Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,36

it?”

I wave Tara over, needing a drink. “We can watch it later. Alone. Without any phones recording.”

He grins back. I’m not sure I like it. “Very well. Have it your way.” Tucking the drive back into my pocket, I get the tingle of awareness that this is too easy. He takes a slow sip of his cheap vodka, not breaking my gaze, and I bite back a curse, knowing I’m right. This is confirmed when he waves three of his boys over. “Dirty and I were just talking about a new wager, anyway.” Gene only calls one of his boys in when the deal is too big to happen without a witness. One flunkie means it’s important. Two means the stakes are high. He’s calling in three.

Goddamn it.

I look at one of the approaching toadies—Dirty, who lives up to the nickname in every conceivable way. “Is the wager whether he bathes this month? Because I don’t like those odds.” They slip into the booth when Gene nods at them and I inch away, lip curling up as Dirty takes the space beside me.

“I think you’ll like this one,” Gene says, smirking. “It’s got everything a gambling addict could want. High stakes, intrigue, good odds.”

I wonder if my expression looks as flat as it feels. “I’m not gambling anymore.”

He looks at my pocket where the USB is hidden and laughs, raising his glass. “Good one.”

“That was different.”

He flaps a hand. “Sure, you can quit whenever you want. It was just one more hit. This is a new ‘you’.” He looks at Dirty. “Junkies. Always the same song and dance.” Shaking his head, he continues, “You don’t have anything to worry about, Wilcox. This is really less of a bet and more of a…” He lifts a palm, tilting it back and forth. “Job.”

“I already have a job,” two of them actually, “and I’m not one of your low-rent minions. I’ve cleared half my debt and you’ve already taken ten grand from the business. That leaves me forty in the hole. I’ll have it paid off by winter.”

He frowns dramatically. “You haven’t even asked me what the payout is. No wonder you got a hundred g’s into the hole with me. You’re terrible at this.”

Shrugging, I lie, “I don’t care.”

There’s a reason I never want to hear the payout—the endgame. It’s too enticing. Some people call me a gambling addict, but they’re only half right. It’s not the game I’m addicted to. It’s the win. The power. Making the right calls, watching someone else lose. I already know Gene is going to lose. I’m going to pay him back half without interest.

I should have known he wouldn’t let that go.

He stares at me for a long moment, calculating in that way of his. “The whore. Georgia Haynes.”

Already bored, I look away. “What about her?”

“Haynes,” he repeats. “As in Elijah Haynes? As it just so happens, the princess’s daddy is currently embarking on the campaign trail.” To Dirty, he explains, “He’s running for state senator next year, and believe me, daddy makes bank.”

I let out a low, humorless laugh, head shaking. “That’s why you wanted to know if I could fuck her.” Of-fucking-course.

His eyebrows bob up and down. “What can I say? Call it research. Now that we know, I’m thinking we should capitalize on this rare opportunity.” His face transforms into something that no one at the table wants to see. Stony. All business. “Get close to the girl, find me some leverage against her old man, and you’ll get your club back. Better than that, I’ll repay you the ten grand I’ve already garnished from this fine, upstanding establishment. I won’t even make you show me that video you’ve made.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, head shaking. “Georgia and her brother don’t even live at home. They both board at Preston.”

“Who else do we know who’s boarding at the snotty little rich-kid school?” He hums, rubbing his chin. “Oh, right. It’s you. Sounds like round-the-clock access to all a manner of family secrets if you ask me.”

There’s no losing in this for Gene. Either I don’t get him anything and he takes my club, or I get him the dirt he wants and he cons his way into something bigger and better. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. There’s no sport to it. No kill shot.

“Georgia and I can’t stand each other,” I tell him. “There’s no getting close to her.”

He snorts. “If you can fuck her, you can get close