RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,51

more about the quiet confidence the girl puts out. It’s about her upbringing, and the things she’s experienced, and the way she sees the world. I want to know what’s going on inside her head.

I want what any guy in my position would want: her complete and unconditional surrender.

Pax and Dashiell wait for me on the worn marble steps that lead up to the entrance of the academy. They’re of a height, and their builds are pretty similar, too. That’s where their similarities come to a grinding halt. Without me, the two men standing side by side in front of those lacquered black doors would probably despise each other with a burning intensity usually reserved for members of opposing religions.

“That little time-out fix your salty mood, princess?” Pax asks. His eyes are still full of fury over the headrest incident. He won’t forgive me until I apologize, and even then he might not absolve me of my heinous crime; that car is his pride and joy.

I couldn’t give a fuck. Today, I’m surrendering myself to my saturnine funk. It can fucking have me. Pax is gonna have to wait ‘til tomorrow if he wants any sign of remorse out of me.

Fridays are weird at Wolf Hall. None of our classes align, the three of us separated and banished to different wings of the school in a way that definitely seems planned. Harcourt made sure none of us Riot House boys were close enough to scheme up any disruptive plans for the weekend around any of the other students, which is usually annoying. I’m glad that I won’t have to see either of them again until the end of the day, though.

I just need…

I don’t know what the fuck I need….

“I’ll be ready to leave at six,” I say, slapping a hand on either of the boys’ shoulders as I pass them. “See you back at the house.”

I yank open the heavy doors and walk inside the school, leaving them behind. Pax can’t let me go without having the final word, though. “You’re acting like she’s the pot of gold, waiting for you at the end of the rainbow, man. But you’re embarrassing yourself, Jacobi. She’s just a girl. She’s just a fucking girl!”

In The Dark…

I stop drinking.

He shoves the thin straw through the hole, goading me, trying to coax me into taking a sip, but I’ve made up my mind.

“Stubborn, stupid little bitch. Drink, damn it. DRINK THE FUCKING WATER!”

The human body can survive for weeks without food so long as it has water.

But if I don’t drink…

…then maybe it won’t take as long to fade away.

12

ELODIE

Being resurrected from the dead has its benefits.

Most important of which: my friends have started messaging me again.

I jog down the stairs, head buried in my phone, trying to read Ayala’s most recent text without getting busted by a member of staff. I’m smirking, cheeks aching, totally entranced by the look of abject sorrow on Peter Horovitz’s face—the guy even wore a suit to my memorial at Mary Magdalene’s—which is why I don’t see the dark black smudge fast approaching down the hall on my left.

Oh my god. Peter, Peter, Peter. That’s what you get for not asking me to the winter formal, isn—WOAH! The impact drives the wind right out of my lungs. I lunge, fingers grasping at thin air as I fall sideways, trying to close my hand around my cell phone. It’s too late, though. The device spins end over end, moving too slowly as it plummets, plummets, plummets…and hits the polished marble floor in the entranceway with a heart-rending crack!

My hip likely made the same unnerving sound when I hit the floor, but I don’t care about my damn hip. My phone. Jesus, if my phone’s broken, I am totally fucked.

“Impressive, Little E,” a cool voice says above me. From my sprawling vantage point on the ground, I look up and find Wren standing over me. He isn’t smiling. Not even his smug ass, arrogant, I’m gonna make you fall in love with me smile. Nope. Today, his face looks like it was carved from granite. Very angry granite. His eyes are so glacial and distant that a physical chill runs down my spine. “Pink and white polka dots. Didn’t have you pegged as a cotton brief kind of girl,” he says, arching an eyebrow as his gaze travels down my body…

“Oh my god!” My skirt. Embarrassment claws at me as I rip the tartan material of my skirt down,