What Sinners Love (Sinners of Hawthorne University 3)

“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.