Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,34

tells me she heard the scorn there. “You’re an adult. It’s my understanding you’re helping Coach James, which means you qualify as faculty.” She nods at the empty seat next to hers. “Plus, you’re clogging the flow of the line, and I don’t like that.”

Her tone drags me back to my days as a student, and I almost expect her to threaten me with detention, even though she can’t. At least…I don’t think she can. Can she? Can she still make my life hell? I’d bet on it. I slide into the seat across from Mr. Lee and eye his cheap clothes. There are tired lines crowding up against his eyes, something aged and ragged. Jesus. Is that what happens to you in this place? Because that’s motivation enough to get out of here fast.

I ignore the teacher-themed chatter happening around me—something about staying late at an upcoming conference—and scan the room, trying to figure out who’s most likely to be a Devil. It’s less that I fear Collins and more that I’m just curious. The LAX guys are still huddled at the same table. As much as I hate them, they’re all hot heads like my brother. They’ve got the right alpha vibe. I recognize two of them, Gus Meyers and Peter Norton, from a few parties back in the day. Buck Smith is sitting on the other side of the table. Peter’s got a hot girl leaning into him, ignoring the flirty way she’s rubbing his shoulder.

I take a bite of my sandwich, watching some of the other tables. Emory and Reynolds were football players. Maybe some of them are in on it.

Someone new but strangely familiar crosses the room, catching my attention. My interest piques further when he heads straight to the old Devils table, which had been occupied when I wasn’t looking by none other than Georgia, Vandy and that super geek, Caroline.

“Who is that?” I ask, interrupting the conversation. Dr. Ross frowns, but Mr. Lee follows my gaze.

“Oh, that’s Headmaster Collins’ son.”

“Collins has a son?” I look again, realizing why he looked vaguely familiar. It’s in the face, the line of their jaws, their noses, their eyes.

“Oswald Collins,” Mr. Lee adds. “I think he went to another school until recently.”

“Oswald,” I snort. Loser name. Across the room, this Oswald fucker smiles at Georgia and she grins back, leaning toward him. His eyes dart down to her chest, and I can almost see the wheels turning. He’s wondering if they’re real.

Hell yes, they are.

I inhale the rest of my dinner and leave the table without another word. I don’t think about where I’m going until I’m halfway across campus, the opposite direction from my apartment, and standing under the Devil’s Tower. It’s not quite dark yet and the sun glints off the old bell hanging up top. I get this brief swell of something that might be called nostalgia on anyone else. I wasn’t as well-traveled as the others, but I’d brought a bit of tail up here when I was a student.

There’s one way to find out who the Devils are; the tallies on the beam.

Climbing up the stairs, I’m struck by the familiar, imprinted scent. It’s part woodsy-outdoors, and part dusty stone and wood. There’s another sensation that overcomes me as I get to the top, eyes shifting to the arched window. I’d been leaning there when I got my own mark, a blow job from Jessica Cantrell. A bitter taste fills my mouth at the memory. Jessica was an older, hot, and exceptionally experienced Plaything. She’d had this incident on her horse just before school started, and when the Devils initiated me, they told me to go for it because she was a little busted up, but she was easy—good. Too good and busted up, it turns out, for my virgin-self. Her jaw had this crazy bruise, like nothing I’d ever seen before—so dark it was almost navy.

She’d just parted her lips to take me in her mouth when my body seized, cum dripping from her mottled chin.

It was embarrassing as fuck, and I’d vowed never to let it happen again.

I push past my shame to the sins of other Devils, looking up at the scarred beam overhead. I see my own initials with a modest tally underneath, along with Hamilton’s, Xavier’s, and Ansel’s. I still remember the first day we came up here and saw our initials carved into the wood. We hadn’t carved them—the senior Devils at the time had. We