RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,31

slow like tar through my veins feels like victory.

“Miss Stillwater, are you okay? There’s no need to look so worried,” Fitz says. “I promise, it’s gonna be fine. If you’re worried about anything, come and find me. I’m nearly always here in my room. Aside from sharing the brilliance of Lord Byron with you—”

Oh, Fitz. I can read you like a fucking book.

“—it’s also my job to keep you guys safe.”

Damiana shoves her hand in the air. “Can all of us rely on you to be our knight in shining armor, Doctor Fitzpatrick? Or does your heroic valor only extend as far as Elodie?”

Fitz’s disgusted look is dirtier than the sock Pax uses to jerk off into. “I’m here for all of my students, Dami. You’re well aware of that. No need for ugliness.”

Damiana snorts. “I couldn’t be ugly if I tried, Doc. And you’re the one showing favoritism to the new girl because she’s got that doe-eyed innocent thing down and she’s rocking a great pair of tits. I’d say that was ugly, if you asked me.”

“I didn’t. No one did. Thank you, as always, though, for your valuable input, Damiana. If anyone feels unsafe over the next forty-eight hours, please know that my door is open to everyone and anyone, regardless of their—”

Dashiell won’t look at a girl unless she’s got double Ds. Pax…god knows what the fuck Pax likes. He’s never demonstrated any sort of pattern where the women that he selects are concerned. He’s far more interested in their personalities. That sounds like bullshit, but it’s true. There are certain flaws and weaknesses Pax looks for in a girl, usually heavily revolving around their daddy issues. Me? I like my girls to have smaller breasts. Anything more than a handful is a waste. I didn’t need Dami’s shady comment to draw attention to Elodie’s chest—I’ve spent plenty of time thinking about it before—but since she’s brought the matter up, I treat myself to a cursory glance at Elodie’s tits.

Her shirt is two sizes too big, swamping her frame, but there’s a suggestion of breasts there. And the suggestion of breasts is always far more exciting to me than, say, Damiana’s obvious, in-your-face cleavage. That shit’s grotesque.

Fitz rambles on, talking about safety and using common sense. I spend a lazy thirty seconds picturing how pretty Elodie’s lips would look, parted and wet, if I slipped my hand up underneath that tent of a t-shirt, yanked down the cup of her bra and viciously rolled her nipple between my fingers.

When I snap out of my deviant reverie, Kylie Sharp is reading aloud from a bound book, but no one’s paying attention. Damiana snaps her gum. Dashiell’s eyes are fixed on Carina. Pax is openly asleep, head lolling on his shoulders, his arms folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Fitz’s gaze is on his shoes, and—whoa, whoa, whoa… Hold the fuck up. Covertly, Fitz looks up, glancing at Elodie out of the corner of his eye. I wait for him to look away, but he lingers on her, just that little bit too long. The muscle in his jaw tics. That’s when he finally looks away.

What the fuck was that, Fitz? I do not fucking think so, homie.

As if my thoughts were piped directly into his mind, Fitz’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine, where they waver for a beat. He knows exactly what I’ve seen, and the motherfucker doesn’t seem to be worried. He knows me, so he should also know that I don’t take well to other guys eyeing my property. Possession, regardless of the fact that the other party is unaware they’re someone else’s property, is nine tenths of the law. And I’ve always been willing to defend what’s mine.

Fitz has the audacity to smile at me.

Smile.

That piece of fucking shit.

Overhead, a deep, threatening rumble of thunder growls over the top of Kylie’s dark words.

“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air…”

The thunder crashes again—a portent of what’s to come, an ill omen, sending an anticipatory shiver racing down my spine. When I turn away from the delusional English teacher, Elodie Stillwater is staring at me.

Over the next thirty minutes, I catch her watching me again and again, peering at me from under dark eyelashes, and every time it happens, my resolve strengthens. There’s