Page 112 of Beautiful Sinners

I roll over when Tristan shifts behind me, mumbling something incoherent in his sleep. I can just make out Hendrix on the other side of him. He stayed with us and didn’t move to the floor.

Usually their presence helps soothe me, but the longer I lie there, surrounded by the quiet of the house and their light snores, the more my skin prickles and tightens, until the constricting pressure is unbearable.

Knowing sleep will remain elusive, I decide I might as well catch up on my studying. It takes a monumental amount of flexibility to extricate myself from the tangle of arms and legs I’m trapped under. After some careful wiggling, I use the heels of my feet to inchworm down to the foot of the bed and slide off without waking them up.

Thankfully, the bedroom door is open, so it’s an easy tiptoe out into the hallway. Using my foot to slide my backpack out of the way, I wince when the hinges squeak as I try to quietly shut the door to my room. The guys are usually light sleepers, especially Constantine. The last few days must have finally caught up to them. I wish it was the same for me. I’m so damn tired. Silver lining is that I have the rest of the week off from work and can catch up on my sleep this weekend.

After grabbing some clean clothes, I head straight for the bathroom. Shower first before anything else. Normally, I would ignore my reflection in the mirror, but I stop and take a good, long look at my naked body, trying to see the woman the guys see when they tell me that I’m beautiful. However, the only pretty thing I see is the delicate platinum and diamond belly chain the guys gave me. I finger a few of the small round stones, loving how they twinkle like stars under the recessed lights. Somehow, wearing it feels just as claiming as the bite marks and finger bruises that decorate my skin.

Turning to the side, I let my gaze travel over the half of me that isn’t scarred, then twist to see the half of me that is. It’s kind of symbolic in a way—the two sides of me. Aoife and Syn. Darkness and light. Damaged and flawless. Broken and whole.

After a quick shower to wash away the hours of sex that coat my skin, I slip into the shirt I never gave back to Tristan and pull on my softest pair of yoga leggings. I can’t use the hair dryer without waking the guys, so I twist the wet mass into a bun.

Yawning widely, I contemplate whether to go downstairs and make coffee, but my attention gets drawn to my backpack and the front zipper pocket where I keep my journal. I didn’t look at it after Aleksander returned it to me, other than to open the cover to make sure my pressed flower was still there.And hide the piece of paper with Aleksander’s phone number on it.

I should have thrown it in the trash as soon as he gave it to me. Something I can rectify now. Taking my journal out, a photograph falls out from between the pages and lands at my feet. Then another, and another, and another, and another. I watch, dumbfounded, as they float to the floor one by one, like leaves flitting on the wind as they snap off their branches and drift to the ground.

Those aren’t mine, which can only mean Aleksander looked through my journal. Despite how violated I feel that he read my private thoughts, my anger doesn’t get a chance to form because something familiar in the images has me taking a closer look.

Bafflement gives way to curiosity, and I sink to the floor, spreading out the four-by-six glossies in front of me with trembling hands. There are five of them. Five photographs that rip me to shreds as soon as I recognize the pattern of stars inked on the side of the man’s neck.

My nightmare has come for me. Constellation man. The man who so mercilessly killed my parents, tortured me, and left me to die as flames ate at my body.

But he isn’t who tears my world apart and shatters me completely.

Because standing right next to him, looking dashing and so heartbreakingly gorgeous in their fitted tuxedos, are Tristan, Constantine, and Hendrix.

CHAPTER 39

The most godawful noise I’ve ever heard assaults my ears and brings me out of a deep sleep. Cocky Bastard crows again, and it’s like listening to a thousand cats dying. Worse than fingernails down a chalkboard.

“What the fuck is that?” Hendrix startles awake, and I’m lucky he doesn’t knee me in the balls.

“Rooster,” Con groggily replies.

“Fucking hell,” Hendrix grouses and pulls a pillow over his head. “Firefly, shut your bastard up.”

Out of all the animals she could have chosen, leave it to Aoife to have a pet rooster and name it Cocky Bastard.

I roll over to wake her, only to discover she’s not there. “Aoife?” I call out.

When she doesn’t respond, Con sits up and drapes his legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it?”

I dig my palms into my eye sockets to wipe away the sleep and look over at the small digital clock on my nightstand. “Four.”

Con stands and stretches. “Want some coffee?”

Getting up as well, I reply, “Coffee would be good.”

Hendrix makes a grunting noise of discontent. “I’m going back to sleep. Make sure Aoife wakes me up before she leaves, so I can walk her to class.”

I toss Con a pair of basketball shorts after I slip on some gray sweatpants.

“I was going to do that.”

“I called dibs. Now fuck off.”

“Fuck you.”

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