Tempting Devil: Sinners and Saints Book 2

by Eden, Veronica

  It sends an unwarranted pang of worry spearing through me.

  I freeze, shocked at the unfamiliar feeling. My brows furrow as I shove the unnecessary protectiveness aside.

  Unbelievable. I’m searching for ammo against her, but here I am fucking worrying that she has a dangerous home life. What is wrong with me?

  I already told her I’m not her white knight.

  There isn’t room for sympathy, only the ways I can use information to control the pieces on the board. Blair’s mom could be a drug addict, using up city resources for free care. I shouldn’t give a fuck about their home life.

  I scoff and flip earlier, reading over comments from her teachers at middle and elementary school. They all say roughly the same thing about her.

  Blair shows great aptitude for the material and appreciates the challenges presented. She has a strong interest in art and history subjects. Individual work is excellent, but in class she is quiet and slow to participate.

  Miss Davis is polite and reserved, but often isolates herself from her peers.

  Blair shows great intelligence in her school work given the recent changes in her family situation. However, she has gone from a bright, smiling, happy young girl to withdrawn. When other classmates engage her, she shies away.

  A frown tugs at my lips.

  The alarm finally shuts off. Glancing at the clock, I realize I need to hurry up. There isn’t time to run to the copy machine in the other room, and I don’t want to leave behind evidence. My phone will have to do.

  I lay out the folder on the chair, flipping quickly through the pages and snapping photos of Blair’s pitiful history.

  Smart but sad, how cliche.

  A jagged rock lodges in my stomach, sitting heavy.

  My grip tightens on the phone. She’s not like me. It’s not the same.

  I work backwards through everything, caring more about the relevant information than what a delight she was to her preschool teacher. A creased note on an earlier page near the beginning of the file makes me pause. I missed it in my first skim. Flipping it open, I find it’s from a guidance counselor at Little Boulder Academy.

  “Huh.” The curious sound puffs out of me before I can contain it.

  I went to Little Boulder Academy, too. So did Lucas and Bishop. Most of the people in our circle attended the prestigious private elementary school. I try thinking back, searching distant memories for any of a dark-haired little pest. How could a girl as poor as her afford the tuition of the private school?

  I always thought the trash spawned her into existence, low class through and through. Blair has always been the girl from the dirt who somehow managed to earn a scholarship to Silver Lake High. I never considered our paths might have crossed before high school.

  Plucking the memo from the file, I read it with pinched brows.

  Macy Davis called to inform the school that Blair will withdraw from Little Boulder Academy due to a change in financial circumstances. The transfer will go through next month. Macy expressed concern for Blair’s reaction to her father’s desertion and disappearance from his family. Please inform all of Blair’s teachers of this change and keep an eye on her while she remains a student at Little Boulder Academy.

  My heart pounds harder as my eyes fly over the words. I don’t realize I’ve wrinkled the note from my clenched grip until the paper crinkles. Inhaling, I smooth the creases while I try to calm my pulse.

  The unwelcome sympathy seeps back into my bones. I want to dig into the marrow and cut it out. I don’t like feeling this way about Blair Davis. The heavy ache inside me expands in my chest like a balloon.

  I rub my eyes and push my hand into my hair. Grudging understanding sparks to life. Her dad left her and I know what that feels like.

  I blow out a breath, shaking my head.

  As I put the memo back in the file, an exit interview from the counselor catches my attention. A little girl’s handwriting fills the page in big, blocky print. Stars dot the I’s.

  Squinting, I draw it closer, crouching to kneel rigidly over the open file. I recognize this handwriting. Blair’s name is at the bottom with the same star punctuating the letter in her name.

  You look sad. Don’t be sad. Here, wish on my star.

  The soft, high-pitched voice echoes in my head along with a flash of long dark hair and brown eyes. My throat is thick when I swallow. The memory of my third grade art class assaults me in snippets, skipping like a broken movie reel.

  There was a girl my age, both of us older than the other kids but too young to join the grade ahead of us. She came up to me during arts and crafts to show me her drawing of stars. They filled the page, lopsided and quirky, just like her smile.

  I had been shirking the teacher’s directions to draw because I was sulking. Everything sucked and I wasn’t getting my way. Mom and Dad kept leaving me alone. I didn’t like the lady staying at my house. She didn’t know the book I liked to read with Mom.

  The little girl didn’t mind or notice the way everyone kept their distance from me, taking the chair next to me without asking. I glared at her, but she ignored that, too.

  You can have my stars, they’ll make you happy again. Make a wish! The wishes you make on shooting stars always come true.

  I couldn’t yell at her to leave me alone. Instead, I remained quiet and surly, pinching the edges of her drawing while she started on a new page. At the bottom of the page she wrote her name, Blair with a small star over one letter. A look of concentration settled on her face, tongue poking out between her teeth as she drew. Two pages filled with crooked stars and her random bouts of humming later, the anger making me shout at everyone bled away, leaving me calmer.

  Suspicious, I asked her, “How do you know the wishes work? Have you tried it?”

  Blair had blown out a gusty breath that moved her hair. “No,” she said with a pout, pausing from drawing. “Mom says they come out after my bedtime, but she swears it’s like magic! Magic is awesome!”

  Her eyes had grown so big and were full of such sincerity, I had to believe she was right.

  I clung to her words like a lifeline after all the anger, pain, and frustration I felt from my parents noticing me less and less as they stayed away from home for longer stretches. I don’t know what I did to make them not want to be around me, but the hurt was suffocating. Blair’s promise about wishing on shooting stars helped. I looked for one every night before bed, staying up until my eyes were dry and itchy. When I saw one, I was going to tell her about it, eager to boast that I had wished on a real one before she did.

  Blair sat beside me in every art class, talkative enough for the both of us. Her enthusiasm was contagious. She made me laugh, struck with a spark of life again after I’d felt numb to the world.

  Then she was gone.

  Like my parents.

  No one wanted to stay with me.

  Her chair remained empty and the tingling numbness crept back in without her smiles to fight it back. The teacher told me she had to go away when I asked where my friend went.

  It wasn’t until after Blair was gone that I finally saw my first real shooting star.

  For my first wish, I wished for her to come back. I was mad that she could leave me behind so easily.

  Well, I wished for Blair once, and she did return to me. Only it was far too late. I was already broken beyond the repair of her magic shooting stars by the time I found her again.

  The quirky friend from my childhood is my little thief. I can’t believe it.

  My breath comes in harsh pants and I cover my eyes, dragging air into my lungs. The world feels like it’s tipped sideways and tumbled me around. I haven’t thought about the girl from my art class in years. I kept her buried deep under layers of everything else, locked in her own box with the rest of my emotions and memories.

  Does she even remember me? I can’t blame her if she doesn’t. The irrational anger I’ve always felt when I looked at her makes more sense now. I might have shoved the memory o
f our brief, strange bond down, but the grief of losing that connection so easily seeped out between the cracks.

  This discovery doesn’t change my plans. Blair still needs to pay.

  The crooked smile that used to light up her face pops up in my head. With it comes other memories from that time in my life, ones that leave me raw and humming like a live wire. I clench my teeth together hard enough to feel the pulse in my ears. My hand covers my mouth as I wrestle the memories back into place, where I can forget about them.

  This is all her fault. I’ll make her squirm for breaking past the sturdy barriers I erected. My next move begins to form in my head.

  You won’t escape me so easily this time.

  The slam of a door and muffled voices makes me jump.

  “Fuck,” I whisper gruffly.

  My time is up and I haven’t made my getaway.

  Shooting into action, I scramble from my crouch, gathering the manila folder of Blair’s educational life. Footsteps pass the door of the student records room. I freeze, holding my breath.

  “Devlin’s not back yet?” Debbie asks someone. “Let me know when he’s here. I need him to make copies of this right away.”

  Damn it, Debbie, calm your tits. Being quiet, I carefully open the drawer of the wooden cabinet and slip Blair’s file back in place. I need help to escape the records room unnoticed. The office sounds full again.

  I send a text to Bishop.

  Devlin: How close are you to the office?

  Bishop: [GIF of a man sprinting away in the distance.]

  The corner of my mouth lifts. He hates coming down to the office when his dad is around.

  Devlin: Come flirt with Debbie. Need her distracted so I don’t have your dad riding my ass for being in the student records room.

  Bishop: Oh shit!! You devil. [smirking devil emoji]

  Bishop: On my way.

  Bishop: [GIF of Superman flying through the air]

  I lean heavily against the doorframe as I wait for Bishop’s help. I can’t get Blair’s voice out of my head.

  The wishes you make on shooting stars always come true.

  A humorless smile twists my mouth. Out of all the countless wishes I’ve made on stars, this one comes true. I skim a hand over the side of my ribs, where the magic Blair once told me about is inked into my skin.

  Guess I got what I fucking wished for.

  Seventeen

  Blair

  Hell is humiliating.

  It’s filled with Devlin Murphy’s impish smirk, his friends’ comments about my desperation stinking up the school, nasty taunts from the student body in the form of dog barks, and whatever that weird feeling was last week when he made me wear a collar.

  I thought he might kiss me, so I panicked. The ridiculous flutter in my stomach had been confusing and I hated myself a little for it. I hated him more for causing it.

  That embarrassing collar went straight into the dumpster behind the trailer park when school was over.

  It’s all hell, but at least the cash I need is coming in with each completed trial of willpower versus my battered pride.

  Devlin always delivers, even when he toys with me first. He pays me in stacks of crisp bills, the unmarked envelopes stuck in my locker, or in my beat up junker. I won’t even fathom how he manages to get in without the key. His world is automatic electric systems on luxury cars, so how would he know to use something to jimmy the door on the Corolla beneath the window seal? It’s a small mercy that he locks it when he’s done.

  The bastard is like a twisted Batman, a dark knight that will turn on me the second I stop playing by his rules.

  After I pull into a parking space in the student lot, a fresh envelope tucked between my seat catches my eye when I go to unbuckle the seatbelt. I must have missed it.

  “Damn him,” I mumble, plucking it from the hiding spot.

  Flipping it open, I count out four hundred bucks for pulling the fire alarm yesterday. I’m lucky I’ve mastered the art of being light on my feet. Principal Bishop almost caught me, but I was able to scurry far enough down the hall before he found me standing next to the pulled alarm.

  I’m thinking of buying Mom a new mattress with the money to help her get more rest. She’s been incredibly pale and worn lately, it’s really making me worry about her. I don’t want to see her get so bad we have to go to the hospital for another bout of exhaustion. Mom has never had the best health, but the transition in seasons doesn’t usually hit her so hard. This year it’s taking a brutal toll on her.

  I have to do whatever I can to make her life easier.

  There’s a note tucked between the twenties. My gut clenches.

  Your “car” is an insult to real cars everywhere.

  His cynical voice fills my head as I read the note. My brows lower.

  “Asshole.”

  It irritates me that he thinks he can insult the car I put blood, sweat, and tears into saving for. The day I bought it was one of the happiest of my life, and I can count those days on one hand.

  So what if it’s not a flashy luxury brand? The only people that can afford that are the stuck up rich kids. The rest of us work damn hard to get what we can.

  It’s called surviving.

  I jump when I get out of the car. Devlin is parked in the spot opposite mine, waiting for me with sunglasses that probably cost more than a month’s rent at the trailer park. He’s propped against the back of his car, palms resting on either side of his Range Rover’s bumper, long legs crossed at the ankle. I must have been really daydreaming to miss him when I pulled in. Damn it.

  I was too busy making a mental tally of the money I’ve saved so far from being Devlin’s bitch.

  “What, not feeling your ugly red compensation for your dick size today?”

  Devlin’s lips twitch up. “Thinking about my cock again, sticky fingers? The Range Rover is more spacious.” He nods to the SUV. “Climb in the back and I’ll show you what you can’t stop thinking about.”

  A few students passing by on their way to the steps snicker. One guy high fives Devlin, which he accepts with a wide, self-assured smile.

  I can only guess Devlin changes up his rides to flex his absurd wealth, shoving it in the faces of people like me that he is dripping with privilege while I wonder if I can afford gas for my car this week.

  “You’re disgusting.” I cross my arms. He’s alone, not even his horrible other half in sight. “No cohorts to kiss the king’s rings today? What a shame. Probably for the best, though. Reality hits like a sonuvabitch and once you graduate, you’ll figure out this is your peak.”

  Devlin’s shoulders shake with his snort. He touches the corner of his lower lip with his tongue. “Wanna bet?”

  I grit my teeth. No one makes my blood boil like he does, with that unbearable arrogant attitude.

  “You think you’re untouchable.”

  Devlin leans forward. “I don’t think. I know I am.”

  I’m done with this. Rolling my eyes, I shoulder my backpack and head for the stairs up to the school.

  Devlin falls in beside me, an annoying pep in his step.

  “Did I invite you to walk with me?” I give him a shove when he doesn’t answer. “Fuck off.”

  “No.” A smug smile dances in the corners of his mouth, fighting to break free.

  I stop, gripping the straps of my bag. “What do you want now?”

  Devlin pauses a step in front of me, half-turning to glance over his shoulder. “I have another task for you.”

  The morning light gleams off the black hair hanging in his face. With his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones, he looks like every beautiful temptation. If he wasn’t a total dick. An untrustworthy snake in the grass. A man.

  He tips the sunglasses down his nose, peering at me over the edge. My stomach bottoms out unfairly.

  I shove down the stupid fluttering sensation, telling my heart to shut up. It’s confused. The misguided little traitor doesn’t understand that nothing good would co
me from liking Devlin Murphy.

  Swallowing to soothe my dry throat, I shoulder past him. “What do you want me to do now? Take over the office? Quack like a duck in class? Hotwire the principal’s car?”

  “That last one has some merit.”

  The hair on my arm tingles under the uniform blazer and shirt, aware of Devlin’s presence beside me. His body heat seeps into my personal bubble. I sidestep to gain some distance. A second later, he closes it, his arm brushing mine.

  Leather and spice drifts on the air, seductive and hypnotic.

  “You better pay big if you seriously want me to commit a criminal offen—”

  “What, you have morals now?” Devlin chuckles and pats the top of my head. “Good little angel, so wholesome and pure.”

  His mocking tone makes me grumble under my breath. We reach the steps and begin to climb. It’s weird to be walking into school with Devlin.

  “I’m bored of our game. Time to change it up.”

  “What? You don’t get to change the rules now!”

  Devlin laughs. “It’s my game. I can do what I want.”

  I purse my lips. Damn Devlin Murphy back to the demonic pit he crawled out of.

  He gives me a leering once over. “I want to show everyone how much school spirit you have locked away behind your thrift shop emo girl aesthetic.” His tongue peeks out to swipe his lower lip and heavy innuendo laces his voice. “How much you support the athletes.” He bounces his eyebrows suggestively. “You’ll know it when you find it.”

  With that mysterious hint, Devlin jogs ahead of me, leaving me in the dust on the steps.

  Ugh, bastard. School spirit… Whatever he has planned, it’s bound to be even more humiliating than being labeled Devlin’s dog. Unease spreads through me for the new hell Devlin cooked up.