How Sinners Fight

by Eva Ashwood

  Me.

  “I want to do more. I want to make her pay for embarrassing me in front of the entire fucking school.” I don’t have to see him to know he’s shaking in rage. “No, I don’t want to fucking leave her alone!”

  I raise an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything for a long couple of seconds, whoever is on the other side of the phone presumably trying to calm him the fuck down, because when he speaks again, his voice is clipped and contained.

  “Fine. I’ll wait. But I’m not going to let this go. You fucking promised me.”

  His footsteps echo through the hall, and I panic, trying to scramble away, but it’s too late.

  Fuck, I didn’t realize how close he was.

  Cliff comes into view, pressing a button on his phone to end the call. When he looks up and his gaze lands on me, his eyes go wide. He shoves the phone into his pocket and strides toward me, boxing me in against the wall as his features harden.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, Sophie,” he says, his low voice brushing against my skin on a hot wave of breath. My skin crawls. “Don’t think you’re safe. The Sinners can’t always protect you, no matter how many fucking lies they tell you.”

  My heart is an erratic drumbeat in my chest. His face is so close to mine that I can see the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the two small scars on his face. One of them is the one I gave him a couple months ago. The other is slightly larger and looks older—I have no fucking clue where it came from. Hopefully from some other girl who beat the shit out of him.

  “I don’t need protecting,” I tell him, my lips curling back. “I can take care of myself… or have you already forgotten?”

  As I speak, I deliberately let my gaze linger on the scar under his eye from where my fist connected with his face.

  My taunt hits home. He flushes in anger, his jaw twitching as he pushes into me a little harder.

  “You can’t fucking protect yourself from everything,” he sneers, his face way too close to mine.

  Fuck this.

  My knee shoots up, hitting him right in the crotch. Hard. He stumbles back several steps and bends over in pain, turning away from me and sucking in a breath followed by a bellowed curse.

  But it’s all I need. That little movement gives me enough space to get the fuck away from him.

  “Sorry about your dick,” I bite out over my shoulder as I stride away. “I’m surprised I could even find it.”

  I don’t head to my dorm. Instead, I make a beeline for the guys’ dorm building, slipping in after another student and ignoring the look he gives me. All three of the Sinners are still in class, but I know they’ll be back soon.

  While I wait for them, I try to get my fury under control so I can think rationally about what I just heard Cliff say and about what just happened.

  About thirty minutes later, the Sinners come down the corridor toward their rooms, talking amongst themselves. When they catch sight of me, they all stop.

  “What’s wrong?” Gray growls. He strides toward me quickly, followed by Declan and Elias, who are less than half a step behind him.

  I stand up from where I was sitting against the wall, brushing my pants off as I grimace. “Um… I think I may have just made shit worse.”

  The guys look confused and worried at my pronouncement, and Gray ushers us all into his room. Once the door shuts behind us, I explain everything that happened between Cliff and me in the corridor of Hurst Hall.

  “I probably shouldn’t have kneed him in the junk,” I add with a sigh. “It’s only gonna make him more pissed.”

  For a split second, pride overrides the concern in their expressions. Elias chuckles, and even Declan and Gray crack small smiles.

  “Fuck, I wish I was there to see that,” Elias says, grinning at me. He slings an arm around me and tugs me toward him, planting a kiss on my lips. “Next time you beat the shit out of Cliff, you have to promise to tell me so I can watch.”

  “Stop it.” I shove at him lightly but don’t resist when he pulls me even closer. “Seriously, it was stupid. And I don’t know who he was talking to, but he’s obviously not the only one on campus who wants me gone.”

  Unconsciously, my gaze flicks to Gray. Not that long ago, he was working with Cliff to get me to leave. He shakes his head, regret burning in his eyes, and I let out a breath.

  I believe him. I hope it’s not a fucking mistake, but I truly believe he’s on my side.

  Declan scrubs a hand through his hair, tousling the short black strands. “One thing is for fucking sure. We need to make a move before Cliff does something stupid,” he says. “Who knows what he’ll do in retaliation.”

  18

  “Where’s Gray?” I ask as I step out of my dorm building. Elias and Declan are waiting for me as usual, but there’s no sign of Gray. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, he said he’d meet us at breakfast,” Elias supplies. “He got a call right before we left. Seemed important. I think he’s good though.”

  Declan gives me a small smile and we meet up with Max, chatting on the way to breakfast. When we get there, we’re among the few in the dining hall; it’s much more quiet compared to the lunch hours. Skipping the menu, the four of us head to the buffet and load up on gourmet shit that will likely be thrown out if it’s not all eaten by the end of the hour.

  As we’re sitting down at a table, Gray strides into the large room with his hands shoved into his pockets, a stormy look on his face. It vanishes the second he catches sight of us though. He gives me a small smile before grabbing his own plate of food and joining us.

  Elias raises an eyebrow and Gray nods, a subtle and silent conversation between the two men.

  I glance from one to the other, my gaze snagging on Gray’s green eyes. The little flecks of blue in them are especially noticeable in the morning light that filters through the windows, and I suddenly want to paint something inspired by that. Or maybe I just want an excuse to stare at him for an hour.

  “Is everything okay?” I repeat the question I asked Declan and Elias, needing to hear it from Gray.

  He grimaces slightly, but hides it well. “Yeah, everything is fine. I just got a call this morning—”

  As if summoned by his words, his phone rings. He mutters a curse under his breath and answers it.

  “Did you get it figured out?” His voice borders on a growl. “Good. I don’t want him to try to intervene again, and if he does, tell him to fuck off.”

  The conversation ends, and I cock an eyebrow. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

  Gray lets out a sigh. “I guess you have the right to know,” he says slowly, glancing at the others. “I got a call this morning that the art show had been cancelled. Some shit about the venue already being booked.”

  “What?” I sit up straighter.

  He gives me a reassuring glance. “Don’t worry about it, Sparrow. I got it all sorted out. Turns out it was one of Cliff’s stupid ideas to hurt you. The venue was booked by us, but somehow he managed to pull some strings and get some book work forged.”

  “That jackass,” I mutter, trying to shove down the rage that’s welling up inside of me. “He’s so fucking petty.”

  It’s too early for this, and even though he’s done worse damage before, this especially hurts. This will be my first art show ever, and that’s a huge deal to me. It’s not about any money I could make if pieces sell—it’s about sharing something so important to me with the world.

  Declan’s hand reaches for mine under the table, the rough tips of his fingers rubbing against the back of my hand comfortingly.

  “If he tries to fuck with it again, he won’t be able to,” Gray says firmly. “The show will go on as planned.”

  Still, over the next several days leading up to the art show, I can’t help but feel like something is going to happen. Cliff is quiet—too quiet—and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s planning shit or if he’s genuinely scared of the Sinners’ influence. As much as I hope for the latter,

I’m not sure Cliff has the sense to be afraid of anything. He strikes me as one of those entitled assholes who’s been taught since birth that the world owes him everything.

  I’m thankful I have the guys on my side though, because they don’t let me doubt myself for one second. As I work my ass off painting and getting things ready for the show, they rally around me, forcing me to stop when I forget to eat and warding off anyone who tries to disrupt me when I’m working. I can tell Max is getting slightly annoyed by their display of alpha control, but I honestly don’t mind it.

  They’re supporting me. And in everything they say and do, I can feel that support.

  I’m absolutely, one hundred percent consumed by my work in a way that I’ve never been before. Because I worked so hard at the start of the semester studying and getting ahead in my work, I can afford to miss a few classes, and school can go on the back burner for a little while without risking a massive drop in my grades.

  I’m not really sure what I expect from the art show, and I’ve tried not to think too hard about it. I know that if I do, I’ll start thinking about the fact that I’m going to be showing my art to dozens, if not hundreds of strangers.

  Not just my art.

  I’m going to be showing them myself.

  I’ve never done that before. I never thought I would do that. Ever. It scares the shit out of me, but at the same time, it’s fucking exhilarating.

  And the honest truth is, I never would’ve done it without the push from Declan. Then Elias. Then Gray. It would have never happened without their connections, without their belief in me and support for me.

  I’m getting better at not burying my feelings, but now really isn’t the time to consider just how much I’m starting to feel for these men. I’ve got a fucking art show to attend.

  “Are you ready, Blue?” Elias knocks on my bedroom door, which is already open.

  I turn around in the little black dress that showed up in a cream box on my nightstand yesterday, popping my hip a little as I meet his gaze. The dress is smart and elegant, feminine but not girly, and I’m not sure which one of them gave it to me, but I’m not going to ruin the present by guessing. I fucking love it.

  He lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Blue. Fucking damn.”

  Declan and Gray step in behind him, the three of them crowding the doorway as they all look at me with appreciative expressions. Heat flares through my body, which I’ve come to expect when they look at me like this. But what surprises me is the way my heart suddenly feels like it’s too big for my chest, like it’s expanding against my ribcage. I try to hide the rush of emotion by giving them a joking wiggle of my hips and a nice view of my ass.

  “Keep doing that, Sparrow,” Gray says, his voice dipping, “and we’re not gonna make it out of here in time for the show.”

  By the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s completely fucking serious. Elias and Declan both nod in agreement. Hell, Declan looks like he’s mentally having to restrain himself, and the way his gaze roams over my body makes me wish it was his hands instead.

  “Well, we have to leave”—Max shoves through them, looking at the time on her phone—“in like five minutes if we don’t want to be late.” She glances up from her cell’s screen and gives me a delighted smile. “Damn, Sophie, you do look good.”

  “Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes a little. I clearly don’t get dressed up that often; I’m just wearing a cocktail dress, but judging by the reactions, you’d think I was in a floor-length ballgown. Then I grin at her. “You look hot too.”

  She’s got a dress on too, a dark blue one that shows off her model legs and curvy hips. She’s got her dark hair curled away from her face with accents of gold jewelry that bring attention to her eyes, and if she thinks I’m going to be the one stealing the show, she’s wrong as hell. She looks amazing, and I have no doubt that she’ll be turning some heads.

  By the time we pull up to the very modern looking venue, I feel like I’m going to throw up on the pavement, but Declan hooks a steadying arm in mine and leads me in, giving me a grin that settles my nerves a little bit. I wish I could say that I don’t cling to him like a dying woman clinging onto a life raft, but I do.

  That is, until he leads me into the room where my art is. Then I break away from him, clapping a hand over my mouth as I take it all in.

  Holy fuck.

  I’m not sure if the thought makes it out of my head as actual words. I can’t speak. I can hardly breathe.

  The Sinners insisted that I not see the gallery until it was completely ready, so this is the first time I’ve been here since it started being set up a week ago. For the past couple of days, I’ve slowly been giving paintings over to the guys to bring over, coaching myself through temporarily parting with all of my favorite pieces, but this…

  “This is amazing,” I whisper, looking at my art.

  My art.

  Is it really mine, though?

  I’ve only ever seen my pieces through my own eyes, through the dim light that filters through my windows and onto my canvas or up on the walls in my little dorm room. Not set up like this for everyone to see, like a fucking real artist. Staring at them in this new light, it feels like I’ve never seen these paintings and drawings, all artistically arranged and spread out.

  When the guys asked me if I had any special instructions, I didn’t know what they were talking about, but now I do. Paintings that in my mind had no connection to each other are hung up in sequences that make them flow from one to the next, as if I was planning for them to be part of a series all along. Paintings I assumed were not my best work are displayed like the fucking Mona Lisa, crowds of suited men and elegantly dressed women looking at them and chatting quietly.

  “Is this real?” I ask, not even bothering to fight back the sting of tears in my eyes as I turn around and look at the guys. “Is this fucking real?”

  Elias grins. “It is. And you deserve it, Blue. Here, let me introduce you to my parents.”

  He flags down an older couple who are standing nearby, and my eyes widen at the clear resemblance between Elias and both of them. I do my best not to shrink back into myself. I feel weirdly nervous about meeting his parents, but I’ve never been the type to shy away from anything or let people make me feel bad about who I am.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Sophie Wright,” Elias says, pride beaming in his eyes. “She’s the one who did all of this.”

  His mom’s expression softens a little as she looks at me, shaking my hand with a delicate one. “Thank you for sharing your talent with us, Sophie,” she says. I never knew a voice could be elegant, but hers somehow is. “They’re beautiful pieces.”

  Elias’s dad offers similar praise of my work, and I manage to take their compliments and conversation without feeling too awkward. After a while, they move on, and Elias goes with them to meet a couple of business friends of his father’s.

  “Come on, Sparrow. Why don’t you come meet some of your guests?” Gray suggests, stepping up and offering me an arm.

  Ugh. This part, I’m truly dreading. As amazing as it is to see people checking out my pieces, the idea of actually talking to any of them makes me nervous as fuck.

  “It’s all right.” Gray seems to read my thoughts, and a grin pulls at his lips. “They want to meet you. You can’t put all this amazing shit on display and not expect people to want to talk to you about it.”

  I suppress a grin. Between standing up to Cliff and using his family’s connections in the art world to set this up, Gray has gone a long way toward proving that he’s seriously on my side. But he doesn’t seem content to stop there, going out of his way every chance he gets to let me know just how solidly he’s in my corner.

  I like it.

  For the next couple minutes, we make our way around the room. I meet people who run in the Sinners’ circles, though I realize later into the evening that neither Declan nor Gray’s parents were able to make it. And to my surprise, I even catch some faces I recognize from the school—a mix of staff and students, likely hoping tonight would turn into a shit show, but all silently subdued by the display in front of them.

  “Shit,” Gray murmurs as he steers me away from an older couple who stopped me to compliment me on my work. “Alan Montgomery is here.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Montgomery. As in… Cliff’s dad?”

  “Yes. He’s over there.”

  He points out an older looking gentleman, movie star handsome, with a few gray streaks in his reddish-brown hair and an expensive suit. He looks exactly like what I’d expect Cliff’s father to look like, and something unsettling stirs in my stomach at the sight of him.

  I don’t know this man at all, but having met his progeny, I’m sure I don’t want to.

  “Fuck. What’s he doing here?” I ask, my shoulder brushing against Gray’s as I swivel my head to take in the room. “Is Cliff here too?”

  Would he fucking dare?

  Then again, if he did come, what can I do to stop him? Would it be worth me causing a scene at my own show? Probably not, and he probably knows that.

  Gray frowns, his eyes going hard. He jerks his chin, and I follow his gaze to see the asshole himself making his way through the crowd.

  Cliff stops near his dad, their heads bending in conversation, and my pulse quickens in my throat. Cliff’s expression is pinched and tight, but his dad looks like he’s trying to calm his son down. I hope for one fruitless second that Alan knows how stupid his son is and won’t let anything happen.

  But somehow, I don’t think I can count on that. Alan Montgomery obviously hasn’t reined in his son’s worst tendencies before now, so I doubt he’ll start tonight.

  I try not to look at them, but every couple minutes I find myself searching Cliff out in the crowd, hoping not to find him destroying my art or displaying blown up pictures of my little strip show somewhere. Hell, if he’s really got texts and emails between Brody McAlister and his late wife, he could slap those up on the walls too.

  Thankfully, he does none of those things. He seems content to glare at me occasionally in between schmoozing with other guests, like he’s daring me to be the one to start something.

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