RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,71

motherfucker. He’s unconscionable.

WREN: I might. I might not. Safer for you to come to me, though.

ME: You really think I’m stepping foot back into that house? Where the three of you could do god only knows what to me?

The little dots don’t fire up right away this time. It takes a full minute before they reappear, and I stand by the window in my room, staring out at the gradual dusk that’s creeping toward the academy, questioning my own sanity. Why do I want him to reply so badly? How can I be this stupid?

WREN: Pax and Dashiell would never lay a finger on you. They know they’d never walk again. But whatever. If you don’t want to come here, I’ll come there. Meet me in the attic. 8pm.

The attic? He knows about that place? God, is nowhere at Wolf Hall safe from this guy?

ME: NO, WREN.

He doesn’t reply.

ME: I’m not gonna meet you, Jacobi. I do NOT have a death wish.

My phone sits in the palm of my hand, silent, until the screen fades to black.

17

ELODIE

“I told him I didn’t love him, but he just won’t let it drop. I don’t know what to do. He follows me around like a lost puppy that I just kicked. If I didn’t feel so guilty about hurting him, I’d probably be mad at the fucker. He’s even got Levi petitioning on his behalf now. Stop laughing, Elodie, it’s not funny!”

Jesus, I’ve missed the sound of Ayala’s heavily accented, beautiful voice. Her parents are both from Dubai, but she grew up in Spain. She spoke just as much Spanish as she did Arabic when she was in kindergarten, and by the time she was eight she could speak French and German, too.

“Poor David,” I groan. “He’s been obsessed with you for so long. He must have thought he’d won the lottery when you agreed to go on a date with him. And then you crush him like an ant beneath the heel of your Manolo Blahniks. It’s just…it’s so sad, Ayala,” I tease. “Maybe you should give him a chance.”

“Lord, don’t you start. You guys are my friends. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Lying on my bed, I stare up at the ceiling, trying not to think about the space above my head. The attic isn’t directly above my room. I haven’t been able to pinpoint the precise spot that it sits over; from my many educated guesses over the past eighty minutes, I’ve decided that it’s probably over the stairwell that leads up to the fourth floor and the entry way on the first floor, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure. Regardless of where the attic actually is geographically, architecturally, whatever, it feels like it’s right over my head, and Wren is up there already, sitting there in the dark, waiting for me like the eternally patient predator that he is.

“I am on your side,” I tell my friend. “He’s just so sweet.”

“And when was the last time you went all weak at the knees for a sweet boy?” Ayala counters. “I know you, Elodie. Where guys are concerned, you and I are carbon copies of each other. We might think we want someone kind and caring to dote on us, but the moment that becomes a reality, we run for the hills. We’re both as fucked as each other. We like our boys bad and belligerent, or there’s just no spark.”

My cheeks grow very, very hot. “I don’t fall for bad boys, Al. I just don’t. Why would I wanna punish myself like that?”

Ayala’s boisterous laughter pours out of my headphones. “You’re kidding, right? You do remember Michael? The guy you lost your virginity to? He treated you like a goddess, and you broke up with him because he, and I quote, ‘didn’t stand up for himself when you had a fight.’

“That’s normal,” I argue. “Who doesn’t defend themselves if their girlfriend’s being crazy?”

“So you were being crazy, then?”

“Yes! I was crazy all the time, and Michael just sat there and took it. Which meant he was even crazier than me! I’m not gonna date a psychopath like that!” I’m aware of how crazy I’m sounding right now, but I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Just because I wanted a guy with a backbone doesn’t mean I have a thing for bad boys. Ayala’s so wrong.

“All right,” she laughs. “Well, I’m gonna have to go anyway. It’s four thirty in the morning, and I need