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My stomach clenches into a tight knot as an unexpected new memory rips through me. It’s not a vague, half-formed image of Cliff as a little boy. No, this memory is crystal clear.
I knew him. When I was a little girl, being held by his father for reasons I still don’t understand, I knew Cliff. He used to come to the bunker, and he left Reagan alone, but he never did the same to me. He was obsessed with me.
He wanted me.
And just like he said, his father promised he could have me. That he could marry me one day, when he was old enough. That I would be his.
I remember, in a rush that makes bile rise in my throat, the day that Cliff came to tell me the news. The way his little face lit up with cruel satisfaction as he told me I would be his. That there was nothing I could do about it. That we were meant for each other.
My gaze stays locked on the scar on his cheek, the old and faded one, and I realize I gave him that scar too.
I gave it to him on the day he told me I was doomed to be his.
His obsession with me didn’t begin last semester because he thought it’d be fun to go slumming with the foster chick or that I’d be an easy lay. He’s been obsessed with me since we were kids.
And Alan promised me to him.
Jesus. They’re both fucking psychos.
I suck in a breath, trying to get my whirling thoughts to settle. I have to get back on track. I have to draw him out more, keep him talking.
But it feels like a volcano is bubbling under my skin, heating my veins almost painfully and making my blood roar in my ears.
My stomach twists as I reach up and touch the scar on his cheek, dragging a fingernail against the place where I took a small chunk out of his flesh years ago. I don’t miss the way his body presses harder against mine or the slight shiver that moves through him. His eyelids droop a little as his Adam’s apple bobs in response to my touch. It makes every inch of my skin crawl.
“Cliff.” The word tastes like poison on my lips. Our faces are too close together, his mouth close enough to my own that we’re almost kissing, his lips parted in obvious lust.
“Yeah?” he rasps.
“I remember that promise. I remember your claim.”
His lips curve up into a smile I recognize all too well. He presses his body closer to mine, so close I swear I can feel his cock hardening against me. “I knew you would. I knew you’d want—”
“And you better watch out,” I continue, my voice turning harsh as I cut him off. “Because next time, I’ll do a lot worse than leave a tiny little scar on your face. If you or your dad
try to come after me again, I’ll fuck you up so bad you’ll be unrecognizable.”
Cliff’s reaction to my words is immediate. The smug satisfaction and lust drain from his features. He growls, pure rage shaking his body as he shoves me up against the wall.
“You’re not as safe as you think you are, Sophie.” His lips pull back from his teeth, his eyes narrowing. “You think your boyfriends scare me? Don’t think that I won’t just drag you back to that—”
His voice stops abruptly, his gaze flickering over my face as his jaw clenches.
Tension ripples off his shoulders, and I silently beg him to continue, to threaten me, to tell me that he’ll take me back to the bunker himself and fuck me up.
But he drags in a long breath through his nose and shoves away from the wall, opening up space between our bodies. He’s breathing hard, clearly furious at me. Still, he doesn’t utter another word, just turns and stalks away.
Fuck. God fucking dammit.
I pull my phone from my pocket, pressing the red button on the app to stop the voice recording. I was so fucking close to getting something good from him—I was supposed to be baiting him, taunting him into saying something that would implicate him, but I lost control. I fucking lost control when he brought up being younger and the promise his dad made to him. The flood of memories that crashed into me with those words threw me completely off balance.
I reacted emotionally, lashing out, wanting him to fear me as much as I remember fearing him. Threatening him wasn’t part of the Sinners’ and my plan, and I’ve just made this a whole hell of a lot worse.
I glance around, unsure where Gray has been hiding during my exchange with Cliff, and my heart stops when I see that he’s already making his way toward me, anger radiating from him.
He doesn’t give me time to explain myself or to make excuses. He doesn’t give me time to do anything, just drags me down the hallway and up several flights of stairs. When we reach the rooftop, he shoves open the door and pulls me outside. The door shuts with a dull thud, and he slams me up against it, his dark eyes flashing.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Sparrow?”
