The Sinners of Saint Amos: The Full 3-book Boxset

by Logan Fox

  Apollo sighs. “I guess if we keep pulling her hair long enough, she might—”

  “I’ll send her to the Hag,” I cut in. My eyes cut to Cassius. “That okay with you?”

  Cassius shows me his teeth. “Pics or it didn’t happen.”

  “Why would I be there?” I ask calmly.

  “You could be, if you wanted.” Reuben cuts me off. “She’s a girl. Wouldn’t be appropriate for you to punish her yourself.”

  Cassius is already nodding furiously before Reuben’s done talking. “But he can watch, to make sure she receives her penance, right?”

  Reuben nods.

  I swallow. Hard.

  This was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid.

  From the first day I’d had Trinity in my class, I could tell she wasn’t brittle like the countless other children who’d crossed my path the last few years.

  I knew this would come to outright violence. The kind of pain and hardship people rocked in the Old Testament.

  And, secretly, I’d hoped the girl would meet my expectations. Because, besides this bunch of misfits, I’ve never met someone I could truly regard as my equal.

  She’s looking to be a strong contender.

  It will be a pity to break her.

  “Bro, I want details,” Cass says through a devilish chuckle. “I mean, blow by fucking blow.” He sits forward, eyes shining. “Hear me?”

  Cassius isn’t a sadist.

  He is, however, sitting on the fence between sociopath and psychopath.

  I nod, and drop my eyes as I get to my feet. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  Cass lets out a laugh, clasping hands with Apollo.

  Reuben watches me, silent and forever judgmental.

  I guess I’m being naive thinking he doesn’t have some inkling about my own dark heart. He was by my side for months before the others showed up. We’re all brothers, but he’s my twin. We mirror each other’s darkness in different ways, but we emerged—reborn—together.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Trinity

  Sister Miriam leads me to the first floor of the main building. We pass several administration offices until we reach one right at the end of the hall.

  There’s a window. A desk. An office chair. A wooden cabinet and an old-school telephone with its receiver resting on the cradle.

  It stinks of cigarettes in here, which is surprising because I didn’t take Sister Miriam for a smoker. Perhaps she received a visitor that did? Was that what she was busy with while Reuben was praying for me?

  She says nothing as she walks up to the wooden cabinet.

  I stand in the middle of the room, not moving a hair, hoping to delay the inevitable.

  As if.

  She finally turns to me, a strip of leather in her hand. Broad, maybe two inches. So stiff it barely moves as she steps closer.

  “Close the door.”

  “Sister—”

  “Close the door!”

  My eyes squeeze shut at her yell. I spin around and go to close the door.

  When I turn, I notice a second chair. Now the cigarette smoke makes sense.

  Brother Zachary Rutherford is here, smoking a cigarette. There’s a low table beside him, an overflowing ashtray, and a pack of filter-less cigarettes.

  He takes a drag of his cigarette, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Over here, child,” Miriam calls.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “Making sure I do my job,” she says stiffly.

  From the sound of her voice, she’s about to take out a week’s worth of irritation on my ass.

  Lashes.

  In front of Zachary.

  I’d beg, if I thought it would do any good. Fuck, I’d go down on my knees and pray.

  I still have Reuben’s rosary. Its smell has been with me all this time, but it’s suddenly lost its calming effect.

  “Move.”

  I shuffle over on wooden legs.

  “Hands here,” she says, using the stiff strip of leather to point to an empty space on the desk.

  I press my palms to the table. I’m facing the wall, my side profile turned to Zachary.

  “Feet back.”

  I swallow hard and scoot my feet back a few inches.

  “More.”

  Now my ass is sticking out.

  Hot, shameful tears fill my eyes. I try to blink them away, but they just end up rolling down my cheeks.

  I squeeze my eyes shut when Miriam flips up my skirt. I’m convinced she’s going to tug down my underwear, but possibly to spare my modesty, she doesn’t.

  There’s silence. Then I hear Zachary dragging on his cigarette, the dried tobacco leaves crackling faintly as they burn.

  Thud.

  Pain thumps into me. I gasp in surprise, vaguely proud I didn’t scream.

  Thud.

  That wasn’t so—

  Thud.

  I yelp in pain. Choke on a ragged sob.

  Thud.

  My legs go out. The pain of my knees cracking on the wooden floor is nothing compared with the dull aching throb on my ass.

  This is hell.

  Sister Miriam is the Devil.

  She loops her arm under my waist and drags me back to my feet. “Can you stand, or does Brother Zachary need to hold you up?”

  “Stop,” I manage in a breathless whisper. “P-please, just stop!”

  “Six more, child.” There’s a sudden catch in Miriam’s voice. “You can do this. But you have to stand.”

  I manage a nod.

  Thud.

  I can’t help it—I let out a wretched howl of pain. I’m in danger of scraping my nails off on the desk.

  What could I possibly have done to deserve this?

  I can end this, though, can’t I?

  If I tell Miriam it wasn’t me.

  I’ll tell her to fetch Gabriel. He’ll vouch. Tell him I’ve been set up.

  Thud

  Another howl, this one stronger than the last. Somehow that helps with the pain. I’m panting now; loud, ugly sounds only an animal can make. My cheeks are wet with tears. My face scrunches up as I fight the urge to collapse on the floor.

  Thud

  My ears start buzzing.

  My legs give out.

  Miriam’s talking, telling me to stand.

  But I can’t.

  I have nothing left.

  An arm hoists me up. I think it’s Miriam again, and that must mean she can’t hit me again because—

  Thud.

  It’s Zachary.

  I can smell his slightly-sweet brand of cigarettes.

  All I have to do is say his name.

  Cassius.

  Say it and this will stop.

  She’ll ask why? Why him?

  I don’t know.

  They hate me.

  Him, Apollo, Reuben.

  They hate me.

  But I can end this.

  Nothing can be as bad as this. What will they do? More pranks? More bullying? I don’t give a shit.

  End this, Trinity.

  Thud.

  You can end this now. You just have to—

  Thud.

  I let out a whimpering mewl. The arm that had been supporting me tightens. The world spins on its head, and then I’m staring up into Zachary’s jade eyes.

  There’s something strange gleaming in them, but I don’t understand it.

  Thought, reasoning—not possible.

  There’s just pain.

  It eats through me like a slow-burning fire. Like the dried tobacco in Zachary’s cigarette. Ebbing and flowing but ultimately moving deeper inside me.

  “Take her to her room,” I hear Miriam say.

  Zachary’s chest rumbles against my side when he replies. “Thank you, Sister.”

  Miriam’s voice is tight. “Make sure she puts on the salve.”

  That fire moves through me, consuming me. It leaves behind nothing but ash.

  Zachary takes me out of the room. H
is chest pushes and retracts against my body. Sometimes his breath touches my face, but mostly it doesn’t.

  I sometimes hear voices, and sometimes just the steady thump of his feet. With every step, my body grows more and more numb.

  My eyes closed moments after we left Miriam’s office. I can’t remember how to open them again, even when a door creaks and a strange darkness falls over me.

  Zachary puts me down on something soft. On my side.

  I think he lifts my skirt, but I’m not sure until something skims over my sensitive flesh. I whimper and try to move away from that touch.

  “Shh,” he murmurs.

  The surface under me dips.

  A bed.

  There’s the sound of a lid being opened. The strong menthol tickles my nose.

  “This will hurt.”

  I suck in a breath as frozen fire streaks over my tender skin and I try to move away but he grabs my hip to keep me in place. Every stroke is like hot air on coals, stoking the fire buried deep within. Bringing it to the surface. I’d have started sobbing, but I’m spent.

  So I lay there and somehow endure the agony.

  I wish I could pray.

  I wish there was someone who would listen.

  I know it wouldn’t change anything, but wouldn’t it be nice to know you’re not alone?

  I’m alone.

  Even here with this sadistic fuck of a man who watches while a girl is beaten black and blue and then carries her somewhere dark and secret to hurt her some more….

  Even here, with him, I’m still alone.

  The bed shifts.

  His hand slips off the back of my neck. There’s the sound of a lighter flicking. I expect cigarette smoke. But this is something else.

  Pungent. Foreign.

  The bed dips again.

  “Open.”

  Something dry pokes at my lips. I part them. “Inhale.”

  I’m past the point of fighting this. So I do what he says and hope this is the last of it because I can’t take anymore.

  I’m broken and used. A grubby porcelain doll with a cracked face, left to rot in the debris of an abandoned building. Once a treasured toy, now a spider’s nest.

  The smoke makes me cough. But I take another drag anyway. Then again. Again. The pain is still there, but it’s distant now. And fading.

  No, that’s me.

  I’m fading.

  Fingers brush my temple. A stray curl tickles the side of my ear. I let out a long breath, and my body finally relaxes.

  “Who are you, Trinity Malone?”

  My head thumps along with that distant pain. Something new worms its way into me. Something warm and fuzzy and…

  Nice.

  “No one,” I murmur.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Nothing.”

  I want to fade away completely. But he keeps asking me questions I’m compelled to answer.

  “How do you know Gabriel?”

  “He’s my friend. My best friend.”

  There’s a long pause. So long, I almost do slip away. But then those fingers come back and touch the side of my face, tracing the outline of my jaw.

  “I’d really hoped that wasn’t the case,” Zachary says.

  The bed moves as he gets up.

  I’m dimly aware this might not be my room. That I’m lying on a strange bed with my underwear around my knees and the back of my skirt hitched up. My hands tremble as I reach behind me, but Zachary snatches them by the wrists before I can adjust my clothing.

  “You’re leaving. I’ll arrange a cab for you in the morning,” Zachary says. “Just give me an address.”

  I laugh at him. “Fuck you.”

  I hear the deep breath he takes, and that makes me regret what I said. But there’s no address I can give him. I don’t have anyone else. I don’t have anywhere else.

  There’s a burst of dull pain as he yanks my underwear up my legs. “Sisters of Mercy it is.”

  Hands slide under my waist. The world spins as he scoops me into his arms. Every thumping step he takes chafes my skin with fire.

  We go down a flight of stairs, and then along a hallway. We’re back on my floor, headed for room 113. He barrels through the door and drops me on the bed.

  On my back.

  I flip onto my side with a hiss, tears pricking at my eyelids.

  “Remember, Trinity, you chose the hard way,” Zachary says from the doorway. He tosses something my way, and it thumps against my tummy. Then he’s gone, my bedroom door slamming shut behind him.

  I fumble for the cold, hard object pressing against my stomach.

  The salve.

  I wrap my fingers around it and curl into a ball.

  I don’t cry, because there’s no point. Whatever I smoked dulled the pain enough that I can probably fall asleep. But sleep doesn’t come for a long time, because I keep replaying his last words to me.

  You chose the hard way.

  Just remember, Trinity.

  You chose the hard way.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Zac

  “Morning, Boss.”

  I look up and frown at Cassius. It takes me a few seconds to move after the shock of seeing him at my door so early in the morning. “The fuck you doing?” I hiss, lurching across the room, hauling him inside, and shutting the door quietly behind him.

  First Reuben, now this? You’d swear everyone had a fucking brain aneurysm this week with how they’ve been acting.

  “How’d it go?”

  “You couldn’t wait?” I swipe a hand through my hair. “This is far from fucking circumspect.”

  “Circumspect,” Cassius repeats under his breath, his eyes moving away from mine. “Smells dank in here. You still got that fatty around?”

  “Cassius, you have to leave!” I hurriedly lower my voice. “No one can see you in my room.”

  “Why?” He drags a finger over my desk as if inspecting it for dust. “They’d just think we were fucking.”

  He’s immaculately dressed this morning. Could be the cooler weather—those same clouds that keep threatening are gathering force—that made him put on his blazer, but there’s no possible explanation for his perfect tie.

  I grab the sleeve of his jacket and twist the fabric, using that grip to turn him around. “Look at me,” I snap when his eyes slide away from mine.

  “Relax, Boss.” He drawls.

  I hurriedly release him and step back. “How are you feeling, Cass?” I ask warily.

  We start a dance, him and I. He moves to the left, I slide to the right. Round and round we go, where we’ll stop, nobody knows.

  “Honestly? A little left out.” He sends a sparkling smile my way. “See, the last time we spoke, you laid out this brilliant fucking plan—” he waves a hand “—like you always do, and I was legit salivating to hear how it all played out.”

  He stops and pulls open the top drawer of my desk. I let him—I have nothing to hide from my brothers. If we still felt the need to keep secrets after the shit we went through then we’d be more fucked in the head than any psychology handbook could explain.

  “You didn’t call. You said you’d call.” Cass looks up and lifts out the half-finished blunt I’d stowed away last night. “Feels like I got stood up.”

  “She got her lashes. I gave her a way out, she didn’t take it. What more do you want to know?”

  Cassius sinks down on my bed and lights the joint.

  Gritting my teeth, I lurch forward and snatch it from his lips before the flame can touch the paper. “This hall gets foot traffic in an hour. The smell won’t be gone by then.”

  “You know what doesn’t get traffic?” Cassius leans back on my bed, propping himself up on his elbows. “My fucking dick. Not once since we’ve been here. I have needs, Boss. There’s only so much wanking one dick can—”

  He cuts off when I slam my drawer shut, the joint tossed back inside. “Stop acting like a fucking kid,” I snap.

  “Yeah?
” He sits forward in a rush. “You know I don’t have this mental fucking switch I can just turn off like you fuckers.” He rests back on his elbows again. “You know that.”

  I study him for a second, and then lean to the side to turn the digital alarm clock to face me. “Fine,” I say through a sigh. “Move over.”

  I hesitate, and then check the clock again. Then I lean over and snag the joint from my drawer, lighting it in one go. If I keep my door closed a little longer and open the window, most of the smell should have dissipated before the staff start moving around.

  “So she walks into Miriam’s office—”

  “Will you tell that bedtime story to me every night?” Cass says, beaming up at me with a goofy grin. About halfway through the retelling he settled down onto my bed, head resting on his hands.

  “Sure,” I say through a chuckle. “But now you have to get out of here.” My eyes move to the digital alarm clock. “Because this really is the worst time for us to have to try and explain shit.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He pushes up onto his elbows, but then he pauses. “Hey, Zac?”

  I pause, rendered frozen by the hesitation in his voice. “What?”

  “If you were fucked in the head, do you think you’d know it right away?”

  My hackles rise, but I do my best to keep my expression disinterested. “Like, if you went insane?”

  “Yeah, sure. Like that. Do you think you’d know?”

  I bring up my leg, but I put it down when I realize I was going to start rubbing my ankle. “It depends. If you’re schizo, then probably not. Because it’s so real to you, and you’d commonly start to disassociate.”

  “So your friends wouldn’t pick up on it either?” he adds.

  We’ve all learned a few things about the human mind. While I find it fascinating enough to possibly get my Masters in it one day, the Brotherhood approach it like other guys might football. Something we’re all familiar with, and it passes the time.

  “Depends on the level of the delusions you suffer. Bipolar, that’s a different story. Relationships are the first to suffer, because you’re not exactly antisocial. Borderline—”

  “I almost fucked her.”

  My head dips forward before I can straighten my neck. “Her…Trinity?” My eyebrows shoot up to my fucking hairline.