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

by Logan Fox

  “That’s because I am more important.”

  I glance in the rear-view mirror. A jolt goes through me when I see Trinity sitting in the back seat.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I peer at her over my shoulder.

  She’s wearing the same lacy white thing she did when we took her virginity. Except now it’s freshly laundered and her curls bounce around her shoulders like she’s just come out of the salon.

  And her lips are red.

  Like the Whore of Babylon.

  “You should watch the road,” she says, an easy smile tugging at those cherry-red lips.

  I smile back, glance at the road.

  And almost lose control of the car as I swerve out for a truck. It blares its horn at me, the near miss rocking my now stationery rental like Trin and me are fucking in the back seat.

  I turn around. She’s not there anymore.

  When I straighten and look ahead, she’s standing by the hood of the car with her back to me. A gust of wind toys with her curls as she looks over her shoulder and beckons me with a crook of her finger.

  I fumble for the car door, my composure shattered by the fact that I almost died. That I almost got Trinity killed.

  Impossible. She’s with Gabriel.

  But that doesn’t change the fact that when I walk up to her, when I grab her arm, when I turn her to face me, she’s as real as I am.

  I press her against my body, testing the theory. But there’s no mistaking the way her hips press into the tops of my thighs. Her breasts into my ribs. And she makes a sound, a protest to my manhandling, as if I’m hurting her.

  So delicate, like a dandelion. One breath and she’ll scatter.

  But I won’t let her. Not again. The parts of my brain that held me frozen on Saint Amos’s front steps aren’t here right now. Maybe they clocked out after the deed, I don’t know.

  I grab the back of her neck and I kiss her right then and there on the side of the road.

  Hard.

  Relentless.

  Forgetting how easy it was to break her. How much I enjoyed it.

  “Here?” she murmurs against my mouth. “Right here?”

  I don’t know what she’s talking about until she pulls back and climbs onto the hood. Spreads her legs.

  Black underwear, which is wrong, because that’s not what she was wearing. But maybe she changed, right? Girls like her don’t go around commando.

  My dick’s out a second later. Too eager, but I can’t help myself. I have to be inside her again. Feel her suffocating me. Milking me.

  I thrust into her pussy with enough force to make her cry out.

  Her fingers bite into my shoulders. “Harder,” she says.

  Her curls bounce. Her mouth forms a perfect ‘o’. A car comes past, hoots at us. I give it the finger without looking. And then I yank down the top of Trinity’s dress so I can draw one of her nipples into my mouth.

  This isn’t right.

  Fuck it. I’m sure plenty of people have fucked on the highway.

  No, this isn’t right.

  It’s the way she rocks into me. So steady, so perfect. Like she gets paid by the fuck, blow jobs extra.

  And that’s not her.

  That’s not Trinity.

  But I fuck her anyway, because it feels almost as good as the first time.

  Maybe even better—this time there’s no strange uneasiness floating around in my head. Because back then, with her, it wasn’t just sex, and I still don’t know why.

  People fucking. Sometimes consensually. Sometimes not. That’s all sex is to me. All it will ever be.

  But it wasn’t that way with her.

  It’s ridiculous, and pathetic, and stupid, but that doesn’t change how it felt.

  Like it meant something.

  Like it would mean something every single time.

  Except now.

  This feels different.

  Empty.

  Fake.

  I slap her thigh, but I can’t feel that sting on my palm. She cries out though, and that helps. I fuck her harder, until her moans of pleasure become yelps of pain.

  A normal man would stop. Maybe even apologize.

  I’m not normal. Not even close.

  Her pain is my pleasure. Nothing about that will ever change. She tenses around me, resisting me now. And that arouses me more than it should. More than what’s moral or acceptable.

  When she starts begging me to stop, that’s when I finally feel a climax approaching. But it’s taking too long. Like it’s just out of grasp.

  I pull back, wanting to kiss her again. Trying to capture something of the first time.

  But the face of the thing I’m fucking is no longer recognizable. It’s still wearing the dress, but that fabric is dirty and tattered. Stained with blood and cum. The dead thing’s face is bloated, disfigured, brutally beaten.

  I push away from it, a yell trapped in my throat, but my dick is stuck inside it.

  It’s drawing me closer, arms wrapped impossibly tight around the back of my neck.

  Its puffy, scarlet lips pucker as if for a kiss.

  And then I’m coming inside it. The feeling goes on and on. Hollowing me out. As if it’s not my semen I’m ejaculating, but my organs, and my bones, and my flesh.

  My eyes fly open, a horrified gasp rattling deep in my throat. I push into a sit, clamping a hand over my heart. I can feel every violent clang as it pumps adrenaline through my body.

  Jesus.

  My body’s stuck in some corporeal purgatory between Heaven and Hell. A dopey kind of pleasure from coming on the sheets. A skin-crawling horror from the memory of what I was pumping my load into.

  I stumble out of bed, and almost crash into a wall I didn’t expect so nearby.

  Where the fuck am I?

  Then my memories settle, and I’m back in the real world.

  A motel room on I-44. I’d driven until I’d almost fallen asleep at the wheel, and then driven some more until I’d found a place to crash that wasn’t my rental car.

  Christ, that dream. No, that fucking nightmare.

  I hit the shower before I’m even fully awake, washing the dream and the feel of decaying pussy off my dick.

  I almost puke, but manage to choke it back.

  Then I slide down the wall and curl into a ball, letting the water pound onto the top of my head until my scalp feels numb.

  Until I feel numb.

  It doesn’t help. Body and mind, they’re two separate entities.

  I wish I could say the basement taught me that, but it didn’t. Mom and Dad taught me that. They believed in discipline of the corporal kind. Mom with a wooden spoon. Dad with his belt.

  I wasn’t a naughty kid, I was high maintenance. Energetic. And they weren’t. When I wanted to play outdoors—they’d lock me in my room. I’d end up breaking things, and then they’d punish me, even though I knew they had enough money to replace anything I ruined.

  Only years later did I figure out what the problem was. I had ADHD, and an acute sensitivity to sugar. They never gave a shit about what I ate in between meals. And they’d keep replacing the sweets I ate. Maybe they didn’t realize how bad it was. How it fueled my disobedience.

  I guess I’m partly to blame. I never told them how it made my muscles ache and ache and ache until I had to move. Until I ran in circles, or threw things, or bounced on the bed.

  My young body was a hormonal shit show. I either couldn’t concentrate, or couldn’t stop concentrating. Especially when I was punished. It was like my brain was working overtime to figure out why I invited pain.

  It took years for me to realize that I was inviting it because I did enjoy it to some extent.

  Because when they punished me, I wouldn’t let any of the hurt show. And that confused them. And their confusion brought me great, great pleasure.

  I was in my teens before I figured out that I enjoyed causing people harm. Emotional or physical, it didn’t matter. They were the same thing, but
experienced at different frequencies.

  Cass was the one responsible for that epiphany. He claims the basement turned him into a masochist but I think he was probably one all along.

  When Cass ran out of dope or wanted something different to tune out to, he sought out pain. The others refused to give it to him. Me too, at first. Back then, my brothers didn’t know about my darker side. The side that wanted to inflict suffering.

  And I resisted him, until he goaded me past the point of no return.

  Somehow, he’d figured out my secret.

  So I hit him, just like he wanted. But a lot harder than he’d anticipated. I’ll never forget his gasp of pain, and the shock in his eyes. Watching the confusion on his face as he tried to figure out what had happened? It felt fucking amazing.

  That’s when things changed. When I began to understand who the mind inside the body was. Me. My soul.

  My brothers led me to that discovery, each in their own way…and I’m grateful.

  But I still betrayed them and they deserve better.

  That’s why I left. Because my brothers deserve a life without me.

  But not like this.

  Not while the thing they—we—so dearly want has been taken from them.

  I know they’ll never forgive me. I knew before I read Reuben’s message. But I don’t need their forgiveness.

  I need them to accept my help this one last time.

  When the water turns cold and I start to shiver, I know it’s time to get out.

  I leave that place feeling like a dick for not cleaning up, but I couldn’t stay a second longer.

  I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to realize it, but I’ve been heading in the wrong fucking direction this whole time.

  “Black coffee,” I say as soon as the waitress behind the counter looks up at me. I immediately break eye contact, but I see her watching me for a second longer before she goes to get my order.

  Because I look like shit.

  I didn’t dare stop again, so I’ve been relying on caffeine and sheer willpower to keep me awake. It’s been a rough road, like trekking up a crumbling mountain track, and I’m sure the downhill’s even worse. But hopefully, by that time, I’ve found them again.

  I didn’t bother calling. Knew they wouldn’t pick up. But technology has its perks.

  The coffee arrives, and I blow on it to cool it faster. I order a sandwich—not because I’m hungry but because my body needs fuel.

  I could have carried on driving to California. Set myself up in a hotel until the transfer papers for the house were signed. Until they gave me the key.

  But then I’d have resigned myself to a life of misery. Probably a short one, at that.

  They don’t need me…but I need them. It’s painful to admit, but I’ve had more than enough time to come to terms with the fact.

  I detoured soon as I located their phones. I’m surprised they didn’t ditch them…but I guess they weren’t expecting me to come back.

  Fuck, I wasn’t expecting me to come back.

  I stick a hand down the front of my shirt and fish out Trinity’s crucifix. The wood feels smooth, almost oily, between my fingers. I lift it a little and squint through what looks like a clear gem stuck near the top as the smell of roses fills my nose. The Virgin Mary peers back at me, resplendent in front of her golden halo. Face serene. Like she knows everything’s going to be just peachy, as long as I have faith.

  I found it on the floor a few steps from Saint Amos’s front doors, right after I’d locked eyes with Reuben. The clasp was bent—must have fallen off her neck as Gabriel carried her out of the building. I meant to give it back to Rube, perhaps put it somewhere he would find it, but then all I could think about was leaving.

  Found it in my bag when I was pulling out clothes to change into. Hung it around my neck in case I lost it, because one thing is for sure…I will find my brothers. And when I do, this is going back to Rube.

  My coffee is almost finished before my food arrives. But I don’t complain, because I need the break, and I wouldn’t have given myself that luxury.

  My brothers are nowhere close to Saint Amos like I’d thought. They’re in some small town in Virginia. I’m guessing they have a lead on Gabriel. Makes me want to find them even more, and I hate it. But revenge really knows how to get its claws into you. And fuck, does it latch on.

  Was that way with my parents, too.

  First week I was in that basement, my sadistic little mind was having a fucking field day. Oh, the beautiful, brutal things I did to them in my head. Holding them at gunpoint. Forcing them to do despicable things to each other. Thoughts of their fear, their humiliation—it kept me going for a while.

  I’d keep banging on the door, begging them to let me out. Pleading with them. Trying to convince them that I wasn’t one of the others.

  Yes, I wanted my limited freedom back. But more than that, I craved the pain I knew I would inflict on them soon as I was free. Vengeance for hurting me. For hurting all the boys they’d kept in that dark hell.

  To this day, I can’t believe those tortured souls had been under my feet all that time. That I’d been living mere yards away from so much pain and suffering.

  Some part of me still believes that’s how my mind came to be so fucked up. That, unknowingly, I’d absorbed all that abuse through the pores in my skin. Like radiation, it began poisoning me.

  I pay my bill. Leave.

  The rental reeks of cigarettes, but I couldn’t care if they kept my entire deposit because of it.

  All I care about is one thing—getting to my brothers.

  What happens after I arrive, that’s up to them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Trinity

  “Trinity.”

  “Trinity!”

  I’m cold. So cold compared to the warm hands on my body. Behind my neck, between my shoulders. Pushing me onto my side.

  I retch. Throw up. I choke on the water and bile burning my nose and throat. It hurts a lot, but at least now I can breathe.

  Hands on me again—so warm—helping me up. A towel to cover my nakedness.

  Those hands guide me down a passage and into a room.

  Halfway across the soft carpet I recognize where I am. A bedroom, but not mine.

  Mom and Dad’s.

  I’m still in Redford.

  Oh God, I miss them so much. The smell in here, although stale, pushes pins through my heart. But why is everything still the same? It’s been more than a month. Surely someone would have bought the house? Moved in? Made it their own? Why is it still exactly the same as the day I left?

  I shiver, and then try to resist when the hands lead me to the bed.

  I was never allowed in here.

  It was their room. They made that very clear.

  I never once ran in and clambered over them to wake them up when I was a little girl. No snuggling between them if I had a nightmare.

  Because I was a good girl. I obeyed them. Even now, even though they’re gone, I feel like I’m disobeying them.

  But when someone pulls away the sheets, revealing a warm nest I can burrow into, I go. No hesitation. Because I’m tired. I’m hurting. And I’m so cold.

  As I slip between sheets that still smell like my parents, I hear a voice. Mom’s. Not singing—she never sang—but reciting a prayer.

  ...hallowed be...

  Oh, right. I know this one.

  I burrow into the bed, cringing as my wet hair makes my cheek itch. I’m not clean enough to be on these sheets. I can still smell myself. But there’s lavender too, and that makes me think about bubbles and that makes me want to climb out of bed and run away.

  But I’m too tired.

  …give us this day…

  So I stay where I am, curled into a ball, trying to warm up. I cough, and clear my throat, and try to get rid of the awful feeling inside me. The rawness where water went but shouldn’t have.

  …forgive us our…

  I lie there even w
hen someone gets in behind me and holds me. Even though I know who it is. Even though I know what he’s capable of.

  I’m even fucking grateful, because he’s so warm, and I’m so cold.

  …lead us not into…

  I lie there in his arms until I fall asleep. And I’m still there when I wake up.

  But I only wake up a long, long time later after he wakes up. After he brushes hair from my face and kisses my cheek. Only after he squeezes me tight and whispers, “Morning, daughter.”

  …deliver us from evil…

  Now I’m not tired anymore. I’m not hurting as much. I am scared. But I’m also angry. And I want out.

  ...thine is the kingdom...

  My mind races as he snuggles his face into the back of my neck, as if he’s smelling me.

  …the power and the glory…

  This is not my new life. I’m getting out of here, whatever it takes.

  …forever and ever.

  Amen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trinity

  I think Gabriel has fallen asleep again. I guess it’s tiring, holding someone captive. But he should be used to it though.

  The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I shift a little, then pause, waiting for his reaction.

  Nothing but a soft breath against the back of my neck. His arm is still slung around me, his fingers dangling over my hip.

  It would be so easy to stay here. Although I don’t feel as shit as I did when I woke up on the bathroom floor after he tried to drown me, my body is still weak. I haven’t eaten in…days?

  So easy just to let it happen.

  To go somewhere else inside my head.

  But that’s not what they did. Those four boys in the basement fought back. They stayed strong, and they found a way out.

  But they were four.

  I’m just me.

  So easy to feel sorry for myself right now. To think it’s useless. That I’d make Gabriel angry and he’d try to hurt me again.

  Even though right now he’s peaceful. Almost like the Gabriel I used to know and love. But he won’t stay this way. I’ll say something and it will trigger him to the violence, and he’ll try to hurt me again.