A Deal With the Devil

by Angel Lawson

  “Put up or shut up, Bass,” she says, flouncing gracefully from the room with the other guys.

  He mutters a pleased, “Good shit,” and follows them out.

  I feel sick with nerves, watching each girl consider the name of the Devil they want on their paper. Aside from Aubrey who, let’s face it, is putting my brother’s name down, any of these girls could choose Reyn and be paired with him without a second thought from Emory.

  Afton stands and holds up her slip, announcing, “I’ve put down Tyson, so hands off. He’s the only other Devil involved in a long-term relationship.”

  I want to point out that her boyfriend is also in a long-term relationship—with his wife—but I’m actually a little scared of Afton and don’t want her to kick my ass. Plus, she’s right. It gives Tyson an out which I think he’d appreciate.

  Elana taps the pencil against her chin as though she’s deep in thought, which seems unlikely, but soon writes a name in loopy cursive. I peer over, trying to catch a look, but she quickly folds it over. Caroline looks a little pale. I’m not sure how many boys she’s dated—if she ever has. She’s always been notoriously focused on her academics. Math geek, everyone calls her, even though she’s incredibly pretty. For a moment, I think that this could be the rite that breaks her, but eventually she writes down a name and turns it in.

  She leaves looking assured and determined.

  That means I’m last.

  I know in my heart whose name I need to write down on the slip of paper. Not need—want. The thought of putting anyone else down is physically repulsive to me. And seriously, screw my brother. Screw the rules. Screw everything.

  For the first time, even if it’s in secret, I write Reyn’s name down and claim him for my own.

  26

  Reyn

  I have a physical reaction when I see the black envelope taped to the inside of my locker. I know Vandy had to have written down my name, that she’s got to be willing to take the risk of Emory figuring out what was going on with us, because any other option—for her or me—doesn’t sit right. It’s a relief to have that confidence. I don’t want another guy touching her any more than she probably wants another girl touching me.

  That, we’re in agreement about.

  But I open the envelope anyway, checking for the time of our date in the Stairway.

  Loyalty to a collective many is creditable. Now you must prove your loyalty to one. We form our wicked chains with the links of flesh and temptation.

  Meet Miss Afton Cross in the Stairway to Hell at 7p.m. A Devil is a gentleman, and a gentleman does not leave a lady waiting or wanting.

  “To live and burn in everlasting fire,

  So I might have your company in hell”

  Elevatio Infernum

  Afton Cross?

  I skim the front, eyes jerking up and glancing down the hall. Emory’s leaning against the wall, tucking a piece of hair behind Aubrey’s ear. I glance back at the name on the card again.

  AFTON CROSS?

  What the motherfucking fuck?

  The envelope burns in my pocket all day, as does the question. Through lunch, I keep shooting sharp looks at Vandy, but she just smiles back at me, like nothing is amiss. I wait until right before practice, as Emory laces up his football pants, to hold up the card and say, “Afton? Seriously?”

  I deserve an Academy Award for my stunning portrayal of Man Who Isn’t About To Fuck Some Shit Up.

  His expression turns sympathetic. “Look, dude, I’m sorry I saddled you with a chick who won’t put out. But she’s dating that gross old guy, and I figured you would at least respect her decision not to go too far. I don’t trust the other guys not to throw down about it and cause a problem.”

  He’s worried about Afton all the sudden?

  “What,” I say, struggling to keep an even tone, “about your sister? I thought maybe since you’d put us together for the other challenges, you’d do that again.”

  He pats me on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, I let you off the hook for this one. Way too awkward.” He snorts and grabs his practice jersey. “It’d be like you hooking up with your little sister, right?”

  My teeth hurt from all the grinding. “Was Afton the only one who put down my name?”

  Emory barks a laugh. “The funny thing is that Afton put down Tyson, and Vandy chose you. I guess she didn’t know who else to write.”

  The relief is short-lived. “So, you changed it,” I say slowly.

  “Yeah, I gave her Tyson instead. He’s dating that religious girl, so he’s used to playing it safe.” His jaw goes tense. “I don’t like the idea of her with anyone, but I know he’ll keep it in his pants. I threatened to chop that fucker’s balls off if he did anything besides give her a hickey, so I think all is safe on that front.”

  He’s oblivious of my stare, continuing on with dressing-out. Mechanically, I open my own locker, thinking of what it’s going to be like giving Afton Cross a hickey. Thinking of seeing Tyson’s mark on my fucking girl. I’m halfway through unbuttoning my shirt when I turn to him and say, “She deserves to have a choice.”

  He looks up from where he’s adjusting his cup. “What?”

  “Vandy,” I say, shutting my locker too hard. I know I’m probably being obvious here. I don’t care. “She deserves a choice in who she marks and who marks her.”

  “Hey, I’m just doing you a solid here. The idea of her being involved in this at all makes me want to puke. None of these guys are worthy of her.” He eyes sweep over me. “She just picked you because she had no idea who else to put down. She has zero experience, dude. None.”

  Emory is such a fucking idiot that it’s a physical battle not to fly over the bench and throttle him. So utterly damn clueless. He has no idea that not only has his sister kissed a guy before, she’s sucked the brains out through one’s dick. And, also? She’s good at it. My cock twitches just thinking about her hot mouth and tight pussy.

  If I thought I was horny all the time before, I was wrong. Knowing how good her mouth feels, what she looks like staring up at me as I come? It makes my dick hard and my brain foggy. That has to be why I don’t hesitate to say, “I’ve learned a few things about Vandy over the last few weeks, Em, and it’s time for you to stop interfering with her life. She’s smart and strong. She knows what she’s doing and she knows what she wants. She’s done every single one of the challenges you’ve thrown at her and if she wants to go up in that tower with me, or,” I swallow, “anyone else, you should let her.”

  “What’s it to you, anyway?” He says, eyes narrowing.

  “Maybe she put my name down because I’m the only one she feels that comfortable with, did you ever think of that? It’s not about me, it’s about Vandy.” And truthfully, I mean it. If Vandy had chosen Tyson, it’d fuck me up inside, but I’d find a way to deal.

  “It sure seems like it’s about you.” His eyes flash angrily and he steps over the bench, chest puffed out. “You want to be the one who marks her? Trust me, you’ve already done that. You left the only mark on her that can’t be taken away. Even the fucking tattoo can be removed, but not the scars. Not the limp. Not the surgeries that apparently turned her into a fucking junkie. Now you want to add another one?”

  If he’d punched me, it would have hurt less.

  It isn’t that he’s wrong. We both know he’s right. Can’t argue with that, can I? I take and take and take from that girl and she just keeps giving. But it isn’t that he’s right, either.

  No, what hurts is the realization that Emory had never really forgiven me for what happened. That it could be years and years down the line, no matter what, and he’d still have that old wound to hang over my head, to use against me.

  And if it means keeping me away from his sister, he will.

  I’m rendered speechless for so long that the sharp burn of anger begins fading from his eyes. It’s replaced with something cold, but wary. “Dude, look—”

  I cut him off. “Do you think I care about this
juvenile Devil bullshit? Do you? Do you really think for one second I’m in this for the legacy and prestige of being pinned by some rich cocksuckers as worthy?” My nostrils flare and I meet him over the bench. “No, we were supposed to be doing this so that, next year, some high and mighty asshole doesn’t get put in the position to tell Vandy that what she wants doesn’t matter.” My nostrils flare, voice low and hard. “If you’re that asshole, then what the fuck am I doing here?”

  He’s watching me, face gone shuttered, but I’m ripping off my shirt. I never change with the guys, too ashamed of my scars to let them become something whispered about between jocks. I don’t even fucking care anymore.

  Vandy isn’t the only one who’s been marked for life, and I might have been the one driving, but Emory wanted me to do it.

  I turn to my locker, shoving my shirt inside, and I know he’s staring at my scars. After a suspended moment, I hear some of the other guys go quiet, too. It makes my stomach roll painfully, but I thrust my arms into my gym shirt and yank it harshly over my head like it’s not making me sick to be seen like this.

  When I slam my locker, turning around, Emory’s back on his side of the bench, pulling a roll of tape from his locker.

  We don’t speak to each other for the rest of the day.

  I’ve never been so tired as I am walking across campus toward the tower. It’s early evening, which means there are a lot of people around. Kids are walking to and from the dorms for dinner. Homecoming week begins Monday, which adds a new dynamic to the climate. The cheerleaders spent the afternoon painting giant banners for the game and are just now walking to their cars. Coach Morris wants a blow-out and he kept us late, running a million fucking suicide sprints. Vandy could probably out-run me at the moment. With a quick glance around, I duck into the tower when no one is looking and head up the stairs.

  I made a decision during practice. I’m not going to give Afton the mark or let her give one to me. I can’t do it. There’s no other girl I want to be with. I won’t hold it against Vandy if she’s marked by Tyson and I’ll try not to kick his ass.

  Try.

  No promises.

  Shit. This is a clusterfuck and there’s only one person to blame. Emory.

  If he’d just let things be and trust his sister to make her own decisions, maybe he’d see that she’s not an idiot. She’s not him. God, the fucking irony of him believing he can make better decisions for anyone, let alone someone as strong-willed as his sister. Regardless, I’m going to have to reject Afton, which will probably cost me my spot in the group. Hers too, unless he’ll give her another Devil on account of me bailing on it.

  It sucks, because despite what I’d said to Emory, I have grown to like the club. Everyone is pretty cool. The rites are stupid and childish, shit you’d expect a fifteen-year-old to get up to. But at fifteen, I was locked away, forced to become another subordinate in Mountain Point’s faceless, unfeeling mass. I never got to do shit like this. So yeah, I won’t lie. It was sort of fun, too.

  But most of all, it brought me and V together. I know leaving the group won’t change that, which is why I’m willing to accept the consequences. Whatever we’ve got, it’s bigger than the Devils. She’s the only part of this I can’t do without.

  I make my way up the spiral staircase, somewhere I haven’t been in years. As I approach the landing, I glance up and see the beam that holds the bell and eye the notches. Despite what I’d told Vandy, I know that beam has my name on it. Three notches. Kind of pitiful, but I’d barely been a Devil for more than a blink. I know it’s a dumb tradition, but back then, I was different. I still bought into the hype. I’d been proud of being added to the legacy, the notoriety.

  But this isn’t the way I want to add to it.

  As I round the curve, I see a pair of scuffed loafers, ankles peeking out just above white socks. The owner is sitting on the spiral steps, face just out of sight. Like a traitor, I follow the slope of toned calves and rounded knees. I will myself to stop, because this has to be close to cheating. But fuck-it-all, I’m still a guy and there’s nothing, nothing, that turns me on like the hem of a short skirt grazing an upper thigh. My gaze inches upward into the beckoning space between those sexy knees. They shift slightly, revealing a dark circle on the pale, inner thigh.

  Ink. My ink. I jolt up the steps and there she is, my girl, lounging back on her elbows, waiting for me.

  “Thank fuck you’re here.” I drop my bag and drop next to her, wrapping my arms around her body.

  She laughs, her chest vibrating against mine. “What do you mean? You didn’t really think I’d put down anyone else’s name, did you?”

  Em. He must have listened and fixed this. I open my mouth to explain, but I stop myself. He did the right thing and she doesn’t need to know how close he was to fucking this up for her, for me, and the club.

  “So,” she says, leaning back. A shout from below bounces in the open, arched window in the bell tower above. No one can see us, but we can hear them. “I’ve never done this before. Any advice?”

  “It’s just a kiss,” I reply, bending to kiss her under the ear, lathing my tongue on the thin skin. “So soft that you don’t even realize it’s leaving a mark.”

  Her pupils dilate and her hips shift. “What about the other stuff?”

  I reach down to her skirt, fingering the hemline. “What other stuff?”

  Her hand slides down the front of my pants, where my cock has been at the ready since I saw those ankles. “The other tests.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I know the only test we’re required to pass is the mark, but I know the other traditions—about what couples do up here—how they got those slashes under their names on the beam.”

  Ah. The blowjobs.

  “V, you and I have passed a million tests already. Pain, pleasure, distance, fear.” I press my forehead to hers. “You don’t have to get on this dirty floor to prove anything to me.”

  Her lips turn downward, into a soft, sexy pout. “But I liked it.”

  “Actually,” I say quickly, “you’re a Devil now. You were talking about the Playthings having their own notches, right?” I smirk as comprehension comes over her features. I’ve been thinking about doing this for weeks now—practically begging her to let me—and just the possibility has me straining against my pants now. I inch my finger up her thigh. “Do you want it?”

  She looks into my eyes, face flushing, voice a fluttery breath. “You know I do.”

  I kiss her hard, stomach igniting at the permission—the promise. My lips move down her jaw, mouthing at the curve leading into her neck. I choose my spot right beneath her ear and gently suck my mark into the skin there, feeling her chest heave at the sensation

  My hands travel on their own, fingers deftly plucking the first four buttons of her shirt. I dip my hand inside, grazing the swell of her fantastic tits, cupping them. She makes a soft sound when my thumb rubs over her nipple, already hard and pebbled. Her moan is sexy, perfect, and I work the spot under her ear until I’m sure it’ll leave a nice, dark bruise.

  “That mark is for them,” I tell her, sweeping her hair back to inspect it, fingertips skating over the damp skin. Fuck, the sight of my mark on her makes my chest clench.

  I drop two steps, positioning myself in front of her and nudging her to lean back on her elbows. I finish unbuttoning her shirt, revealing the rest of her body. I pay attention to the slash of pale skin on her torso. I kiss the scar—the mark I never wanted to leave—wishing more than anything that I could make it fade forever. But she’s not the only one marred by that night. We’ve both been broken. What people like Emory can’t see is that we’ve both been put back together, too. Maybe it’s not pretty, not tidy and clean, but it’s ours.

  After I dote on her belly, I shift to my knees, eyes level with her thighs. I run my fingers over the tattoo and give it a ghost of a kiss. Then on the opposite side I nip her with my teeth, sucking another mark into the skin there. Her hips writhe as I pull the skin with
my mouth, rubbing my palm up her other leg, soothing the nerves she’d deny having.

  I pull away, admiring my handiwork. “This mark is for me.”

  I skate my hands up her thighs, catching her skirt as I go, revealing all of that soft skin. I look up at her, making sure she’s okay. Her hands grip the edge of the step, and she swallows thickly, eyes locked with mine. Yeah, she’s more than okay. I’ll never understand how anyone could look at Vandy and see someone who’s less.

  She’s perfection.

  Hooking my fingers in those crisp white panties, I hold her eyes, waiting. She lifts up in response, bracing her hand on my shoulder, and I pull them down and over her hips. Her knees wobble as I drag them down each foot, before tucking them in my back pocket.

  Mine now.

  “Are you sure?” she asks, cheeks flushed red and her knees slowly closing. “I think our positions are supposed to be reversed.”

  “I’m so fucking sure,” I say, pitching forward to press my lips against her mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long.” I punctuate this by touching her there, fingers easing sightlessly through her folds, getting her ready for my mouth. I watch as her gaze goes heavy, eyelids sliding closed, and take the opportunity to look down. I take a long, enthralled moment to watch my fingers working against her. “Just relax, okay? I’m going to make you feel so good.”

  She shudders out a slow, “Okay.”

  Despite that, when I drop back down, cupping her knees, I have to whisper, “Open your legs for me, baby.” She exhales, eyes glued to mine, and lets her legs fall open. I gather her skirt up at her waist and duck between her thighs, pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss to her pussy.

  She gasps, fingers thrusting suddenly into my hair. When I flick out my tongue, her fingers clench, tugging hard, and it feels so good that I groan against her and feel her responding shudder. I hook my hands around her thighs, letting my palms run up and down as I finally—finally—taste her. At some point, the taut, tense thighs beneath my hands begin relaxing, slowly falling open. The nervous, inexperienced girl vanishes as her hips rise, bucking forward into my ministrations. Her breathing turns from deep inhalations to these sharp, quick hitches that have her chest jerking up and down. I can’t stop touching the soft skin of her inner thighs, my hands skating up and down, squeezing, kneading.