How Sinners Fight - Eva Ashwood Page 0,67

Then Elias. Then Gray. It would have never happened without their connections, without their belief in me and support for me.

I’m getting better at not burying my feelings, but now really isn’t the time to consider just how much I’m starting to feel for these men. I’ve got a fucking art show to attend.

“Are you ready, Blue?” Elias knocks on my bedroom door, which is already open.

I turn around in the little black dress that showed up in a cream box on my nightstand yesterday, popping my hip a little as I meet his gaze. The dress is smart and elegant, feminine but not girly, and I’m not sure which one of them gave it to me, but I’m not going to ruin the present by guessing. I fucking love it.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Blue. Fucking damn.”

Declan and Gray step in behind him, the three of them crowding the doorway as they all look at me with appreciative expressions. Heat flares through my body, which I’ve come to expect when they look at me like this. But what surprises me is the way my heart suddenly feels like it’s too big for my chest, like it’s expanding against my ribcage. I try to hide the rush of emotion by giving them a joking wiggle of my hips and a nice view of my ass.

“Keep doing that, Sparrow,” Gray says, his voice dipping, “and we’re not gonna make it out of here in time for the show.”

By the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s completely fucking serious. Elias and Declan both nod in agreement. Hell, Declan looks like he’s mentally having to restrain himself, and the way his gaze roams over my body makes me wish it was his hands instead.

“Well, we have to leave”—Max shoves through them, looking at the time on her phone—“in like five minutes if we don’t want to be late.” She glances up from her cell’s screen and gives me a delighted smile. “Damn, Sophie, you do look good.”

“Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes a little. I clearly don’t get dressed up that often; I’m just wearing a cocktail dress, but judging by the reactions, you’d think I was in a floor-length ballgown. Then I grin at her. “You look hot too.”

She’s got a dress on too, a dark blue one that shows off her model legs and curvy hips. She’s got her dark hair curled away from her face with accents of gold jewelry that bring attention to her eyes, and if she thinks I’m going to be the one stealing the show, she’s wrong as hell. She looks amazing, and I have no doubt that she’ll be turning some heads.

By the time we pull up to the very modern looking venue, I feel like I’m going to throw up on the pavement, but Declan hooks a steadying arm in mine and leads me in, giving me a grin that settles my nerves a little bit. I wish I could say that I don’t cling to him like a dying woman clinging onto a life raft, but I do.

That is, until he leads me into the room where my art is. Then I break away from him, clapping a hand over my mouth as I take it all in.

Holy fuck.

I’m not sure if the thought makes it out of my head as actual words. I can’t speak. I can hardly breathe.

The Sinners insisted that I not see the gallery until it was completely ready, so this is the first time I’ve been here since it started being set up a week ago. For the past couple of days, I’ve slowly been giving paintings over to the guys to bring over, coaching myself through temporarily parting with all of my favorite pieces, but this…

“This is amazing,” I whisper, looking at my art.

My art.

Is it really mine, though?

I’ve only ever seen my pieces through my own eyes, through the dim light that filters through my windows and onto my canvas or up on the walls in my little dorm room. Not set up like this for everyone to see, like a fucking real artist. Staring at them in this new light, it feels like I’ve never seen these paintings and drawings, all artistically arranged and spread out.

When the guys asked me if I had any special instructions, I didn’t know what they were talking about, but now I do. Paintings that in my mind had no connection to each other are