What Sinners Love (Sinners of Hawthorne University 3)

14

The metal of the door is cool against the backs of my arms, a stark contrast to the heat of Gray’s skin.

For a second, I’m shocked into silence by the force of his anger. I haven’t seen him this pissed since the day he and Declan got into a fistfight, and now all that anger is directed at me.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he repeats, his voice a low rumble. “You weren’t supposed to let it get that far. You weren’t supposed to push him that far. You know he’s fucking dangerous!”

“I was trying to get something,” I bite out, pushing against his chest. He grasps my wrists, trapping them in his hands. “We needed something incriminating, and he wasn’t biting—I had to get him to bite. He’s obviously been coached by his dad, instructed not to say anything, and even though Cliff may be a cocky dumbass, his dad isn’t.”

But that’s not why I fought, I want to tell him. I want to tell him what I remembered about Cliff, and it’s on the tip of my tongue, but the words get stuck.

I can’t tell him. I can’t let him know the truth.

Because I don’t want to know it myself.

“This was a bad fucking idea,” Gray growls, his eyes darker than usual as they meet mine. “I told you I didn’t like it. I don’t want to use you as bait, Sparrow. It’s not safe.”

“Then why did you agree to this plan?” I demand, pushing against him. My mind is still churning with memories, and it’s making it impossible to keep a lid on my emotions. “If you want to keep me so fucking safe, then lock me up in that house of yours. Or build a fucking bunker of your own and lock me in there.”

His jaw twitches. “Don’t fucking tempt me. There’s no telling what either of them will do, and no guarantee that Cliff won’t snap if you push him too far. Just because his dad has instructed him not to say anything, just because his dad wants to lie low right now, that doesn’t mean Cliff won’t react. Don’t you get it? That fucker is insane.”

“I know.”

I swallow, trying to tear my gaze away from his angry eyes. But he’s so close to me that there’s nowhere else to look but him. So I fix my gaze on his chin, shadowed and slightly rough with stubble.

He doesn’t like that. His hand finds my jaw, his rough fingertips brushing against the soft skin as he forces me to look at him.

“No,” he says, “you clearly don’t. Not enough to take this seriously.”

Tell him. Inside, my mind is screaming at me. Tell him.

He thinks because he’s been in this fucked up world of privilege and wealth longer than I have that I won’t understand. But what he doesn’t know is that I’ve known Cliff a whole lot longer than he has.

“I know how fucked up he is, Gray,” I whisper, my voice going hoarse. “I know more than you or Declan or Elias or anyone else.”

I suck in a breath, not wanting to tell him. Not wanting to say it out loud, to make it real.

Just when I thought everything couldn’t get worse, it did. Just when I thought that my past couldn’t get any more fucked up, it did.

Cliff tried to… claim me.

Like we’re animals, like I’m an object to be bartered for or sold. He thinks he owns me, that his father’s promise to a little boy means he has a claim on me. But no one—not even the Sinners—have a claim like that. It’s beyond fucked up.

I swallow. “I know because I remember,” I say. My heart pounds so hard in my chest it’s making my throat feel tight. “It came rushing back in while he was talking to me—it was something he said. It all just came back. Cliff tried to claim me when we were younger.”

I mentally cringe at the words, but Gray’s whole body goes still, his shoulders tense. He knows I wouldn’t fuck around right now, that I wouldn’t make this up. I know he can tell where this is going, but just like me, he doesn’t want to believe it.

“When we were kids, his dad promised me to him,” I continue. The words taste bitter, repulsive. “As if you can just promise someone else’s life to your kid, as if you can claim or own a person. Cliff grew up thinking he owned me, and he still thinks that. He’s obsessed with me because he thinks I’m his.”

Gray doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move or even take a breath. Horror, plain and vivid, is etched into his features.

“Sparrow.” His hands drop from my face, hanging limply at his sides. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t either,” I say hoarsely. “But now I do. Now we do.” A mirthless laugh falls from my lips. “I still didn’t get anything usable from him on tape though. I got so pissed when the memory hit me that I threatened him. I lost track of what I was trying to do, and I fucking blew it.”

My heart thunders in my chest as the rooftop goes dead silent. The breeze seems to stop blowing, as if the world itself is holding its breath. When Gray’s eyes finally flicker back up to mine, they’re filled with steel.

“Fuck him,” he says quietly, hands snaking up over my body and shoulders before settling with a possessive but gentle hold on the back of my neck. “Fuck that bastard.”