by Eva Ashwood
What Sinners Love
Sinners of Hawthorne University #3
Eva Ashwood
Copyright © 2020 by Eva Ashwood
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Learn more at www.evaashwood.com
Books by Eva Ashwood:
Clearwater University
(college-age enemies to lovers series)
Who Breaks First
Who Laughs Last
Who Falls Hardest
Magic Blessed Academy
(paranormal academy series)
Gift of the Gods
Secret of the Gods
Wrath of the Gods
The Dark Elite
(dark mafia romance)
Vicious Kings
Ruthless Knights
Savage Queen
Slateview High
(dark high school bully romance)
Lost Boys
Wild Girl
Mad Love
Sinners of Hawthorne University
(dark new adult romance)
When Sinners Play
How Sinners Fight
What Sinners Love
Black Rose Kisses
(new adult enemies-to-lovers romance)
Fight Dirty
Play Rough
Untitled
Untitled
(contemporary romance standalone)
Say Yes
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Books by Eva Ashwood
1
Vivid blue eyes meet mine. I know them, and they’re unpleasantly familiar—because I’ve seen them too many times. First, in his son, and now in him.
Alan Montgomery.
I strain up against the ropes around my body as I stare up at him, trying to wrench myself out of the binds that pin me to the chair. I’m still a little dazed, my body exhausted from the fight with Reagan and my throat sore from where she wrapped her hands around it. She must’ve drugged me or something after she choked me out, or she couldn’t have kept me unconscious long enough to bring me here.
To Alan.
His calm smile sends a chill down my spine. “It’s been a long time, Sabrina.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? My name is Sophie.” My lip curls, and I spit the words out, my voice hoarse. Alan raises an amused eyebrow, like he’s in on some joke that I’m not. “My name isn’t—”
Sabrina.
My voice dies before I can utter the word, and it feels like my heart stops as those three syllables bounce around in my head.
Sabrina.
No. No, that’s not my fucking name.
My name is Sophie Wright. That’s what everyone has called me for as long as I can remember.
Except… there’s a gap in my memory. More than a gap, there’s a huge fucking hole in my memory. Almost everything that happened to me before the age of eleven is a foggy blur.
I used to say I wanted those memories back—I used to hate that there were years and years of darkness in my life, a void where a childhood should have been.
But I realize now that I was kidding myself all this time. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to know all the shit my mind kept buried for so long. I don’t want to relive it.
It’s too fucking late, though.
Alan’s simple statement hits me with the force of a damn wrecking ball, knocking down the walls that some unconscious part of me built around my mind. And without those walls to keep them out, memories flash by in a torrent.
I should’ve known that deep down, they were still there. I knew it because of the scars on my skin and on my heart. Those old wounds were too deep, too real, to ever forget. Some self-preservation instinct in me fought to bury those memories for years, keep them down. I fought against the dizzy spells and the moments of weakness. I fought against myself.
Sabrina.
It is my name—or it was.
It used to be. When I was a little girl trapped down here.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, my teeth clenching. Alan’s face seems to waver in front of me, and I worry for a second that I’m about to pass out. As if even now, my mind is trying to protect itself from the memories bubbling up.
I was kept here when I was younger, in this bunker. Fuzzy images and remembered feelings course through my body, making me feel like there’s an electric current running through my veins.
I was here.
When I was only a little girl, I sat in this exact same room. In this exact same spot. Tied up to a chair or thrown down onto the cold cement beneath my feet. I remember clawing at the walls, desperate to escape, to get away from Alan, the monster. I remember being afraid.
I wasn’t alone though. There was someone else with me, another little girl.
My gaze darts over to Reagan. She still stands nearby, shooting glances over at Alan Montgomery. I blink, wishing I could scrub at my eyes with the heels of my hands, as if I need to clear them to really see her. To figure out if I’m right. Was she the girl I remember being trapped down here with me?
Why was she here? Why was I here?
I don’t remember enough to answer that question. Everything is still a jumbled mess in my head, filtered through the thoughts and perceptions of a child. I’m not sure I would understand what the fuck is going on even if I could remember everything clearly, but it hardly matters. The more I try to get a handle on my situation, the harder my heart pounds in my chest.
Panic starts to creep in. Cold and deadly, it kicks in like a bitch. I struggle and squirm against the ropes, but they only seem to hold me tighter. They feel like snakes crawling over my skin as old fears and new ones collide inside my mind, mixing in a toxic combination.
I have to get out of here.
I have to escape.
The voice inside me is a cry for help—a cry from my younger self, the little girl that was destroyed in this bunker. The little girl who had her life taken away in this bunker.
Stolen. Abused. Betrayed.
I need to… I need to…
Blackness prickles at the corners of my vision, and my hands go numb. The chair tilts wildly on its legs, nearly toppling over, but I keep thrashing, only one thought able to penetrate my overloaded mind.
I need to escape.
A flash of hot pain cuts across my cheek, and I suck in a lungful of air, my vision clearing as the shock breaks me out of my building panic attack. When I blink and look up, I see Reagan standing over me with her hand raised, something animalistic burning in her eyes.
“Stop str
uggling, bitch.”
My lungs burn as I suck in the air, but the dull pain that radiates from my cheek where Reagan hit me gives me something to focus on besides fear.
Get it together, Sophie. You’re a fucking fighter. You can fight this too.
Just breathe.
Focus.
And figure out a way to get out of here.
Calling myself by the name I know, the one that’s familiar, helps calm the panic inside me even more. My name may have once been Sabrina, but it’s Sophie now, goddammit.
And Sophie Wright doesn’t roll over for anyone.
I need to get out of here. And the only way I’m going to manage that is by thinking clearly, not letting fear or panic or old memories creep in and fuck with my head.
Reagan makes a satisfied noise in her throat, rubbing her hands together as if to soothe away the sting from slapping me. She looks smug, like she thinks she won because she got me to sit still. I want to fucking smack her, but I can’t.
Turns out I don’t have to, though. Alan yanks her back by the shoulders, spinning her around to look at him before grabbing her face roughly in one large hand.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands, his grip tightening so much that her lips pop out a little. “Did I ask you to do that?”
I shudder. His voice sounds too much like Cliff’s—he looks too much like Cliff.
Reagan shrinks back slightly but doesn’t pull away from his hold. “I did it for you. I did all of this for you,” she whimpers.
She looks like a fucking puppy getting scolded for tearing up the sofa, curled back into herself with her shoulders hunched over, a little whimper dying on her lips. He’s still holding her face roughly, glaring down at her, and yet her eyes are filled with something like awe. Something like worship.
Like she’ll do anything to please him, to make him happy.
“She was a threat,” she says when he finally releases her face. To her credit, she straightens up a bit, looking almost defiant. “Sabrina was a threat to you, so I brought her here. So you can deal with her.”
Fuck.
I don’t know how the hell she thinks Alan is going to deal with me, but considering she abducted my best friend and tried to burn Max and the Sinners alive in the woods, I’m sure it’s not anything good.
Does she expect him to kill me?
My heart lurches in my chest, beating impossibly faster, and I scan the room quickly, looking for an escape. How did I get out last time? Did someone let me go, or did I escape? There’s a door on the far side of the room, the one Alan entered through. But to reach it, I’ll have to get untied somehow.
“I had it under control.” Alan’s face hardens, his voice tinged with arrogance. Ugh. He’s so much like Cliff that it makes me sick. “I was aware of her presence. I’ve been aware of it since she arrived at Hawthorne. It was clear she’d lost her memories, and I was keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn’t know too much. And now, thanks to you, she does know too much. How the fuck does that help me?”
My gaze darts back to Reagan’s face just in time to see her expression crumple a little. I can’t help it—I almost want to pity her and her naive little heartbreak. But I can’t.
She did this to me.
She tried to hurt my friend. My men.
I can’t let myself think about what might’ve happened in the woods after I was separated from Max and the guys. I can’t let myself focus on the bright orange of the fire and the choking thickness of the smoke. If I let myself go down that rabbit hole, I really will have a panic attack. And I can’t help them or myself if I’m locked inside my own mind.
“By bringing Sophie here, you only gave me more to clean up,” Alan tells Reagan, his voice going deadly calm.
Jesus. He is going to kill me.
I know what “clean up” means. It’s the shit they say on crime shows, right before they murder someone who knows too much. My stomach tightens into a hard knot, twisting over and over itself until it feels hard as a rock.
I can’t die. I can’t be killed, not now. Not without knowing if Max and the Sinners are—
Alan turns sharply toward me, as if sensing my wild thoughts. For a second, I think I see a flash of rage on his face, but it’s quickly replaced by a cold, blank look. From over his shoulder, Reagan deflates a little, her eyes filling with hurt as she watches Alan give his attention to me.
She craves it, I realize.
That’s why she did it—why she tried to kill me, not once, but two different times. I’d bet anything I own that Reagan was the one who tried to hit me with her car. The one who pushed me down the stairs at the end-of-semester party.
It’s why she brought me here, thinking she would get his approval. I don’t know how the fuck she got wrapped up in all of this, how such a seemingly normal girl like Reagan got tangled up in whatever shit Alan is involved with. But she’s clearly beyond help. She’s following him blindly, looking at him with awe and worship.
Anger floods me, making my fingers curl into fists where they’re bound behind the chair.
How dare this motherfucker.
How dare Alan take away my life—Reagan’s life—with whatever fucked up game he’s playing. How dare he think he can get away with this.
I still don’t know what “this” is, and that just pisses me off even more. As horrifying as it is, I can’t deny that I recognize this place, that I know it from my childhood. But I still don’t understand why I was here.
Were there others? What did he want with us? I don’t remember anyone else in the fragments and pieces of the past that are coalescing in my mind. Only me and a little girl I’m almost positive was Reagan.
But just because I don’t remember them, that doesn’t mean they weren’t here.
The thought makes me sick.
Alan’s fancy shoes scuffle against the rough floor a little as he turns to me. He narrows his eyes slightly, bending at the waist so that our eyes are level. He’s wearing a fucking suit, because of course he is. As if this is simply business to him.
“What do you remember, Sabrina?”
He poses the question gently. So gently that if I closed my eyes to block out his face, I could almost pretend we’re having a normal conversation. Like he’s my doctor or the therapist I could never really afford to go to.
What do I remember?
Not enough. Nothing of substance, not really. But I remember being here. I remember being Alan’s prisoner, locked up in this bunker when I was a child.
I don’t tell him that, though. Maybe it would be smarter to admit how foggy and limited my memories still are. Maybe it would convince him I’m harmless, not a true threat to him.
But the rage inside me makes me speak before I can decide whether it’s wise or not.
“I remember enough to take you down, you fucking asshole,” I snarl, my teeth gritted. My throat is dry, and I strain to keep back a cough.
Alan sighs, long and exasperated. As if I’m a little kid who’s been told a thousand times not to go outside without their shoes on. He doesn’t seem worried about my threat, not in the least. I’m probably a fool to threaten him, a man with people in his pocket who could destroy my life if he just raises a finger, but I’m pissed as shit.
He may have broken me once before. He may have taken everything from me before.
Not this time.
Not if I can fucking help it.
“Well, I’ll have to deal with this,” he says slowly. His lips purse as if he’s annoyed. He turns, shooting Reagan a look. She perks up for a second before he says, “You’ve let me down. I didn’t want things to get this messy.”
But they did.
They fucking did, and I’m not going to go down without a fight.
“Watch Sabrina,” he tells her, his voice clipped and businesslike. “I’ll be back.”
And just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone.
2
My heart slams against my chest as the do
or shuts behind Alan. I try to keep my breath even and slow my racing thoughts, my throat still burning. I can’t tell if Alan locked the door when he left, but I know it’s not going to be easy to get out.
Even if I manage to get free of these ropes, Reagan isn’t going to let me go without a fight, and who knows what’s on the other side of that door?
More people? Someone else who wants to fucking kill me?
Reagan wants me dead. She tried to make it a reality twice. Now Alan wants to clean up the mess that she made. I was sure he was going to shoot me in the head or something where I sit, but he didn’t.
Why didn’t he?
He had the perfect chance. I’m still groggy and a little weak, and although I don’t know how long I’ve been down here, I’m guessing it’s been several hours. The longer he waits, the more time there is for people to notice I’m missing and start asking questions. If Max and the guys are still alive, they’re probably searching for me right now.
Fuck.
Alan is careful, I know that. He probably doesn’t want to kill me until he knows that no evidence can lead back to him, until all of his shit is covered.
But still, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m dead. Gone. I’ll never see Max or Declan or Elias or Gray ever again. I’ll never go back to Hawthorne—a thought that only a few months ago would have felt like a mercy, but that now adds to the painful twist in my chest.
I don’t know how or why Alan kidnapped me as a child, but now he’s trying to take my life away from me again, and I’m not going to let it happen.
