When Sinners Play (Sinners of Hawthorne University 1)

“Sparrow! Sparrow!”

I’m being shaken lightly. I realize with a start that my screaming isn’t only in my dream. My mouth is open as I tangle in the bedsheets wrapped around me, desperately flailing as I try to get out of their confines. Hands are on me, and I can’t tell if they’re trying to help me or hurt me, if they’re trying to free me or entrap me. I’m claustrophobic, panicked.

My limbs thrash again, but then two large hands cup my face and force me to look upward.

“Sparrow.”

It’s Gray.

The man who has been both a source of pain and a source of comfort, who runs so hot and cold that I get whiplash every time the temperature swings.

He looks at me now and my heart cracks—a fissure that streaks right down the middle of the abused organ. He shouldn’t be looking at me like this. Not when he’s made it apparent time and time again that he doesn’t care about me.

Not when I’m weak and vulnerable and want to believe his lie.

“Sparrow.” He repeats the word softly, and it falls like honey from his tongue. “Sparrow. You’re alright. It’s okay. We’ve got you.”

We? Oh… right.

I’m still in Declan’s room. They brought me here last night, and none of the Sinners have left. Gray is poised on the edge of the bed, sitting closest to me, and Elias is at the foot of it. When I blink and glance around, I find Declan leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching me carefully.

The sight of the three of them calms me a little, and I settle back onto the bed, my head cradled by pillows even as sweat cools on my skin. The chill has me burrowing deeper under the blankets and curling into their warmth.

“How long have I been here?” I ask, conscious of their gazes on me. None of them have looked away since I woke up.

“Just the night,” Elias answers, resting a hand on my ankle through the comforter. “You’re a fitful sleeper; I don’t think you’d have stayed down for long. Though,” he adds, tilting his head, “you probably need to sleep a little more. Given everything that happened.”

The idea of staying wrapped up in this little cocoon is more tempting than I like to admit, and the realization that I really want to stay makes my spine stiffen immediately.

“No, I’m good.”

From beside me, Gray hums.

“You’re not good, Sparrow. You don’t need to lie to us.”

“I’m fine,” I shoot back, downgrading my status just slightly.

A smile tugs at his lips, although concern still hovers behind his eyes. “You’re stubborn. I’ll give you that.”

I shrug one shoulder lightly. “It’s kept me alive so far.”

At those words, every bit of humor vanishes from his face. His lips set into a hard line, and he stands up, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at me. Anger radiates from him, but I have a feeling none of it is directed at me this time.

“What the fuck happened?” he demands.

“Can you talk about it?” Elias adds, shooting a quelling look at his friend, like he wants to cuss Gray out for pushing me too hard.

I don’t know quite how to feel about that. About any of this, really. I like that Elias is looking out for me, but I think Gray is too, in his own way. And I don’t want any of them to think I’m weak—that they have to walk on eggshells around me. No one’s ever treated me like that in my life, and I don’t want them to start now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can talk.”

I clear my throat and shake my head, sitting up a little more and leaning back against the headboard. Elias stands too, allowing me to pull the blankets up higher on the bed and wrap them around my body. My knuckles are sore and stiff. I can feel the swelling in my face, but I resist the urge to reach up and touch the bruise.

“What the fuck happened?” Gray repeats. I wonder how many times he asked that question while I was asleep, demanding answers that no one was able to give. He shakes his head, darkness shuttering his blue-green eyes. “When we found you, Sparrow, you looked…”

“Rough.”

As he speaks, Declan presses away from the wall and steps forward to join his friends. They’re all gathered around the bed now, staring down at me, and I feel like I’m under a microscope—although strangely, it doesn’t make me as uncomfortable as I would’ve expected.