Riot Rules (Crooked Sinners)

by Callie Hart

The boy who has never shown me any mercy before does me this one act of kindness. His eyelids flutter closed, his lashes fanning out against his cheeks, so long and much darker than the ashy blond of his head hair. His hands twitch at his sides as he waits for me to do something. I’m going to unfasten his jeans. I am going to…but the sight of him standing like this in front of me with his eyes closed affects me in a way I didn’t expect. He's so fucking beautiful. There’s a coldness to Dash that never thaws. He can give a girl frostbite from twenty paces with one scathing look. The arrogant way he holds himself, and the sheer level of disinterest he emits is intimidating as hell. With his eyes closed, all of that goes away. He doesn’t hold a title. He isn’t a creature to be terrified of, to run from, scared, with your heart beating out of your chest. He’s just a boy. His nose has been broken. Not badly. There’s a tiny kink in the bridge of it that tells a story, though. There’s a scar on his chin—a thin, white line running along the line of his jaw that can only be seen properly from this angle, while standing extra close, looking up at him.