Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,168

“Shit,” I hiss, peeling the paper away. Blood bubbles up, the dark red stark against my fair skin, but a few more pats and the surge begins to slow a little.

The experience offered enough adrenaline that I can see a flush of color in my reflected face when I stand. I pause as I look at myself, and it’s not the same—it’s not the rush of being filled, the quickening of my pulse as I’m touched, the explosive release of an orgasm. But this is safer. I rinse the shard of glass in the sink before stowing it away in my pocket.

I’ll just have to be more careful next time.

I avoid the dining hall for lunch and dinner, afraid of seeing his face and thinking about it again. It’s futile in the end, because I still have class with him at the end of the day, but I can give myself time to prepare. That’s how, when I walk into the natatorium that evening, I’m armed with a dismissal form.

It doesn’t put me at ease, though. I still spend too long out on the pool deck, stomach swirling with dread at the thought of walking back into that office. It takes me forever to take the steps into the corridor leading to it, throat locking up with each footfall, until I finally find myself standing there, staring numbly at the knob.

Wrapping myself in whatever armor I can find, I push the door open.

He’s right there, behind the desk, jotting something onto the paper secured on his clipboard. He looks up at the sound of the door opening, though, those blue eyes locking instantly on mine.

It takes me a long time to realize the bruises and cuts on his face were made by me. At the time, it’d all seemed so ineffectual, my feeble fists knocking into whatever was closest. I’m surprised to see the split in his lip, the cut on his eyebrow, the bruise blooming over his temple, his jaw. It’s a shock to think I’d made any mark at all.

I don’t notice the slumped, dejected curve of his shoulders until he snaps upright, demeanor changing.

He clears his throat, pushing himself to his feet. “Good. You came.”

My pulse rushes hot and frantic in my ears, and before he can say anything else, I toss the dismissal sheet on his desk and take two steps back. “Sign it.”

He doesn’t break my gaze as he reaches for the paper, sparing it only the barest glance before looking back up. “Your test is coming up soon. You still haven’t—”

“I don’t care.” Without meaning to, my eyes go to the shelves above the lockers. That’s where it must have been that night, all nestled away, watching me. My skin crawls under the weight of phantom eyes.

“It’s not there anymore,” he says, drawing my attention back to the intensity of his gaze. “I took it from Underworld. It was one of our security cams for behind the bar.”

“Fascinating,” I drawl, hand tightening painfully around the strap of my bag. “Sign it.”

He drops the paper, eyes fixed to mine as he rounds the desk. “I’m going to get the flash drive back.”

I take another step back. “Would you just—”

“It’s at the club,” he says, cutting me off as he comes closer. He only stops when I bump into the open door, something gentle and disappointed in his eyes. “All I need to do is find it, and then I’ll give it to you. You can smash it, burn it, do whatever you want with it.” Closer like this, I realize how frayed he looks, the dark circles beneath his eyes looking more like the result of sleeplessness than bruising from my fists. “I just need a couple days.” Softer, he begs, “Please, just give me a couple days.”

“Take all the time you want,” I say, voice tight. “It won’t matter.”

His brows knit together, head tilting. “Why?” The words are laced with a tight desperation that nearly makes me flinch to hear. “Don’t you get it? This will undo everything.”

I wish I could see the plea in his eyes and not feel compelled to grant it. I wish I could see the cut of his jaw without remembering how it feels to press my mouth to it. I wish I hadn’t laid in bed last night and tucked a pillow against my back, just to feel the weight of something tangible against me.

When his words register, I give a short, incredulous laugh that feels like razor