by Eva Ashwood
Gray’s fingers brush against my forehead, and I blink my heavy eyelids open. I don’t even remember closing them. Leaning over me, he looks me in the eyes. For the first time, I see nothing but softness there.
“Go to sleep, Sparrow,” he murmurs. “We’ll be here. We’ll keep you safe.”
The last thing I’m conscious of feeling is the press of his lips against my temple.
23
The long corridor is back. It stretches out in front of me like an endless track, a gaping maw of darkness that will swallow me up if I keep running.
But I can’t stop.
I can’t stop running. Not now.
My footsteps crack like thunder as my heels pound against the hard floor, the sound echoing loudly in my ears.
It’s too loud. I’m being too loud.
There are no more choices though. I have to keep going, even though the darkness ahead of me is terrifying, even though I’m making too much noise. Whatever is at the end of this corridor, I need it. It’s more vital to me than air, more precious than my own life.
But as I sprint flat-out, my lungs burning and my muscles screaming, a hand whips out of the darkness, grabbing me and slamming me into the wall. My back hits the smooth surface with a hard thud, driving the air from my body, and a hand falls over my mouth.
No.
I blink up at the shadowed face of my attacker, but I can’t make it out in the darkness.
No.
Fingers dig into my cheek, a large palm clamping over my mouth. And now the figure in front of me is no longer a faceless monster, a dream-like figment of a person.
It’s morphed into someone I know is a monster.
Cliff.
Our surroundings shift, and I’m no longer in the strange, dark hallway, but in the alleyway he pulled me into earlier. His eyes burn with heat as he drops his head to drag his nose over my skin, and I buck against his hold.
No.
No.
“No!”
“Sparrow! Sparrow!”
I’m being shaken lightly. I realize with a start that my screaming isn’t only in my dream. My mouth is open as I tangle in the bedsheets wrapped around me, desperately flailing as I try to get out of their confines. Hands are on me, and I can’t tell if they’re trying to help me or hurt me, if they’re trying to free me or entrap me. I’m claustrophobic, panicked.
My limbs thrash again, but then two large hands cup my face and force me to look upward.
“Sparrow.”
It’s Gray.
The man who has been both a source of pain and a source of comfort, who runs so hot and cold that I get whiplash every time the temperature swings.
He looks at me now and my heart cracks—a fissure that streaks right down the middle of the abused organ. He shouldn’t be looking at me like this. Not when he’s made it apparent time and time again that he doesn’t care about me.
Not when I’m weak and vulnerable and want to believe his lie.
“Sparrow.” He repeats the word softly, and it falls like honey from his tongue. “Sparrow. You’re alright. It’s okay. We’ve got you.”
We? Oh… right.
I’m still in Declan’s room. They brought me here last night, and none of the Sinners have left. Gray is poised on the edge of the bed, sitting closest to me, and Elias is at the foot of it. When I blink and glance around, I find Declan leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching me carefully.
The sight of the three of them calms me a little, and I settle back onto the bed, my head cradled by pillows even as sweat cools on my skin. The chill has me burrowing deeper under the blankets and curling into their warmth.
“How long have I been here?” I ask, conscious of their gazes on me. None of them have looked away since I woke up.
“Just the night,” Elias answers, resting a hand on my ankle through the comforter. “You’re a fitful sleeper; I don’t think you’d have stayed down for long. Though,” he adds, tilting his head, “you probably need to sleep a little more. Given everything that happened.”
The idea of staying wrapped up in this little cocoon is more tempting than I like to admit, and the realization that I really want to stay makes my spine stiffen immediately.
“No, I’m good.”
From beside me, Gray hums.
“You’re not good, Sparrow. You don’t need to lie to us.”
“I’m fine,” I shoot back, downgrading my status just slightly.
A smile tugs at his lips, although concern still hovers behind his eyes. “You’re stubborn. I’ll give you that.”
I shrug one shoulder lightly. “It’s kept me alive so far.”
At those words, every bit of humor vanishes from his face. His lips set into a hard line, and he stands up, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at me. Anger radiates from him, but I have a feeling none of it is directed at me this time.
“What the fuck happened?” he demands.
“Can you talk about it?” Elias adds, shooting a quelling look at his friend, like he wants to cuss Gray out for pushing me too hard.
I don’t know quite how to feel about that. About any of this, really. I like that Elias is looking out for me, but I think Gray is too, in his own way. And I don’t want any of them to think I’m weak—that they have to walk on eggshells around me. No one’s ever treated me like that in my life, and I don’t want them to start now.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can talk.”
I clear my throat and shake my head, sitting up a little more and leaning back against the headboard. Elias stands too, allowing me to pull the blankets up higher on the bed and wrap them around my body. My knuckles are sore and stiff. I can feel the swelling in my face, but I resist the urge to reach up and touch the bruise.
“What the fuck happened?” Gray repeats. I wonder how many times he asked that question while I was asleep, demanding answers that no one was able to give. He shakes his head, darkness shuttering his blue-green eyes. “When we found you, Sparrow, you looked…”
“Rough.”
As he speaks, Declan presses away from the wall and steps forward to join his friends. They’re all gathered around the bed now, staring down at me, and I feel like I’m under a microscope—although strangely, it doesn’t make me as uncomfortable as I would’ve expected.
“I went for a drink at Warren’s,” I say slowly, keeping my voice low and devoid of emotion. “I just needed to be off campus for a while. Just get a break from… everything. I was walking back to campus, and I ran into Cliff.”
Memories of my encounter with him filter through my mind, and a shiver runs up my spine. I always thought he was pretty harmless, just a rich boy who was slightly obsessed with the poor girl who’d invaded his little bubble of luxury. I didn’t realize his interest had become so dark and depraved.
Gray’s jaw clenches like he’s peering into my brain and reading my thoughts. “What did that fucker do?”
My heart is beating harder in my chest, and my palms are slick with sweat. Elias grunts and sits back down on the bed, resting a hand on my leg again. As if his movement has broken an invisible barrier, the others settle on the bed beside me too, and even though I’d never admit it out loud, their proximity helps.
“He dragged me into an alley. He told me he liked me, and he kept insisting that I must feel the same way too.” My throat tightens. “He ripped my tank top. His hand was over my mouth. I… something happened to me. Everything just overwhelmed me, and I bit his hand. When he let go of me for a second, I started hitting him.”
“And that?” Declan’s eyes crinkle in a grimace as he gestures to my cheek.
I shake my head. “He hit me back. But I didn’t stop. I…”
My voice trails off. That’s really all I remember. Everything beyond that moment of absolute clarity when I bit Cliff’s hand and tasted his blood flooding my mouth is a bit fuzzy. Just a blur of images and sensations. Half-formed thoughts and wild emotions.
“I must’ve passed out or
something,” I finish lamely, unsure how to account for the time between my fight with Cliff and when the Sinners found me. “I remember hearing your voices, and Elias picking me up.”
There’s a moment of silence as the men all absorb what I’ve told them. Gray still looks like he wants to pepper me with a million questions, but Elias shoots him another look before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone.
“We have some interesting updates about our friend Cliff.” He looks to me. “You good hearing this?”
“I’m not as fragile as you think.”
He tilts his head. “It’s not about you being fragile. It’s about you being human. What you went through would leave anybody fucked up.”
The empathy in his voice tugs at my heart, and I look away, unable to bear the softness in his light brown eyes. “I can handle it. What did you find out?”
“Well, we did a little digging, since it seems Cliff didn’t return to his room like we figured he would after last night,” Elias says.
Gray makes a sound that’s remarkably like a growl. “Where could little Cliffy have gone, we wondered. Where did the little slime ball run off to? Well… turns out the fucker ended up in the hospital. One of the second-year guys stopped in to confirm. You did a hell of a number on him, Sparrow.”
As Gray speaks, Elias flips his phone around in his hand, showing me the screen.
I barely recognize the man in the picture. Purples and reds mottle his skin, but as my gaze roves over the image, I see the small, light scar on his swollen cheek and the matted shock of red hair peeking out from gauzy bandages.
It’s definitely Cliff.
And he looks like he lost a fight with a very, very angry baseball bat.
I blink, incredulous. “I did that?”
“You don’t remember, Blue?” Elias shakes his head. “When we found you, you had enough blood on you that we thought we might need to take you to the emergency room. Most of it was Cliff’s though. You beat the ever-loving fuck out of him. Enough that he couldn’t just blow that shit off.”
My gaze lingers on the photo of Cliff. This picture must’ve been taken at the hospital, given the background that’s visible in the image. He’s half-grimacing, half-scowling, his eyes a little glassy as if they’re dulled by painkillers.
Still, he looks pissed.
And something else too.
Embarrassed.
A surge of vicious satisfaction rises inside me, and I glance down at my knuckles, flexing my fingers a little and ignoring the aching pain. “That’s why my hands hurt.”
“Yeah.” Declan shakes his head. “But I bet Cliff’s fucking face hurts more.”
“Our little sparrow packs a hell of a punch.”
Something like pride colors Gray’s voice, and when I glance over at him, he’s smiling at me with the same softness in his eyes that I noticed when I first woke up.
It cracks my heart open, making an unfamiliar sensation flood my chest. I pull my gaze away from his, but when I look at Declan and Elias, they’re watching me with similar expressions. They’re all gathered around me in a tight knot, and I suddenly feel like I’m at the center of something… big.
Something meaningful.
Something more powerful than I was prepared for, and something I never, ever expected.
A flood of panic washes through me, because I’m not used to people looking at me with soft eyes and taking care of me. Being fucking proud of me.
I’m not used to feeling the same softness back.
My body still aches like hell, but I ignore it as I push the covers off and crawl out of bed, slipping between Elias and Declan. I’m still wearing Declan’s clothes, but I’d rather walk across campus naked than put on anything I was wearing when Cliff assaulted me. I scoop up my shoes from the foot of the bed where someone left them, and Gray narrows his eyes slightly.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my dorm.” I’m already moving toward the door, even as my body screams an angry protest at me for leaving the comfortable warmth of the bed. “I need a shower. I still have”—I gesture to my body with one hand—“Cliff on me.”
The guys did a good job of cleaning me off last night, but I won’t feel truly clean until I scrub off an entire layer of skin under the hottest water I can handle.
Gray looks conflicted, like he’s thinking about dragging me back and tucking me into bed again himself. But finally, he nods. “Alright. But then rest, you understand?”
“And call us if you need anything,” Elias adds. He picks my cell off Declan’s nightstand and hands it to me, then rattles off three phone numbers.
I type them into my meager collection of contacts, wondering how it is that these three men became so deeply entrenched in my life. When did that happen? Somewhere between the hate and the lust and the battles and the games, a connection was forged between us, whether we meant for it to be or not.
Slipping my phone into the pocket of Declan’s sweats, I glance at the three men again. For just a second, I let my own mask fall, laying down my armor as I meet each of their gazes.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
Declan shakes his head, rising and crossing the room to open the bedroom door for me. “Yes, we did.”
He rests a hand on my lower back as he walks me to the entrance of his little apartment unit and opens that door too. Dozens of unspoken words hover between us, but neither of us say anything else as he presses a kiss to my hair and watches me walk down the hall.
I almost turn back around twice, and that scares me more than anything.
24
Secrets aren’t a thing at Hawthorne.
Everything ugly always comes to the light. There’s no such thing as privacy in a school that thrives on gossip and intrigue. That became apparent when my medical records were leaked at the assembly—and even before that, when Gray told the entire school that he’d fucked me. Secrets are currency, exchanged and bartered for like precious gems.
So my assumption that Cliff’s attack on me would stay under the radar was very, very wrong.
He and the other Saints all come from powerful families just like the Sinners do—wealthier and more connected than the rest of the Hawthorne University students, which is saying a lot.
Me, on the other hand?
I have no fucking connections, and most of the money I have to my name is cash I won from Gray when I shut down his stupid competition.
So I’m a little shocked when Max texts me on Sunday morning and tells me stories about the incident are already flying around campus. I called her as soon as I left Declan’s dorm on Saturday, and she came over to watch stupid movies with me while I iced my face and my knuckles. The bruises are still there, but the swelling has gone down a lot, and my fingers only ache a little as I type out a quick reply on my phone.
ME: What kind of stories?
I’ve never exactly been popular at this fucking school, so I’m fully prepared for everyone to turn against me after this. Cliff will probably try to label me as some crazy, desperate chick who tried to get him to fuck me, then snapped when he rejected me. Seems like the kind of thing someone like him would say just to save his own pathetic skin and bandage up his reputation.
MAX: The truth. That he tried to assault you and you fought back.
MAX: I think he tried to sell the rumor that he got mugged, but nobody’s buying it.
MAX: I don’t know how the fuck he’s gonna show his face on campus now that everyone knows he got the shit kicked out of him by someone nearly half his size.
Her flurry of texts all come in a rush, my phone pinging with each one, and I stare down at the screen.
Did the Sinners have anything to do with this? With making sure Cliff didn’t twist the truth to make this all look like it was my fault somehow? It’s still hard to believe they would, considering how much of the semester Gray has spent messing with me and trying to ruin my reputation.
But who e
lse knows the truth and could’ve made sure it was that story that caught on and not the lies Cliff fabricated? Max does, but she doesn’t have the kind of sway that could influence the entire school.
MAX: There’s a picture of him going around too. It’s pretty fucking bad. He looks like shit. Some of his fangirls are mad, and the rest of the Saints are sticking by him, from what I’ve heard.
ME: Jesus. Of course.
My lips curl in a grimace as I hit send. I wonder if Caitlin and her groupies are among those supporting Cliff. It wouldn’t fucking surprise me. She’s still got her sights set on Gray, but I’m sure she wants to keep her options open in case she doesn’t manage to snag him.
And who cares if your husband is an attempted rapist as long as he’s got wealth and power, right?
MAX: Right? It’s so fucking pathetic.
There’s a pause, and then another text comes through.
MAX: Hey. I’m proud of you for fighting against Cliff, and you know I’ll always have your back. But just make sure you watch out for retaliation.
My brows pull together, and I sink deeper into the cushions of my couch.
ME: You think he’ll try to jump me again? Or someone else will?
MAX: Not necessarily like that. I was talking more about legally.
I blink down at the screen.
Oh. Shit. I honestly hadn’t even considered that, but a ripple of worry moves through me. I pull up Max’s contact and hit the call button, and she answers after the first ring.
“Legally?” I ask, picking up where our text conversation left off. “What exactly do you mean?”
She sighs. “He’s probably not dumb enough to attack you again—although I wouldn’t put it past his fan girls or some of his bros who are pissed a girl didn’t just shut up and put out. But even if he doesn’t try anything physical, that doesn’t mean he won’t be out for some retribution. His family is one of the most powerful names in California. He’s a legacy child, and something like this is going to follow him. Where you have a mean right hook, Cliff has parents with lawyers.”