Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,99

all of you are clearly too simple to see.” He leans his head back, looking perfectly at ease as he peers down his nose at us. “I could tell you anything. I could say my biggest, deepest, darkest sin was cheating on a test in sixth grade. How would you know?” He gives a scoff, looking bored again. “I can’t believe I thought this sounded interesting last night. I really must have been drunk.”

Before V and Caroline can protest, I cut in, “You’re right.” Shrugging, I look at my girls, explaining, “It was different when we did it. All of us were here. We had to hear everyone’s confessions, and after some of the stuff we heard, it was obvious that nothing but the worst would be accepted. Heston won’t have that, though.” I shift my gaze back to him, lifting my chin. “You’re going to have something far worse.” I tick off on my fingers, “You shared that video of me. You shared the video of Sydney. You kicked Gwen Adams in the face. You sold drugs to Vandy, who you probably already knew was an addict. You pulled an appallingly transphobic prank on a middle schooler. You bullied your own little brother into fighting for you, tormented him for years, and almost got him killed, all for some money.”

“Did I kick puppies?” he asks, faking a pout. “Am I responsible for global warming?”

“You’re responsible for a lot of things,” I say, crossing my legs. “And that’s just what we know about.”

Vandy catches on, adding, “So anything you say will have to be worse than all of those, because no one in this room believes for a second that’s the worst you’ve ever done.”

He holds my stare, completely unreadable. Just lounged back like he could take a nap doing this. So above it all. So fucking bored with it. “And you think I’d trust the three of you with an admission of guilt for something I haven’t been caught doing? Do I look like an idiot?”

“You’re free to leave.” I gesture to the door. “But we’re in the business of keeping secrets, not spreading them.”

His eye-roll takes forever, going from the floor to the ceiling, back to his own shoes. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. “Alright then,” he says, giving this little laugh that tells us just how seriously he’s taking this. “I told my mom to kill herself.”

Caroline scoffs. “Oh, come on.”

His gaze flickers between the three of us, eventually landing on mine. There’s something in his expression that suggests maybe he’s trying to decide between two impossible notions. He must make a choice. “You know how people always say they don’t have a favorite kid?” he asks, not breaking my gaze. When I nod, he goes on, “My parents—and I cannot stress this enough—aren’t those people. My dad always liked me best. First born, and all that bullshit. He took me to all the special events, introduced me to all the important people, put me in all the best programs. He barely acknowledged Sebastian existed. Until I got arrested, that is.” His smile is full of salt and razor blades, meant to cut, to sting. “But my mom? She only ever had eyes for Bass. He was her precious, untainted baby. When I got sick, our paid help would take care of me. When Sebastian got sick, my mom would sit by his bed for days, spoon-feeding his spoiled ass like the world was ending. Made me fucking sick.”

“So what, you said something mean?” Vandy’s lip curls up. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“You don’t get it,” he says, brow crouched low in a dark expression. “I don’t know how much Bass has told you about her, but our mom has a shit-ton of issues. She has this whole major depressive disorder thing.” He flicks a hand out in a wave that looks more dismissive than it feels. “Some days she’s fine, but other days, she’s a complete mess; won’t come out of her room, won’t eat, won’t even talk. One time she went forty-seven days without saying a single word. She lost so much weight, she was hospitalized for a week.” He inhales, shoulders shifting against the back of the chair.

This is discomfort. I realize, sort of alarmingly, that this isn’t something he talks about—maybe ever. I shift uncomfortably in response, unable to help it.

“My point is, she’s really fucking fragile. So yeah, I said something mean.” He says the