RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,60

three of her swaying about all over the place and I’m not sure which version of her I’m supposed to be addressing. “It means ‘foreign riches,’” I tell the middle Presley. “In French. It was my mom’s middle name.”

“It’s rrrreally pretty,” Pres slurs. “Really, really, really, rea...” She realizes what she’s doing and bursts out laughing. “God, at least you weren’t named after a fat man in a wig who…who fucking died sitting on the toilet, while sim…ul…ta…neous…ly—” She struggles with this one, “—eating a hamburger and taking a giant shit.”

“I don’t think that was ever proven,” I splutter, trying not to laugh. How am I supposed to keep a straight face when she’s coming up with this stuff?

“God, I’m really fucked up,” she says, wobbling as she tries to get to her feet. “I think I need a speed walk around the grounds to wake up. You ever seen those speed walkers? They look fucking ridiculous, don’t they? Hey! Oh, hey! Tom! Look, Elle, it’s Tom from the academy. He hasn’t seen us. Come on, let’s go scare the shit out of him.”

“Pres, I think I’d rather just stay…here…” It’s too late, though. She has me by the wrist and she’s dragging me up onto my feet. Before I know it, we’re on the other side of Oscar’s living room, and we’re standing behind Tom, who’s telling a very animated story to some of his friends. “And then he was, like, leaning his forearm against my throat, looking at me like he was gonna fucking kill me, and I couldn’t fucking breathe, and I was like, “All right! All right! I’ll fucking do it. Just get the fuck off of me, man!’”

“The guy’s unhinged,” a tall guy with glasses says. “I heard he stabbed one of the teachers during spring break last year.”

“Don’t be stupid,” the only girl in Tom’s little group says. The ends of her bright blonde hair have been dyed purple. She rolls her eyes. “If one of the teachers got stabbed, don’t you think we’d know about it? And why the hell would they let him continue attending the academy if he hurt one of the faculty. You should really run this shit through a filter before you let it spew outta your mouth, Clay. You know the rule. We fact check everything before we announce it as gospel.”

“Relax, Jem. Jesus. He’s just telling us what he heard,” a short guy breaking apart a brownie with his fingers says. He tips back his head and drops some of the gooey chocolate cake into his mouth.

“Urgh! None of you are listening to me!” Tom holds his hands up, exasperated. “Jacobi threatened to fucking kill me. And if I don’t get that girl’s phone back by the end of tomorrow, she’s gonna know something’s up. She’ll probably report me to Harcourt. I’ll get expelled, and my grandfather will kill me, and I end up dead in either scenario, so I’d really like some fucking help, please, ‘cause I’m kinda freaking out right now, and—”

The kid eating the brownie swallows. “Hey, Tom?”

“What, Elliot? WHAT?”

“What’s this girl look like? The one with the phone?”

“I don’t know. She’s hot. Short. Petite. Blonde hair. She has nice eyes. What the fuck does that matter?”

Elliot grins humorlessly. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure she’s standing behind you. And she looks pissed, man.”

Tom whips around like he’s just been poked up the ass with a cattle prod. “Oh, shit. Elodie! Uh…yeah, it’s Elodie. How you doing? Are you, um—” He rubs frantically at the back of his neck. “Are you enjoying the party?”

I was enjoying the party.

Now, I am not.

Now, I’m the embodiment of rage.

I’m a blistering sun, about to go supernova.

I’m eighteen different kinds of angry.

I’m mentally listing off all of the ways I could kill Tom and make it so that the authorities never find his skinny ass.

“Explain,” I growl.

“Uh, uh, well, I don’t know what you heard or anything, but—”

“You know what? Don’t bother with the explanation. Just tell me what he wants with my phone and I might not break your miserable neck.”

Tom’s pupils dilate—a panic response. Some guys might not believe a girl so small and so blonde as me could ever be violent. Tom believes me, though. He sees the murder in my eyes, and he knows, drunk though I am, that I will skin him alive. “He, I mean, I don’t know. I guess…I have no clue why he wanted it. He told me to fix it as