Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,160

for what it’s worth, I’m really into her, too. I was actually hoping you wouldn’t tell her about this.”

I give him a puzzled look. “About what?”

He takes a deep breath, lacing his fingers together in front of his chest. “First of all, I need you to know that I had no idea what I was doing.”

“Ozzy,” I urge, rolling my hand, “give me something here.”

“Heston came to see me a while back,” he blurts, looking nervous. “He said he was looking for Caroline, but she wasn’t here. I was.” He pauses, like he’s waiting for a reaction. When he gets nothing but a nod, he explains, “He wanted me to encrypt a file for him.”

“Oh.” After a moment, my brows knit together in confusion. “Okay?”

“He told me not to open it—not to even look at it. Which, for the record, is kind of hard when you’re encrypting a file.” Ozzy reaches up to rub the back of his neck, wincing. “Especially when my encryption program caches a thumbnail of the video.”

My blood runs cold, something odd and bitter bubbling at the back of my throat. “Video?”

There’s a flash of guilt in his eyes that I’m hoping is really unnecessary. “Look, I’ve…heard things. You know, rumors? About you, and Heston, and a video.” In a lower voice, he elaborates, “I’m pretty sure I saw you in this thumbnail.”

I cross my arms, shifting uncomfortably. “Okay, yes, there was a video of us going around, a long time ago. Maybe he was just—”

“Georgia,” he says, voice slow and confusingly gentle. “I don’t think it was the same video.”

I stand there for a long moment, staring at him, trying to fit his words into something that’s easier to parse. “I-I don’t—” Shaking my head, I try to swallow around the dark, panicked thing wedged in my throat. “Can you show me?”

He gives a heavy nod, but looks reluctant to move. “I only took a picture of this in case you needed it for…” he trails off, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I deleted the cache as soon as I realized what it was.”

I don’t care about that. All I can focus on is the phone is in his hand, the way he’s thumbing it to life, swiping through a gallery of photos, and then turning it to face me. I only watched the video from that night in his room once. It was the catalyst to a month-long streak of self-destruction that would have even made Sebastian Wilcox flinch. I still remember how everything looked slightly blue, but I remember the small, pointless details most of all. The way the blanket on the bed rode up halfway through, blocking out my shoulder. The poster in the background. The hitch in my voice when I cried out, right before coming. The way his fingers looked, digging divots into my hips.

There’s nothing blue about the thumbnail.

There’s no poster in the background.

There are no sheets, no bed, no faceless side-shot that can be shrugged off.

It’s an indistinct snapshot of a computer screen, pixilated with the angle and light of the monitor, but I’d know Heston’s office anywhere. The flesh-colored mesh of naked skin is just as obvious, as well as my hair, darkened by dampness and tangled around a tight fist.

I’m not sure what’s holding me up. It feels like my bones have vaporized, spine melting away to bond with my dull, aching organs. Maybe it’s years of my mother’s training, always having it beat into my head that girls must pretend. Through the crisp pang of silence in my head, I can hear myself suck in a breath, but I don’t feel my lungs expand with it.

Ozzy sighs. “There’s more.”

My head snaps back, eyes widening in horror. “There’s more?!”

He rushes to say, “Not videos! I mean, not that I know of. It’s about the encryption.” There’s a sudden slump to his features. “I tried to tell him! I’m not good with software. He wanted me to do some weird, fancy shit, and I tried my best, but…”

My voice feels dry and squawk-like. “But what?”

“I’m not sure it’s secure.” He lifts his arms in a wide shrug. “He wanted this fake timer countdown to it unlocking, which is why I had to get this other program I’m not fluent in, because the timed encryption was a native feature, which should have been…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. The point is, the timer may be functional, which means—”

Since I don’t understand any of this, I turn