by Eva Ashwood
“I’ll tell you in person,” I say quickly. “Is Max okay? Are you guys okay?”
“We’re fine. All of us.” As he speaks, I can hear voices in the background, rising in intensity and volume. The others must’ve come into the room. “We’re at Declan’s house right now. Where are you? I’ll come get you—”
“It’s okay, I’ve got a ride,” I tell him, glancing over at the guy in the driver’s seat again. He doesn’t raise any objections, thank fuck. “I’ll see you soon.”
Gray gives me Declan’s address, and I repeat it to the guy who picked me up. My hand shakes a little when I go to hang up the phone, my body physically rebelling at the idea of cutting off that connection to Gray. To all of the Sinners.
After I cut the connection, I hand the phone back over. We drive in silence all the way to Declan’s place, and I rest my forehead against the window, willing time to speed up.
When we turn down a long street that ends in an almost equally long driveway, my body goes lax in relief.
“Thanks, this is it,” I say as Declan’s house comes into view.
The guy looks at the mansion, then back at me. For a second, I think he’s going to ask questions, but he’s quiet as he puts the car into park. I unclip my seatbelt, realizing I left a smear of blood and dirt on the side window when I leaned against it. Shit. I hope I didn’t wreck his fucking seat.
“Thank you.” I glance over at him. “For the lift. And sorry about…”
I gesture vaguely to myself and to the seat.
He shrugs and shakes his head. “It’s okay.” I’m reaching for the door when he asks, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
I try to answer that, but I can’t. He’s concerned, just like a normal person would be, but what can a guy like him do about it? A perfectly normal guy who hikes with the sunrise on his Saturday mornings. He’s probably vegan and owns a cat. He probably has one of those cute downtown L.A. apartments with plants and essential oils and organic foods. He probably works a nine to five, probably doesn’t know anything about rich brats and monsters who manipulate people like me.
He wouldn’t understand.
I nod. I don’t trust myself to say the words I’m fine out loud, knowing they’re total and complete bullshit.
I swing the door open, slamming it shut behind me. He doesn’t linger, turning around and heading off to wherever it is he was planning on going before I threw myself in front of his car.
As I turn toward the house, a deep voice calls my name.
“Sophie!”
Gray runs down the driveway, Declan and Elias right behind him. I don’t even consciously decide to move, my legs stumble into motion, pushing me forward.
I didn’t think I had anything left in me, but as long as I’m running toward them, I’ll run forever.
4
Gray reaches me first, our bodies colliding with almost bruising force. The impact should hurt, but if it does, I can’t feel the pain of it. Instead, it feels like it shocks my heart back into rhythm.
As if I was dying, and he just brought me back to life.
He doesn’t say a word, just clings to me as if he’ll never let go, his fingers digging into my skin as he breathes in the scent of my hair.
Declan and Elias reach us a second later, knocking us backward a step as they wrap their arms around me too. I hear Max let out a soft sob as she joins us. The men must’ve beaten her out of the house, their longer legs carrying them faster than hers did.
For a moment, I’m surrounded completely by the four of them, enveloped by their bodies so all I can see and hear and feel is them. Something clicks into place inside me, solidifying in my heart.
I need them.
My men. My best friend. People I never thought I would have in my life—but ones I can’t imagine living without now.
I didn’t realize how much I need them until I thought I fucking lost them. I didn’t realize how much I need them until I was running from Alan, the bunker, running from my past. I didn’t realize how much I need them until it was almost too late.
Never again.
They hold me for what feels like forever, none of us speaking. When they finally step back, I get my first good look at them since the guy dropped me off.
Elias’s usually flirtatious face is shadowed with fear and worry. He reaches for me again, pulling me against his body and wrapping his arms around me, enveloping me in his familiar scent, fresh and sweet and only him. His heart thunders against mine as his lips brush over my forehead, my eyelashes, my cheeks, and my chin.
“Jesus, Blue,” he whispers hoarsely. “We thought…”
I nod. It’s all I can manage right now. My throat is still sore as fuck from being choked by Reagan, but that’s not what makes it hard to speak. I’m not used to dealing with this kind of emotional overload. So many feelings are bouncing around inside my chest, I can barely handle them all.
I try to picture circumstances being the opposite, one of them being kidnapped and taken away, but I just can’t. I don’t want to.
When Elias steps aside, Declan reaches for me next. His jaw clenches as he takes in the bruises on my face, the cuts on my arms, the damage done by Reagan. His rough fingers brush over a cut on my cheek that still stings, coming away with my blood on his skin, and his lips press together, fury filling his deep brown eyes.
I open my mouth to say something, to explain why I look like this, but before I even have time to let out a breath his lips press against mine in a kiss soft enough to break me.
My body melts into his kiss, leaning into his touch. Featherlight, his hands brush up against the hem of my bloody and dirty t-shirt, skimming up the broken skin and bruises on my arms until they find my neck. He pulls me a little closer, kissing me a little harder.
“We were up all night looking,” he murmurs when he pulls away. “We didn’t give up on you, we just didn’t know where to—”
I shut him up with another kiss, silencing the guilt I can hear in his voice. The fear.
I don’t blame any of them for what happened. And down in that bunker, I wasn’t waiting for them to rescue me or find me, even though I sure as hell knew they’d be trying to. But the place Reagan took me to was entirely underground. There’s almost no chance they would’ve found it, no matter how hard they looked.
Declan and I finally step apart, our kiss lingering for a moment longer even as our bodies separate. Max manages to hold back her tears until I reach for her, a violent sob wracking her body as I pull her into a hug.
“I didn’t know, Sophie,” she cries. “I thought we had lost you… and it was all my fault…”
My eyes sting, and I stop fighting the emotions churning in my chest. I let the hot tears drip onto my cheek, mingling with the blood and dirt there, the mascara still smudged under my eyes from yesterday. I can’t say anything around the knot in my throat. I just hug the shit out of her.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” I whisper hoarsely as we break apart. “Fuck, I hate that you got dragged into this.”
She shakes her head, dismissing that. “I’d be in it no matter what. You’re my friend, and what you go up against, I go up against.” She scowls, a hard edge to her tone. “I just hate that I got used as fucking bait.”
I can tell that none of them have slept all night. I don’t think my time unconscious after my fight with Reagan counts as rest, and even if it did, I’ve gone through every reserve of strength I had built up. But as much as I want to fall into bed, I know there are other things that have to be dealt with first.
Questions burn in all of their eyes, rage joining it as they look over the state of my body.
“Let’s get inside.” I lick my lips. “I’ll tell you what happened.”
We all move quickly toward the house, and Declan wraps an arm around my waist as he leads me through the large front door.
We head toward the living room, and Gray disappears for a moment, returning with a bottle of whiskey. I don’t care what time of day it is, that
’s exactly what I fucking need.
He doesn’t even bother with a glass, just hands me the bottle. Our fingers brush as I take it from him, and the current of awareness that travels between us makes goose bumps rise on my skin.
I can feel the tension in him as if it’s pulsing outward from his body. I can sense anger and stress in everyone else too, but it’s different with him. Deeper. He’s taking it harder than the rest, letting it eat him up from the inside out.
My arms itch to wrap around him, to hold on to him until I can convince us both that it’s going to be okay. But there still isn’t time to stop, to give in to emotions. So I just swallow back the lump that’s rising in my throat with the liquor, letting it burn all the way down to my stomach.
“It was Reagan who kidnapped Max,” I say as the whiskey settles inside me, warming my blood.
“Are you fucking serious?” Elias spins around, looking at me. He doesn’t believe me, not because he doesn’t trust me, but because it’s that insane. “Caitlin’s bitch? The one who barely ever talks?”
I nod, sitting down on the couch. I realize too late that I’m a little messy to be sitting on Declan’s super fancy and expensive couch. He must notice my expression, because he shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it, Soph,” he says. “My parents don’t ever use this living room. Plus, they’re not home right now.”
Thank fuck. I’ve gotten the sense they wouldn’t really approve of me under normal circumstances, and if they met me looking like this, I’m positive they’d hate me. It wouldn’t matter to them that nothing about my fucked up, dirty appearance is my fault. They’d just see something that doesn’t fit into their perfect, manicured life.
They can’t even accept the fact that their son loves to create music—and is fucking good at it—because it doesn’t match their vision of who he should be.
Shaking my head, I refocus. I’ve got bigger problems than whether one of my sort-of-boyfriend’s parents would like me. Alan is out there somewhere, wanting to kill me, and Reagan is out there wanting to help him.
Over several more minutes and a few more sips of whiskey, I manage to get the story out—how I woke up in the bunker, how Alan showed up and wanted to kill me. Max starts crying again, exhausted and traumatized by the events of last night even more than I am.
“That’s not the worst of it,” I say slowly, looking at each of them, the tension in their bodies, the glares on their faces. They’ve been mostly silent the entire time, listening to me. “I’ve been there before. The bunker.”
Declan’s eyes widen, and Gray clenches his hands into fists. Elias leans forward. “What do you mean? When?”
I explain the rest of it, even though it’s hard, even though the memories are still shaky. I tell them about how I was held there when I was a little girl, about how Alan was my captor for some unknown reason. I explain how I managed to escape this morning—and that I only found the way out because I had already escaped once before.
“Fucking bastard,” Gray growls, pushing himself up off the couch. He’s pissed as shit, looking like he’s ready to go beat the shit out of Alan. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.”
I lunge for him before he can storm out the door and do something stupid, before Elias and Declan can follow him and join him in barging into Alan’s house. When I grab his arm, his whole body goes still. He looks down at me with a wild look in his eyes, barely contained wrath vibrating through him.
“He hurt you.” His voice is low and rough. “And I’m going to hurt him.”
“No, you’re not.” My heart thunders in my chest as I shake my head. “You can’t.”
“I will.”
“No, you can’t.” I hold his gaze until his face softens slightly. I can feel him calming a little, both from my touch on his forearm, light as it is, and my body next to his. Then I turn back and look at the other two Sinners. “I hate him just as fucking much as you do, but I’m not going to let you guys go out there and deal with things yourself. I don’t want to lose you.”
Not again.
Fuck.
The words hit me more than I expected them to, like an arrow piercing through my heart, the truth of it settling into my bones.
I can’t lose them.
I lost Jared, but that was different. Not because it hurt any less in the moment, but because when Jared was still alive, I wasn’t living for anything. Anyone. I wasn’t even living for myself. And despite all of the shit I’ve been through over the last several months, despite how fucked up some of it has been, I’m living for something else now.
And if that’s taken away from me, there'll be nothing left.
Before I can say anything else, my knees buckle a little, making me stumble. My body is finally giving out under the strain, demanding that I take a moment to recover before I forge ahead.
Gray catches me around the waist as I steady myself. I sag against him a little, letting him take more of my weight than my pride would normally allow.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” he says tightly, holding me a little closer.
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” I mutter, trying to force my head to stop spinning. “I just need a shower and sleep.”
The other guys look at me doubtfully, and I know I look like absolute shit on the outside, but that’s not what they need to be worried about. I’m more of a wreck on the inside. With both old memories and more recent ones swirling around in my mind, I feel like someone took a sledgehammer and cracked my head open.
“I promise,” I assure them. “I’ll be okay.”
And I will be. Somehow.
I refuse to let Alan Montgomery win.
As the water in the shower heats up, I strip out of my clothes, trying not to cringe as I look at myself in the mirror. I’m a purple and blue bruised mess, dirt and blood caked on my arms and thighs. There are a few deeper cuts that cling to my clothes as I pull them off, but I can see now that the damage isn’t as bad as it feels. It all fucking hurts, but none of it requires immediate medical attention.
It could have been worse, I tell myself, craning my neck to try to see if the tattoo on my shoulder is messed up by the scrape it took. I’d be pissed as shit if Alan or Reagan fucked up the sparrow inked on my shoulder, but if worse comes to worst, I can dip into my funds to fix it. I could have died.
My tattoos all look okay, so I force my gaze away from the mirror and step into the warm shower. I hiss as my cuts sting, glancing down and waiting for the water to run clear beneath my toes. It’s a nauseating mix of brown and rusty blood, and I hesitate as I reach for the body wash. I know I need to clean the scrapes, but I’m not eager to deal with the fresh pain of rubbing soap into them.
Bracing myself, I grab the bottle of body wash and suck in a breath as another wave of stinging pain burns across my skin before slowly subsiding. The gentle suds over my body make me feel a little better, and I wish I could do the same with my head—go through a quick sting before knowing everything has been made clean.
My heart does a little skip in my chest when I hear the door creak open. Through the glass, I can see the shadow of one of the guys, but it’s so foggy by now that I have to crack open the shower door to see who it is.
Gray.
Our gazes connect like two magnets drawn together, something snapping into place between us. Lifting one hand, he grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it over his head, reaching for his belt next. His hands shake, and the belt buckle clatters as he shoves his jeans down and steps toward the shower, kicking his shoes off as he goes.
He slides the glass door open and steps in with me. His throat tenses as he swallows hard, then he reaches for me and pulls me into his arms. He buries his face in my neck, his body leaning into mine as every inch of his skin presses against my own, his hands gripping my waist so hard it hurts.
“I can’t forgive myself, Sparrow,” he says hoarsely. “I’ll never fucking forgive myself for letting you walk in like that, all by yourself. Fo
r not trying to stop things when they first started.” His hands roam over me, his nose brushing against the hollow of my throat as he kisses my chin, my neck, my shoulders, ignoring the water sluicing down over both of us. “I should have known how fucked up Cliff was—he and his family. I should have gotten you out. Not like I first tried to, not by pushing you away like an asshole. But I should’ve found a way to get you away safely. Before any of this could happen.”
He pulls back enough to look down at me, but every inch of his body is still pressed against me, burning into me, making the water on my back seem cold by comparison.
His gaze meets mine in the steamy haze, and I swallow, an overload of emotions caught in my throat.
“I’m done running,” I tell him, watching the way his gaze dips to my mouth, the conflicted darkness in the depths of his eyes. “I ran from Alan once. I’m sure of that, even if I still barely remember it. And I’m not going to do it again. I’ll never run again.” I hesitate, then add, “I’ve found too many reasons to stay.”
He knows what I mean, even though I can’t say it out loud. Even though I can hardly admit it to myself. Gray knows that he, Declan, Elias, Max—they are my reasons for staying. They are my reasons for pushing and not backing down.
Gray’s thumb brushes against my lips. He looks like he’s about to say something, hesitating as he gazes down into my face. But just like it is for me, it seems to be too much for him to put into words.
So instead, he kisses me.
5
The pressure of Gray’s lips against mine starts off gentle, almost hesitant, as if he’s holding himself back. Trying to make sure he won’t hurt me.
He kisses my top lip, then my bottom lip, tugging them between his own as water streams down over us, dripping over our skin as our mouths move together. I can taste whiskey on his breath, and I know he can taste it on my tongue too—the balm we each tried to pour over the wounds that can’t be treated with antiseptic and bandages.
The soul wounds.