When Sinners Play (Sinners of Hawthorne University 1)

“I went for a drink at Warren’s,” I say slowly, keeping my voice low and devoid of emotion. “I just needed to be off campus for a while. Just get a break from… everything. I was walking back to campus, and I ran into Cliff.”

Memories of my encounter with him filter through my mind, and a shiver runs up my spine. I always thought he was pretty harmless, just a rich boy who was slightly obsessed with the poor girl who’d invaded his little bubble of luxury. I didn’t realize his interest had become so dark and depraved.

Gray’s jaw clenches like he’s peering into my brain and reading my thoughts. “What did that fucker do?”

My heart is beating harder in my chest, and my palms are slick with sweat. Elias grunts and sits back down on the bed, resting a hand on my leg again. As if his movement has broken an invisible barrier, the others settle on the bed beside me too, and even though I’d never admit it out loud, their proximity helps.

“He dragged me into an alley. He told me he liked me, and he kept insisting that I must feel the same way too.” My throat tightens. “He ripped my tank top. His hand was over my mouth. I… something happened to me. Everything just overwhelmed me, and I bit his hand. When he let go of me for a second, I started hitting him.”

“And that?” Declan’s eyes crinkle in a grimace as he gestures to my cheek.

I shake my head. “He hit me back. But I didn’t stop. I…”

My voice trails off. That’s really all I remember. Everything beyond that moment of absolute clarity when I bit Cliff’s hand and tasted his blood flooding my mouth is a bit fuzzy. Just a blur of images and sensations. Half-formed thoughts and wild emotions.

“I must’ve passed out or

something,” I finish lamely, unsure how to account for the time between my fight with Cliff and when the Sinners found me. “I remember hearing your voices, and Elias picking me up.”

There’s a moment of silence as the men all absorb what I’ve told them. Gray still looks like he wants to pepper me with a million questions, but Elias shoots him another look before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone.

“We have some interesting updates about our friend Cliff.” He looks to me. “You good hearing this?”

“I’m not as fragile as you think.”

He tilts his head. “It’s not about you being fragile. It’s about you being human. What you went through would leave anybody fucked up.”

The empathy in his voice tugs at my heart, and I look away, unable to bear the softness in his light brown eyes. “I can handle it. What did you find out?”

“Well, we did a little digging, since it seems Cliff didn’t return to his room like we figured he would after last night,” Elias says.

Gray makes a sound that’s remarkably like a growl. “Where could little Cliffy have gone, we wondered. Where did the little slime ball run off to? Well… turns out the fucker ended up in the hospital. One of the second-year guys stopped in to confirm. You did a hell of a number on him, Sparrow.”

As Gray speaks, Elias flips his phone around in his hand, showing me the screen.

I barely recognize the man in the picture. Purples and reds mottle his skin, but as my gaze roves over the image, I see the small, light scar on his swollen cheek and the matted shock of red hair peeking out from gauzy bandages.

It’s definitely Cliff.

And he looks like he lost a fight with a very, very angry baseball bat.

I blink, incredulous. “I did that?”

“You don’t remember, Blue?” Elias shakes his head. “When we found you, you had enough blood on you that we thought we might need to take you to the emergency room. Most of it was Cliff’s though. You beat the ever-loving fuck out of him. Enough that he couldn’t just blow that shit off.”

My gaze lingers on the photo of Cliff. This picture must’ve been taken at the hospital, given the background that’s visible in the image. He’s half-grimacing, half-scowling, his eyes a little glassy as if they’re dulled by painkillers.

Still, he looks pissed.

And something else too.

Embarrassed.

A surge of vicious satisfaction rises inside me, and I glance down at my knuckles, flexing my fingers a little and ignoring the aching pain. “That’s why my hands hurt.”

“Yeah.” Declan shakes his head. “But I bet Cliff’s fucking face hurts more.”

“Our little sparrow packs a hell of a punch.”