Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,88

needs dick almost as badly as she needs air, and we both know mine’s the best. I’ll outlast her. The sex is good, but I can live without it.

I think.

By the time I get to the club on Thursday night, all I want is a drink and to enjoy myself. Some little shit thought it’d be a fun prank to fill the equipment closet’s lock with heavy-duty super glue. I’d spent my entire evening picking it out of the lock with a screwdriver and a bent fork, and it still wouldn’t work.

Underworld is packed, which means it’s making money, which means I’m one step closer to financial independence. It feels nice to enjoy a little success, even if I’m not the one getting the profits—yet. Big Gene really ass-fucks me by taking half of my gross. After paying the suppliers, the staff, and the other bills, I’m usually only left with enough to pay my car insurance, phone plan, daily necessities, and a few mediocre takeout meals. Not being rich is annoyingly expensive.

At least I finally got some new shoes—even if they are from some cheap, tacky department store.

I eye a couple girls from Saint Mary’s, wondering if I should invite them to hang out in the VIP area with me. I decide I’m not feeling it, though.

So does Big Gene. “Not so fast,” he says, dropping into the seat in front of me. “You’re supposed to be a taken man, Wilcox. Better keep those eyes to yourself.”

I stare at him. “Don’t you ever have better things to do than be here every night?”

“No,” he answers, lacing his fingers behind his dumb, half-balding head. “But you certainly do. Seems like you’re barely around anymore. Boyfriend duties?” He’s been trying to drag details out of me for days now.

“You’d have to be a boyfriend to have boyfriend duties.”

He doesn’t look amused. “You haven’t locked the girl down yet?”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” I say, head throbbing in annoyance. “She’s not that type of girl.”

He argues, “All girls are that type of girl.”

“Not this one.”

“Try harder,” he stresses, eyes darkening. “I need something on that girl’s family. Her father, her mother, her brother, her goddamn dog, I don’t fucking care.”

Grinding my teeth, I insist, “I’m getting there.”

“How?”

“We’re fucking,” I say, crushing a napkin in my fist. “There’s not much room for pillow talk when we’re trying to not get caught, but trust me. Shit’s happening. Chill the fuck out and let me work.”

He leans forward, rapping one knobby knuckle against the table. “I think this little arrangement we have for paying off your debts has given you the misconception that I’m a patient man. I’m not going to give you forever. You just remember that.”

I don’t move when he leaves, slinking off to parts unknown. Gene and Collins are like two ends of a noose’s rope that gets a little tighter by the day.

Tara’s just refilled my drink when I see a familiar face come through the door. No, make that two faces. I see this for what it is—an opportunity to loosen that noose, just a little.

“Hey, you see those guys?” I point them out to Tara. “Send them up here and bring drinks. The Gene special.” I give her a wink, knowing she’ll understand just what I mean.

“Sure thing, honey.” I nurse my drink and watch from above as she approaches them.

A moment later, Emory and Carlton push back the heavy curtain, a flicker of wariness crossing their faces.

Emory’s expression graduates to full-on hostility the second our eyes meet. “What are you doing here?” he asks, sneering.

Fair enough. Our last couple of encounters haven’t been the best, although Carlton and I have always circled the same activities. The latter just gives me a hesitant chin jerk.

“Welcome to Underworld,” I say, gesturing to the dance floor. “This is my place.”

Emory’s face shutters. He looks at Carlton and says, “Seriously? You knew about this?”

Carlton shrugs, looking rueful. “Come on, it’s business, bro. This place is killing it.”

“But Georgia,” Emory says to him, voice low. Not so low that I can’t hear him add, “And Bass…”

Carl doesn’t bother lowering his voice. “I texted Georgia, she’s cool. And Bass isn’t even in town right now. Chillax.” To me, he says, “You mind?” and points at the chair.

After that Bass comment, I’m just annoyed. “I invited you up, didn’t I?”

Carl takes a seat, but Emory spends a moment fuming silently at the curtain before he follows suit. As soon as he