to the door and starts unlocking the door.

“You good?” Warren asks as I reach for the door.

“Yeah,” I say, pausing before climbing out of the car. “Thanks.”

It doesn’t come out as easily as it had when I said it to Georgia, but Warren doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Anytime.”

The short little round man shows me around, and when he asks, “What’s your budget,” I look at a beaten-up Toyota and say, “I’m looking for something cheap. Three, maybe four grand.”

He follows my gaze, nodding at the car. “Then that’s out of your price range. Follow me.”

I have to rush back to Preston for my first class, and the crappy Honda I’d settled on—thirty-five-hundred—doesn’t really like it. Nevertheless, it drives. In another life, where my brother and I didn’t fucking hate each other, I probably would have asked his opinion. As it is, I have to hope the weird grinding sound happening every time I accelerate is just a normal flaw in something this…aged. I pull a face at the dusty dash, knowing that it’s a piece of shit—knowing people will see it as a piece of shit.

But at least it’s my piece of shit.

It’s ten minutes before his and Georgia’s class starts and Micha’s standing in the doorway of my office, waiting for me to acknowledge him.

“I’m not in the mood, Adams.”

Huffing out a breath, he sweeps in like he owns the place. “Look, if I’m being honest? I don’t regret most of the pranks I pulled—it was hilarious—but…” When I look up, he’s glaring at his shoes, arms tightly folded over his chest. “Maybe dunking your phone was too far. It was nice, and probably expensive, and I know not everyone has money.” He finally looks up, reaching into his bag. “So here.”

I raise an eyebrow at the box he extends to me, a glossy photo of a phone embossed on the front. “You bought me a phone?”

“Not exactly.” He shakes it, insistent, and I know from experience that going along with Micha is easier than arguing with him, which is the only reason I snatch it from his hand. He watches me inspect it, explaining, “We give these out at the library for our low-income