I’ve stopped questioning it myself. Stopped trying to define it. I feel something for all three of the guys—maybe something slightly different for each one, but equally intense. I think they feel it too, and I already know they like sharing me sexually.
Elias doesn’t have an issue with Gray having sex with me, just with the timing.
“I’m fine, Elias,” I promise. Giving him a sly grin and dropping my voice, I add, “Next time I shower, you can join me.”
His eyes go dark instantly and my heart stutters, my grin fading away. I go to lean past him to reach for the whiskey that Max is working on, but he stops me, clamping a hand on my waist.
“Sophie,” he says quietly, spinning me around to face him so that my chest brushes his chest, his breath fanning against my lips. “Don’t tease me like that, Blue. It’s not funny.”
When the lower half of his body presses into mine, the kitchen is suddenly hot and heavy. My skin is suddenly hot and heavy. He’s being completely fucking serious, and my mind is tripping on images that don’t have anything to do with the fact that I just got kidnapped and we need to take Alan down.
I open my mouth to say something sassy, but he shuts me up with a kiss before I can even think about it. When his tongue slides up against the seam of my mouth, I know he’s showing off a little for the others, putting on a show for them. But I play along, tasting the spicy whiskey in his kiss and absorbing the rumble of a groan that vibrates in his throat.
I pull away before it can get too indecent, but our lips stay connected until the last second. When our gazes meet, something warm blossoms in my chest. I know I still look like shit despite my shower. My skin isn’t dirty and bloody anymore, but my eyes are puffy and I still bear the marks of bruises and scrapes. I like that none of the Sinners look at me like I’m broken, though. I like that they look at me like they still want me.
Broken or whole, they’ll always want me.
The grip Elias has on my hips tightens almost painfully for half a second, then he lets go. When I turn back for the whiskey, Declan is staring at me, an intense look on his face as he rests his palms on the kitchen island.
I feel my lips tilt up despite myself. “You too? We’re gonna need a bigger shower.”
I know it’s stupid to joke around right now, but after all the shit I’ve been through in the past twenty-four hours? I need to feel something besides the unrelenting wash of anger and pain.
Pushing back from the island, Declan walks around it and reaches for me. Elias relinquishes me to his friend’s grasp, and our gazes meet for a time-stopping second before he puts a gentle hand around my neck and under my hair, tugging my face toward his. His kiss is just as gentle as it is possessive, and when we pull away, I see the promise of so much more lingering in his eyes.
I clear my throat, ignoring the pulse of heat that’s rapidly settling in my chest and between my legs. Whatever this is between us, this thing that doesn’t need to be defined or explained, I know one thing for sure.
It’s real.
This isn’t an illusion or a lie. It isn’t just some game the Sinners are playing—to see who can get the most from Sophie, pass her around and try to one-up each other. It’s fucking real, and that’s as reassuring as it is terrifying. Because if the events of the past twenty-four hours have proved anything, it’s that my heart is involved now.
And it’s a fucking tangled mess.
“Do I get a kiss too?” Max jokes, lifting an eyebrow as Declan steps away from me.
I chuckle, but instead of answering, I take a shot of whiskey and glance at the clock. It’s ten in the morning, and I haven’t really slept all night, but I know I won’t be able to just go to bed. And clearly, none of us are planning on going to class, even though it’s a Monday.
The rest of them seem to be thinking the same things I am as the kitchen falls into a lapse of silence.
What do we do now?
Do we go to Cliff, confront him about his dad, tell him what we know? What would he do about it? Does he even know? Is his grudge against me only based on the fact that I beat the shit out of him in an alley and refused his advances multiple times, or does it go as far back as me being trapped in that bunker by his father as a little girl?
Do we go to the dean of the school and tell him that one of the most supportive and charitable families that Hawthorne relies on for funding kidnapped me years ago and tried to do it again last night?
The dean already dislikes me. A good portion of the students think I’m weird or unbalanced, and thanks to that slide show during the assembly in our first semester, everyone knows I don’t remember parts of my childhood. So why would any of them believe me?
What the hell do we do?
“I’m sorry,” Max says quietly. All four of us stare up at her, waiting for her to continue. She takes a deep breath, releasing it shakily as she props her elbows on the island. “I’m sorry for being used as bait,” she explains in a rush. “I should have been on my guard more. I got a text from Aaron asking me to meet him, and I really wanted to talk to him after our meeting with Cliff. But I should have been smarter.” She grimaces. “I thought that he was a good guy. Hell, I even sort of liked him a little.”
“It’s not your fault, Max.” I grit my teeth, hating that she blames herself for any of this. “You didn’t try to drag us into this mess—hell, you didn’t even drag yourself into this mess. You were tricked. Kidnapped, just like me.”
She blinks a couple times. Max is a strong girl, just like me, but she’s shaken by this.
Just like me.
I always knew the rich people in this town had their secrets, I knew that they could manipulate and control things to get their way.
I just didn’t know it went this far.
This fucking deep.
“I thought he was maybe a good guy.” Max drums her fingers over the marble countertop. “But now I really don’t know… is he involved in any of this?”
I certainly thought he was at first, when we went to look for Max out in the woods. She told me that she was going to try to reach out to Aaron about spilling the shit he told her about Cliff, and my first thought when we got that call from her kidnapper was that it was him. He kept silent when we told Cliff, pretended like he didn’t know shit, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed about being used by Max.
But now I’m not quite sure.
Reagan was clearly involved with all the shit that went down—Max’s kidnapping, my kidnapping, lighting the fire, bringing me to Alan.
Aaron just doesn’t fit into any of it. Sure, he’s a dick by association for hanging out with Cliff, but the Saints aren’t really tight with Caitlin’s clique.
“So… what now?” Declan asks the question we’re all thinking, glancing around at each of us as we gather around the island. “What do we do?
6
We eat as we talk. My stomach isn’t happy about it, but I’m starting to feel the effects of alcohol on an empty system, so I force myself to fill a small plate and take measured, deliberate bites as the five of us discuss a plan of action.
On paper, we should be able to go to the police, go to the dean of the school, go to someone with my story. Our story. We should be able to lay out the facts and be listened to and taken seriously.