A Deal With the Devil

by Angel Lawson

  An arm wraps around my waist, making me jerk in surprise, but I look over and realize that it’s just Reyn. He’s not looking at me, but he presses closer, muttering, “I’ve got you. Just look ahead, okay?” I nod, trying not to focus so much on the press of people at my back. When Sebastian circles closest to where we’re all standing, Reyn raises his voice. “You get how this betting thing works, right?”

  Playing along, I stutter, “Ah, no—not exactly.”

  “If he wins and doesn’t draw first blood, his brother will be out some serious money.”

  Sebastian goes still only for a split second, long enough to tilt his head toward us, and both of us know that he heard.

  I say, “Oh,” but it’s lost in the frenzy of the first punch being thrown. Sebastian’s head snaps to the side, but he easily swerves away. He doesn’t even look like he needs to shake it off. I wince, knowing that mine and Reyn’s little stunt had given the Northridge guy an opening.

  Despite that, Sebastian is grinning—if you could call the tight, feral thing on his face anything of the sort. His lips are pulled back, eyes burning, and his teeth are stained red with blood.

  I stiffen in anticipation of the next blow, because maybe we hadn’t distracted Sebastian after all. Now that the other guy has drawn first blood, Sebastian goes all-in, fists flying, feet moving. This part, at least, is nothing like Reyn had said. The blows keep coming. No one tries to stop them.

  Between blows, the Northridge guy gets in a solid hit, and the crack of his knuckles against Sebastian’s temple makes me rear back in alarm, hands coming up to cover my eyes before I can see him fall.

  Reyn’s voice is warm and soft in my ear. “He’s alright, just rung his bell a bit. Still on his feet.”

  Despite that, I can only peek through my fingers to watch as Sebastian retaliates, looking slightly less agile than before, but no less full of rage. I have no idea what Heston was talking about before, about his brother being all temper and no strategy. Sebastian’s fists land every time, and when he grabs the guy by his hair, bringing his face down into his knee, it’s such a precise, practiced motion that it barely looks like it takes any effort at all.

  Even though I want him to win, it still hurts to watch the other guy get pummeled. I have to turn my face into Reyn’s shoulder, away from the blood and the sickening crunch of bones and flesh. It’s nothing like it is on TV. This is painfully human, what’s happening here. Like sacks of angry meat banging around.

  I might be sick.

  Reyn spits a low curse, hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. “Em! I’m taking her out.”

  I don’t hear what Emory says in reply, but I feel Reyn’s hands clamp around my hips. He pulls me close and his football player physique plows through the crowd, not stopping until he gets us away from everyone. The fresh air feels good against my hot cheeks, but my stomach’s still churning.

  “Hey,” he says once we stop, sweeping my hair back. “You okay?”

  I nod uneasily. “I don’t think I’m into that,” I admit.

  “That’s okay,” he says, eyes searching me carefully. “You look a little green.”

  “That was…” Violent. Nauseating. Scary. “… sure something.”

  He sighs, lips pressing softly against my forehead. “Can I get you something? Water? I think Carlton had some in the cooler.”

  I nod. “Yeah that would be good.”

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  He ducks back in the crowd and I stick by the wall of another falling-down building. There’s a little creek nearby, I can hear the water rushing downstream. While I wait, my heart rate slows, and I wonder why it made me so sick. Part of it was the intensity Sebastian showed in the ring. It was scary, and it felt like the anger was barely a peek under the surface. Another part was just the memory of hitting the pavement, the sounds of a body breaking. Yet another part was recognizing the stillness of Sebastian’s face, just before the fight really got started. The same kind of stillness I see in Reyn sometimes, but have never been able to explain.

  It’s the look of someone bracing for impact.

  Suddenly, the noise of the crowd erupts into a climactic cheer. I don’t have to wonder for long who won. The sight of Heston’s angry face as he and his friends stalk toward me tells me all I need to know.

  22

  Reyn

  I get there just as Sebastian lays the Northridge kid out, so it takes a while before I can even reach the cooler. Everyone is losing their damn minds. If anyone from Northridge is even here, you wouldn’t know it going by the cheers and excited screams.

  Not my scene, if I’m being honest.

  I manage to catch Emory by the wall, laughing something into Aubrey’s ear. “Hey, V’s all good.”

  Annoyingly, Emory just shrugs. “Okay.” He’s trying to act like he doesn’t care, even though it’s obvious that some of the tension in his shoulders eases.

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Where’s Carl?” I follow where he points, having to squeeze between a group of rowdy guys before meeting up with the rest of the Devils. The water is buried deep enough under the beer that I’m up to my elbows in it when Sebastian jumps over the retaining wall, joining up with all of us.

  “Winner gets squatter’s rights,” he says, grabbing one of the beers I’d set aside. He sits on the wall, a swollen bruise already blooming over his eye, and spits off to the side. “Y’all want to build a fire and get baked?”

  The others agree, even though Caroline says, “I have curfew in two hours.”

  “No problem,” Sebastian says, throwing an arm over her shoulder. She blushes and does a really bad job of hiding her smile. “We’ll have you home to mommy at eleven sharp.”

  The crowd is already starting to thin out some. There’s probably something else going on by now, judging by the way the non-Preston people are checking their phones. The entertainment here is done, anyway.

  I emerge from the cooler with the promised bottle of water, and look at Sebastian. “We didn’t fuck you up before, did we?”

  He flings his sweaty hair off his forehead, scoffing. “Nah. Had that shit on lockdown.”

  Despite that fact, he still looks a little battered and unsteady. “Well, we were just—”

  My words cut off sharply, because over Sebastian’s shoulder, I can see a group of guys clustered around the exact spot I’d left Vandy. It’s too dark to make out who they are, but it looks like one of them has her boxed in against the wall. I can’t see the details of her face—her expression—but the silhouette of her posture is radiating discomfort.

  “Hey!” I’m over the wall, through the ring, and over the opposite wall in an instant. I’m so laser-focused on getting to that motherfucker in front of her that the steps behind me barely register. The closer I get, the more I realize who it is.

  I get a big fistful of his shirt and yank Heston back sharply enough that he grunts. His three buddies all step forward, but Heston just laughs it off, watching me shoulder in between them.

  “Relax, tough guy. We were just having a little discussion.” From the flushed, uncomfortable look on Vandy’s face, it couldn’t have been about anything good.

  I take my jacket off and hand it back to Vandy. See, Georgia? It’s not about abs, there’s less to grab onto. “She’s not yours to talk to,” I say, jaw clenched tight. “Not now, not ever.”

  “Oh, this is rich.” He turns to one of his friends. “See, Reynolds here is the reason her leg’s all fucked up like that. Almost killed her in a car accident. Now he’s trying to be the big hero. Used to be, you treated a girl like shit and she’d leave you alone. But Preston girls? No self-respect.”

  My blood pumps hard as I step forward. “I know you wouldn’t say that with Emory around, and you’re dumber than I remember to say it in front of me.”

  “I’m not scared of Emory,” Heston says, sneering. “And what are you going to do, McAllister? Steal my wallet? You were never anything special. Heard your d
addy lost all his money in the divorce settlement, so now you’re just one of Preston’s scholarship charity cases. They really like collecting the trash these days.”

  My fist is already tightly clenched when I lunge forward, spine buzzing with the anticipation of slamming my knuckles into this asshole’s face. And then Vandy grabs my arm, tugging me back. I’m not proud of it, the way I coil angrily against her grip, but if I throw the punch, it could hurt her.

  We both know I won’t.

  “Don’t,” she says, voice reedy with panic. “Reyn, your probation. It’s not worth it.”

  Heston laughs, mocking, “Yeah, Reyn, your probation. It’s not worth it.”

  “Might be, actually,” I respond, still feeling that crazy itch rushing through my blood. “Wouldn’t be much of a challenge. I hear even Hamilton’s little punk ass could take you down.”

  Heston scoffs. “Hamilton only beats me when I let him.”

  “What’s all this about?” Sebastian ambles up to us, face red and bruised, but still just as hard. The guy just spent a solid twenty minutes in a fistfight intense enough to rival even the hazing shit I’d seen at Mountain Point, but he doesn’t even look tired as he takes a lazy drag from a cigarette.

  He doesn’t look any less like a bomb about to detonate, either.

  Heston levels him with a cold glare. “This is about you apparently throwing fights now. What the fuck, Bass?”

  “Throwing fights?” He gives a razor-sharp laugh. “You can’t throw a fight by winning.”

  “Since when do you not draw first blood?” Heston’s icy gaze moves between Vandy and me. “Since these two are feeding you bullshit?”

  Sebastian looks bored now. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I took the first hit to throw him off his game. It worked.”

  “Want to know what I think?” Heston nods to Vandy, still clutching at my clenched arm. “I think Baby V doesn’t know when to mind her own damn business.”

  Before my own fury can even properly flare, Sebastian is there, stepping up to his brother. “And I think you need to back the fuck off my girl here.”

  Heston says, “Your girl?” and it’s such a mirror-perfect echo of my thoughts, derision and all, that I actually think I’m the one saying it aloud. Heston’s eyes shift to Vandy, and I can’t stand the way he’s looking at her—greedy and cutting. “So, he’s the one you let your hair down for, Princess? Slumming it with my brother? I guess that makes sense. The defective Wilcox and the defective Hall.”

  Vandy’s grip goes slack enough that it’s almost nothing to jerk out of it, but I’m not sure I could have stopped myself if it hadn’t. My eyes go so suddenly blind with rage that it’s almost like I lose time. One second, I’m there in front of Vandy, and the next...

  I’m watching Heston stumble backward, hand clutched to his face. “Fuck!”

  For a brief moment, I wonder why my knuckles don’t hurt, and then I realize my punch never landed.

  Sebastian’s did.

  Heston pulls his hand away, face all screwed up in an angry grimace. He says, “I’m going to make you regret that,” and I don’t put much stock into anything Heston says. Never have. But it sounds like, for Sebastian, maybe he actually could.

  Nevertheless, Sebastian just takes a drag of cigarette, voice as dry as his stare. “Look at that.” He points to Heston’s nose. “First blood.”

  Heston looks at us like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth his pride and pretty face to fuck with us any longer. He makes the right decision. “Whatever. I don’t have time for your dumb high school bullshit.” His eyes sweep over Vandy. “Not really into chicks with a masochistic streak anyway.”

  I pull up the hood of the sweater I’d taken from the Jeep and cross my arms. We’re at the lake now. Apparently after all that shit went down with Heston, Ben and Sebastian decided to take the party elsewhere. We’re on the north side of the lake, otherwise known as the Jerry-free zone, and it’s a lot more relaxed here.

  Or would be, if not for the roar inside my head.

  Vandy’s huddled with some of the girls across the small clearing as Sebastian shows off, teaching them some fighting moves. He’s inspecting all their fists, saying stuff like, “Don’t tuck the thumb. That’s how you break it.” She’s got my jacket zipped up around her, watching dubiously as he taps her knuckles. “Straighten your wrist, though.”

  She keeps shooting me these little worried glances, smiling when I meet them. And I always do. Because the sight of her swimming in my jacket is seriously doing things for me.

  This, and the fact that she looks loose and chill, soothes some of the sharp edges that could only be the result of not giving an ass-kicking that’s clearly owed.

  I’d parked my car at home and walked over, hoping it might settle the firing impulses of my nerves, but it didn’t really work. When I arrived, they already had a crude bonfire going, flames crackling and hissing, making my back prickle and itch. Elana’s car is parked close, windows down, music blaring from the speakers.

  I’m tending to the business of downing as many of these beers as I can.

  Carlton is at my side, carefully separating seeds from a makeshift notebook-tray of weed. It’s a nice break from the incessant clicking of the pocket knife he’s been playing with all night. “Usually,” he’s saying, “people want something, I don’t ask questions. It’s not like I knew Heston was selling it to her.”

  I give him a sidelong look, raising the bottle to my mouth. “Sure.”

  I’m not pissed at Carlton, though. I’m pissed at Emory for taking Vandy out there and leaving her to fend for herself. For making me take on a duty that I can’t even fucking honor. I’m pissed at Heston, and I’m pissed at his brother for being able to do what I can’t, because Sebastian can clock that asshole and still be fine come morning. Sebastian can ride around with a beer in his system. Sebastian can call Vandy his girl.

  He didn’t even say it like that—not the way I mean it. He said it in the same way I call Emory, Carlton, and Ben my boys. It’s the same way all of us call the Playthings our girls. It wasn’t like that. I know it’s irrational.

  The thought is still pinging angrily around in my head when Carlton offers me the joint, and yeah. I’m pissed about this, too. “Can’t,” I say, jaw clenching. “Got a piss test next week.”

  Carlton just says, “Bummer,” and lights it up for himself.

  The fire, coupled with this sudden hurricane of impulses I can’t cave to, has me tense and all coiled up, and there’s nowhere to put it. So when Emory drops down next to me, giving a quiet, “Sup,” it’s all I can do to not reach over and bust him in the face.

  I give a tight nod instead, emptying my beer.

  At least Carlton can read the room. He instantly hands me another.

  Emory says, “Sorry for that shit with Heston. Told that asshole to lose my number.”

  “Don’t apologize to me,” I say, nodding over the fire. “Apologize to Vandy for letting him get in your head.” Another addition to the long list of things I’m pissed about is Emory ever being friends with tools like him in the first place. I know it’s not fair. If things had been different, I probably would have been part of the same crowd.

  “I did,” he says. “V and I are cool. Thanks for having her back.”

  I close my eyes, rubbing my fingertips roughly into them. “I can’t be her babysitter, Em.” It stings to say, because I know how it sounds. Like she’s a burden. Like I don’t want to protect her. Like I’d rather do anything else than be at her side. Even if all those things aren’t true, the words are. “If I’d decked that prick, I’d be sitting in county right now. I don’t know what you expect me to do.” I take a long drag from my beer.

  “I don’t expect you to do anything,” he says, sounding incredulous. “I just asked you to look out for her. I never meant you had to throw fists to do it.”

  “Yeah,” Carlton adds, passing the joint over my lap to Emory, “we already have a fighter.
It all worked out.”

  I scowl across the distance, to where Sebastian is now teaching them something with their knees. Vandy’s edging back, looking awkward about it, but Aubrey threads their arms together.

  “Sebastian makes a lot more sense now,” Carlton says, nodding in his direction. “Can you imagine growing up with an ass like that? I didn’t even know Heston had a younger brother until junior year. Guy’s got ‘single golden child’ written all over him.”

  Just then, a loud peal of laughter rings out, drawing our eyes to Vandy. The fire is playing sharply against her face and it makes something inside me thrash instinctually at the contrasting sight of wrong and right. She presses a hand to her mouth, like she’s embarrassed about being so loud, but then ducks in close and says something that makes Aubrey giggle back.

  It’s weird how easily something loosens within me at the sight of her smile, bright and happy.

  Still in my jacket.

  “She looks like she’s having fun.” Emory sounds glad. “That’s really all I wanted. I mean, if you want, I can pair her with someone else for the rites.”

  “What?” I say, whipping my head around. “Why?”

  Emory gives me a look. “You said you didn’t want to be her babysitter anymore.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Only I can’t exactly explain the difference between ‘don’t want to’ and ‘can’t’. Instead, I just say, “That’s not what I meant. It’s fine. We’re fine.” Without the rites, we’d hardly have any Emory-approved reasons to hang out anymore. I know she’s not over there all laughing and happy because of me. But I had to have contributed to some of it.

  Didn’t I?

  He looks confused, but he takes a drag from the joint and passes it back to Carlton. “You don’t seem fine. You look pissed.”