What Sinners Love (Sinners of Hawthorne University 3)

Were there others? What did he want with us? I don’t remember anyone else in the fragments and pieces of the past that are coalescing in my mind. Only me and a little girl I’m almost positive was Reagan.

But just because I don’t remember them, that doesn’t mean they weren’t here.

The thought makes me sick.

Alan’s fancy shoes scuffle against the rough floor a little as he turns to me. He narrows his eyes slightly, bending at the waist so that our eyes are level. He’s wearing a fucking suit, because of course he is. As if this is simply business to him.

“What do you remember, Sabrina?”

He poses the question gently. So gently that if I closed my eyes to block out his face, I could almost pretend we’re having a normal conversation. Like he’s my doctor or the therapist I could never really afford to go to.

What do I remember?

Not enough. Nothing of substance, not really. But I remember being here. I remember being Alan’s prisoner, locked up in this bunker when I was a child.

I don’t tell him that, though. Maybe it would be smarter to admit how foggy and limited my memories still are. Maybe it would convince him I’m harmless, not a true threat to him.

But the rage inside me makes me speak before I can decide whether it’s wise or not.

“I remember enough to take you down, you fucking asshole,” I snarl, my teeth gritted. My throat is dry, and I strain to keep back a cough.

Alan sighs, long and exasperated. As if I’m a little kid who’s been told a thousand times not to go outside without their shoes on. He doesn’t seem worried about my threat, not in the least. I’m probably a fool to threaten him, a man with people in his pocket who could destroy my life if he just raises a finger, but I’m pissed as shit.

He may have broken me once before. He may have taken everything from me before.

Not this time.

Not if I can fucking help it.

“Well, I’ll have to deal with this,” he says slowly. His lips purse as if he’s annoyed. He turns, shooting Reagan a look. She perks up for a second before he says, “You’ve let me down. I didn’t want things to get this messy.”

But they did.

They fucking did, and I’m not going to go down without a fight.

“Watch Sabrina,” he tells her, his voice clipped and businesslike. “I’ll be back.”

And just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone.

2

My heart slams against my chest as the do

or shuts behind Alan. I try to keep my breath even and slow my racing thoughts, my throat still burning. I can’t tell if Alan locked the door when he left, but I know it’s not going to be easy to get out.

Even if I manage to get free of these ropes, Reagan isn’t going to let me go without a fight, and who knows what’s on the other side of that door?

More people? Someone else who wants to fucking kill me?

Reagan wants me dead. She tried to make it a reality twice. Now Alan wants to clean up the mess that she made. I was sure he was going to shoot me in the head or something where I sit, but he didn’t.

Why didn’t he?

He had the perfect chance. I’m still groggy and a little weak, and although I don’t know how long I’ve been down here, I’m guessing it’s been several hours. The longer he waits, the more time there is for people to notice I’m missing and start asking questions. If Max and the guys are still alive, they’re probably searching for me right now.

Fuck.

Alan is careful, I know that. He probably doesn’t want to kill me until he knows that no evidence can lead back to him, until all of his shit is covered.