What Sinners Love

by Eva Ashwood

  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.

  But in this world where money talks louder than honor? Louder than truth?

  It’s going to be a whole hell of a lot harder than that.

  After several minutes of debating, we decide to go to the police with our story despite the risks. We have to at least try.

  Before we head out, the guys grill me with questions, trying to get me to remember as much as possible to build a rock solid case against Alan. Reagan’s involvement will have to be mentioned to explain a lot of things, but I’m determined to keep the focus on the real monster here, the man who abducted me not once, but twice.

  By the time we pull up to the small police station that’s about ten minutes away from the university, I’ve had too much coffee and not enough sleep. There wasn’t enough time to sleep, and even if there was, I’m positive I couldn’t sleep right now—not knowing that Alan is still out there, pissed as shit that I’m complicating his life and probably plotting some way to kidnap me again and kill me.

  Leading the way, I take a deep breath as we head into the station. The secretary behind the desk cocks an eyebrow, glancing over our group.

  “May I help you?” she asks.

  “Yeah. I’m here to file a police report,” I tell her, ignoring the way her eyes linger on my bruises and the tattoos popping out from beneath my shirt sleeves. “I was abducted.”

  She clicks her tongue. “Name?”

  “Sophie Wright,” I say, irritated by her lack of concern. “I’d like to file a report on the man who kidnapped me. I’d like something to be—”

  “ID, please.”

  I fish the card out of my wallet and slide it over on the desk. She takes it and spins around in her chair, moving to the copier machine behind her desk. She doesn’t say a word to us as she scans it, then brings it back to me.

  “I’ll have an officer talk to you about filing a report,” she says, handing me a stack of papers on a clipboard. “It’ll just be a small wait, if you could fill these out, please.”

  I take the papers from her, leaving her with a small thanks as we find seats in the waiting room. The papers take no time to fill out, and by the time I’m handing them back to the secretary, a door swings open and an officer steps out.

  “Are you Miss Wright?” he asks, looking at me. He’s young, maybe in his mid-thirties, very slightly balding. When I nod, he gestures for me to follow him, taking the papers from the secretary on his way. “You’re here to report a kidnapping?”

  Even though he only wanted to talk to me, the guys and Max follow close behind, ignoring the look that the officer gives them. Maybe it’s not routine to bring so many people back, but I’m guessing the cop recognizes the Sinners. He must know how well connected their families are, and for better or for worse, that buys them a different kind of treatment.

  Fuck. The influence of wealth and power is playing into our favor right now. But that exact same thing will work against us when it comes to trying to make Alan pay for the shit he’s done.

  The cop leads us into a cramped room. It’s completely empty aside from a table and three chairs. He takes one of them, and Max and I take the other two. Glancing over the paperwork one more time, he reaches for an ancient tape recorder, makes his own statement, then turns to me.

  “Sophie Wright making a statement about her kidnapping,” he says. “Sophie, please tell me what happened.”

  I take a short breath and tell him everything I know. As the guys and I discussed earlier in the kitchen at Declan’s place, I try to keep things as brief and factual as possible, sticking only to what I know.

  Reagan kidnapped Max to lure me into the woods. We fought, and then I woke up in the bunker.

  Then Alan Montgomery showed up
.

  When I mention that name, the officer shifts nervously but doesn’t say anything. When my story ends, he makes a few notes, then runs through a series of questions.

  What time?

  Where?

  What else do you remember?

  How did you escape?

  Do you have a history with Alan Montgomery?

  When I’m done answering his questions and Max has taken her turn describing what she knows, the officer turns to Gray as if deciding that he’s the leader of the group. “You were there when she was abducted, correct?” he asks. “In the woods?”

  “We were trying to get Max to safety when Sophie was kidnapped,” Gray snaps. “So yes, we were there.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “Yes. As Sophie said.” His jaw clenches irritably, and if he were sitting next to me and not Max, I’d slip a hand under the table to calm him. “We all saw a masked person, who later turned out to be Reagan Hawking. Just like Sparrow—Sophie—told you.”

  “She fought with me and knocked me out,” I interject. I don’t remember exactly what happened after that, and I have no interest in trying to save Reagan’s ass. But I need Alan to be the main focus here. “Alan Montgomery kidnapped me. She helped him.”

  “And why didn’t you call the police in the first place?” The cop, whose name tag bears the words “Detective Banning,” looks at all of us skeptically, ignoring my last remark. “Why didn’t you call when you first noticed your friend”—he points to Max—“was missing? And then afterward, why did you wait to notify us about Miss Wright being kidnapped?”

  “Look.” Gray leans forward, his expression steely. “We didn’t want to get the police involved too soon and scare whoever took Sophie into acting rashly and killing her or something.” His voice goes rough. “As we now know, Alan was planning on killing her. He would’ve done it if she hadn't escaped.”

  The officer crosses his arms over his chest, staring at me. “You’re sure about this?”

  Yes, I’m fucking sure.

  I want to shout the words in his face. I want to grab him and shake him until he stops acting so bland and bored by all of this. Instead, I answer calmly, “I’m absolutely sure about what I saw. I’m sure about what Alan said to me. I wouldn’t just make shit up like this.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Detective Banning says. He glances down at his notes. “You’ve got a solid accusation here. Your report is detailed, your stories line up, and you haven’t contradicted yourself at all.”

  Then why don’t I feel like you believe me?

  “We’ll look into it when we get the chance,” he concludes, picking up my folder and standing up.

  What? No!

  I don’t have to turn around to see Gray square his shoulders, straightening up to his full height. He doesn’t like it any more than I do, and he’s not going to let this shit fly.

  “No, you’ll check it out right now,” he says, leaning forward. “If you believe Sophie, then you’ll check it out right now. I don’t care about bullshit excuses, I don’t care about the well-connected people who get priority.”

  The ones who make bargains or payoffs to ensure that officers turn a blind eye or misplace evidence. The ones who use their massive wealth and power to amass more wealth and power, making sure that people like me are ignored no matter what we say. The system here is screwed, and unfortunately, I know that without Gray’s help, I’d probably make no progress.

  “Fine,” the officer says, but he says it almost in a monotone, almost like he doesn’t really care. Turning to me, he asks, “Do you think you could lead us to the bunker?”

  Locating the area where Reagan kidnapped me is easy.

  Locating the vent isn’t. Luckily, the burnt ring of ground is good for our story’s credibility, and the group of us and a few cops spend nearly an hour searching the ground for the vent I crawled out of. I was so fucking dazed and terrified when I ran from Alan that I didn’t register much of my surroundings, and that fact comes back to bite me in the ass now.

  Just as I’m about to give up hope, we find it. My stomach turns as I look at the metal grate that I dislodged to break free, remembering the dawn light appearing in my vision as I made my way through the dark tunnels.

  “This it?” Banning asks.

  I nod.

  “Do you think you could find your way back through the tunnels?” he asks, referencing my story.

  “Maybe.”

  God, I don’t want to go back down there. But I know I have to.

  One of the smaller officers crouches down next to the vent, peering inside. He shines his flashlight around the small tunnel I escaped through. It was barely big enough for him, and I’m really not sure he’ll be able to fit, but he gestures for me to follow him as he crawls into the vent.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Elias murmurs, brushing his hand up against my arm before I can take another step. The touch is comforting, and I do my best to swallow back my fear. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  The words bolster me a little, and I step forward and crawl into the forbidding, terrifying hole.

  With the cops shining their flashlights behind me, and the one in front of me occasionally grunting as he makes his way through the duct, it takes less time going in than it did escaping. Maybe it’s just because I know I have armed officers in front and behind me this time and I’m not alone. Still, I don’t like it one bit.

  And as it turns out, all the effort of getting down into the bunker proves useless.

  As we crawl out of the vent in the dim light of the corridor I ran through earlier, my skin chills.

  The bunker is completely empty.

  I know I ran past things stacked in the hallway when I was making a run for it, but the corridors are completely empty now.

  I lead the men to the room I was kept in, and it’s empty too. There isn’t even a sliver of the cracked chair, no sign of the rope that was used to bind me. Anything that could have placed me in this chamber—a blood splatter from my dripping cuts, a scuff mark from my shoe—is gone. Anything that could have placed Alan in here is gone too.

  It’s like it never even happened.

  So this is what he’s been doing over the past several hours instead of trying to capture me or kill me.

  “Fuck,” the shorter officer mutters, his voice echoing through the chamber. “This is creepy as shit.”

  My head spins, anger clouding my mind.

  Alan knew. Motherfucker, he knew I would go to the police. Did he let me escape? Did he let me escape just to show me how fucking powerless I am?

  Somehow, I doubt that. He’s past the point of teaching me lessons or sending veiled warnings. He was ready to outright kill me, so why would he let me escape? I think his move out of this bunker was reactionary, not planned.

  Not that it helps any at the moment. He still managed to cover his tracks.

  I turn to look at the officers, each man combing the area for evidence that isn’t even here.

  How many of them are in his pocket? How many of them have been bribed not to take me seriously, to turn a blind eye to anything he does?

  By the time we make our way back out, I’m absolutely fucking sick. The Sinners and Max waited behind with Banning while I went down into the bunker, and the sun glints off Elias’s blond hair as he reaches forward to help me out of the duct. I want to vomit up the coffee and whiskey I spent my morning drinking, along with the eggs and half a bagel I managed to eat.

  “Shit, Soph,” Declan murmurs. “You’re as pale as a sheet.”

  “Well, did you find anything?” Gray demands, turning to face the cops who came into the bunker with me, his eyes narrowing.

  Banning also looks expectantly at the men who followed behind me.

  Flicking off his flashlight, the younger officer says, “Miss Wright’s story adds up. The bunker, the vent, the tunnels. It all matches her description.”

  “But?” I blur
t, sensing the word coming before he speaks it aloud.

  He turns to me, grimacing. “But that doesn’t necessarily prove anything. The place is completely empty. There’s nothing that puts you here.” He looks at Gray. “And there’s nothing that puts Alan Montgomery here either.”

  My heart stops beating in my chest, my limbs growing numb.

  Goddammit. It can’t be over so quick. We can’t have failed already. Do they even believe me, or are they just playing along?

  Declan grips my arm, his fingers digging tight, and I can’t tell if he’s doing it to keep me from passing out or to keep me from reaming out a cop.

  “If you’d like, we can assign a few officers to keep an eye on you for a couple days until you feel the threat has lessened,” Banning says. “But we can’t do anything about it beyond this.”

  “Like I’m fucking going to let that happen,” Gray growls, stepping forward. The younger officer blanches slightly, glancing at his superior. “Sophie is telling the fucking truth. She’s not lying about this. So you’re going to drive your ass over to Alan Montgomery’s house and talk to him.”

  The younger officer looks toward Banning, as if asking what to do. Gray looks like he’s ready to beat the shit out of all of these guys, but I know he’s just playing every card he’s got at his disposal, throwing around the weight of his family’s reputation and power.

  And it seems to be working.

  “Fine.” Banning looks like he regrets coming to work at all this morning. “We’ll look into Alan Montgomery.”

  As he finishes speaking, he glances my way. He doesn’t say anything to me, but I can clearly read his expression.

  The only reason he’s going along with this is because he believes Gray’s threat. If I didn’t have the Sinners on my side right now, I’d be fucked. Just another girl from the wrong side of the tracks whose word doesn’t measure up against the money of a man like Alan Montgomery.