Deliver us from Evil: A Reverse Harem Dark Romance Series (The Sinners of Saint Amos Book 3)

by Logan Fox

As soon as I can breathe through the pain, I start shifting again, tugging at the ropes.

  I’m loathe to try with my left because it already hurts so much. I go around again. Right hand, right foot, left foot. Nothing. The bed’s posts are still rooted to the spot. Nothing seems to have changed except the fact that I might have a dislocated thumb.

  My left hand aches even more, as if thinking about it aggravates the injury.

  Huh. Houdini would pull off a famous escape like this in the blink of an eye. But those were all tricks. Wasn’t he double-jointed or something? He could put his shoulder out of its socket and—

  My eyes swivel to my left hand. In the dark, I can’t see anything.

  Oh God.

  No.

  Can I?

  It’s already hurting so much…

  But what if I managed to dislocate my thumb? Then I could slip my hand out of that rope, right?

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to build up some courage.

  My thumb is probably already pretty malleable. All I need to do is pull it through the noose. It’ll hurt, duh, but maybe not as much as earlier. And the pain is—

  Pretty fucking unbearable. And the agonizing ache is only getting worse the longer I linger on this stupid plan.

  But it is a plan.

  And it might even work.

  And then I’d be free, no longer hanging here on my strings waiting for the puppet master to return.

  I don’t even know what he went to go and do. Is he trashing another room? Oiling himself up? Lying in my parents’ bed and—

  Fuck! Those thoughts are not in the least helpful.

  Breathe.

  You can do this.

  Oh Lord, I hope I can do this.

  I grit my teeth.

  I hold my breath.

  And I slowly start pulling on my left hand.

  The pain in my thumb immediately intensifies a million-fold. I start shaking internally, my body fighting with me to stop the torture, but I can’t.

  I won’t.

  I keep picturing the Brotherhood. Determination gleaming in their eyes. The things they’d say to me right now if they knew I was considering defeat.

  But the pain gets worse, and the rope isn’t budging. Pain wells, and with it comes a wave of frustration. I pull harder, the tears that brim and then leak down my face not even blurring my vision. Or maybe they do, I can’t tell in the dark.

  “Ah!” The yell doesn’t echo. This small chamber is too well insulated.

  But as I yell, I jerk on my arm as hard as I can.

  Agony bursts into my hand. For a second, I’m convinced I’ve torn off my thumb.

  I scream twice, first at that jolt of pain, and then again when my hand drops onto the mattress below me. I drag my hand onto my chest, cradling it against my chin as I let out a ragged sob. I start panting through my mouth as I try to get a handle on the pain.

  That hurt more than the lashes I got from Miriam combined with Zachary’s spanking.

  I force my breathing to slow. Imagine the pain leaving my body with every exhale.

  My hand’s hot and throbbing, but eventually the pain recedes enough that I can think past it.

  With the restraint freed, my shoulder is on the mattress now.

  I laugh when I realize I have to try and untie the knot around my right hand with a hand that now sports a dislocated thumb.

  Oh Lord, how I laugh.

  But then I stop. And I grit my teeth.

  And I push through the pain.

  Somehow, using my other fingers, tearing off nails, wailing through the pain, I manage to loosen the knot.

  My face is wet with tears. I think I’ve chewed a hole in the side of my cheek, but after what feels like eons of struggling and trying to ignore the red-hot pain in my hand, both shoulders thump onto the mattress.

  Time’s slipping away, but I allow myself a few minutes to just lie there. Regaining my strength. Trying to get back my composure.

  When I sit up and start working on my legs, there’s a burning conviction inside me.

  I don’t care what it takes—Gabriel’s going to pay for this.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cass

  “I got a bad feeling about this,” Rube murmurs. “Something isn’t right.”

  “Like the fact we’re still in the fucking car when we should be in there?” I say, rapping on the window with a knuckle. “Yeah, bud, I feel you. All sorts of fucking wrong.”

  Rube throws me a glare. “We can’t just barge in there—”

  “Guys, come on. This isn’t helping.” Apollo grabs my headrest and pulls himself closer, nestling between the sedan’s front seats.

  We swapped out the liquor store’s truck for a silver VW someone left unlocked in a driveway. That was about an hour ago—whether it’s been reported stolen yet is anyone’s guess.

  “What’s not helping is us sitting here like fucking spectators. I’m getting out.”

  “Wait. Just fucking wait.” Rube opens his door and climbs out of the car. It’s a testament to how big he is when the shocks let out a creak of relief.

  I’m relieved too, because I was itching on the inside like a fucking junkie.

  My love affair with heroin is an on-again-off-again thing. I’ve always been careful with my dosages after getting out of the basement—I started chipping straight away without even knowing it was a thing—but I’ve been through stages in my life where I’ve used religiously enough to get strung out.

  That’s how I feel right now.

  Strung out.

  Long overdue.

  Except my drug of choice isn’t black tar.

  It’s her.

  Trinity fucking Malone.

  And she’s in that house. I can feel it. Right there, close enough to see if she was standing at a window, while we’re over here in this piece of shit car, sitting around like we’re scoping out the place for a fucking home invasion sometime next week.

  I’ve been patient. We went with Rube’s plan at the church when I was all for locking whatever nun was creeping around the place in the bathroom while we rooted around in their files.

  From what Rube tells us, that would have been futile. No trace of Trinity was left in that place.

  But now?

  Now we’re sitting here with our thumbs up our asses while Mr. Cautiously Careful out there triple-checks God knows what.

  I climb out the car, ignoring Apollo’s bleated, “Wait, Cass!”

  He climbs out a second later anyway, so what the fuck?

  “Counting the tiles on the fucking roof?” I ask Reuben.

  He doesn’t even bother to scowl at me. “He knows we’re here.”

  “Impossible.”

  “He could have seen the car.”

  “Then he would be out the back door already, no pun intended.”

  “That wasn’t a pun.”

  I grind my teeth at Mr. Cautiously Careful AKA Sir Correct-me-if-I’m-Wrong. Which I never could, because he never was.

  “That thing you’re feeling?” I tell him. “It’s the earth revolving on its fucking axis. She could be—”

  I stop.

  I’d been about to say dead, and I don’t know why. Gabriel wouldn’t kill her—she’s too valuable. She’s what led us here in the first place. And he had to have known that, right?

  That’s why he took her. Why he’s using her. Maybe that shit about him being her father was purposefully planted on his laptop for us to find. He knew we’d assume the worst.

  But fuck. You start going down that rabbit hole, and you end up as knotted as a pair of horny dogs.

  “We do this now, or we don’t,” I say, glancing at Apollo. “The longer we stand out here, the—”

  “You’re right,” Rube says.

  And thank fuck for that, because I was close to smacking him upside the head. I start forward, but his voice stops me. “Get back in the car. We’ll circle the block. Maybe we get in the back way, or through a window.”

&
nbsp; I turn to him and stare him down. He’s about the same height as me, but I know I’ll be the first to kiss dirt in a fight.

  But that doesn’t matter.

  Because he’s wrong. We can’t wait anymore.

  She’s in there, and she’s in danger. Fuck, Trinity being within a foot of Gabriel is more than I can stand thinking about. Even if she is his daughter, I know a perverted prick like him wouldn’t think twice about sticking it in her.

  They’ve been alone so long already, I’m sure he’s done it a couple of times.

  Usually I can control myself. I don’t get angry, I get snarky.

  But this? The thought that right now he could be—?

  “Fuck this,” I snarl.

  “Cass. Please.”

  I stop, but only because it’s Apollo and the poor guy honestly wants to help. It kinda sucks that he’s always so nice about it. Always seeing every side of the argument. He should have been born a few years earlier where he could have run free with his hippie friends, protesting the Vietnam war and getting fucked on acid all the time.

  “Just…wait. Would you?”

  So I wait.

  I wait for hours, days. A fucking eternity.

  I wait while Reuben and Apollo start discussing what they’d do if they couldn’t find an open window. Should they break it, hope no one hears?

  Oh wait, Rube thinks he saw someone. What’s that? Another person walking down a street in Suburbia? The fucking horror. But no, he was mistaken, it was just some old lady pruning her rose bush.

  And then I wait some more, because now they’ve moved onto conflict resolution. What if Gabriel has a gun? Nah, Rube doesn’t think so. Not all bad guys have guns or some shit. But Apollo’s not sure. Now he’s Mr. Fucking Careful.

  I can’t.

  I can’t take it.

  This waiting. This supposing and assuming and fuck ton of maybes. Not while Gabriel’s doing God only knows what to my blasphemous little slut.

  This time I don’t warn them. I just turn and walk away.

  Apollo makes to grab me, but I dodge him. And then I storm the fucking castle gates like I have an army at my back.

  Because I do.

  They’ll come. Rube and Apollo will be right behind me.

  And we’re going to rip Gabriel a new asshole. And then shove foreign objects up it until he bleeds. And then give him a blood transfusion so he can cling to life…only to suffocate him with a pillow made from his own skin.

  Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.

  Maybe I’m not that calm after all.

  But fuck me, I’m good at hiding it.

  I stalk up to the door, and I lift a hand to try the handle.

  A grin tugs at my mouth when it turns and the door swings open.

  But that smile dissolves a second later when I see Trinity standing in front of me. Wide-eyed, face bruised, clothes rumpled, hair disheveled, mouth peeling open like she’s about to scream.

  And that’s all I see.

  Just her.

  Because fucked up as she is, ruined as she is, she’s so fucking beautiful I can’t believe I’ve been without her for so long.

  My drug?

  Fuck that shit.

  She’s the blood in my veins. She’s what makes my heart pump, and my organs work, and my skin glow.

  And she’s right in front of me. Like a prayer God answered without me having to even get on my knees and utter a single word.

  I’m swelling. Bursting with happiness.

  Fuck that—with joy.

  And here I thought that was only possible when I was high.

  We found her.

  She’s ours.

  The world is suddenly a better place. A place I might decide to live in a little longer than I’d planned.

  But then Trinity’s gone.

  Someone’s tackling me from the side.

  And I realize it was all a trick.

  Gabriel used her as bait.

  And I fell for it.

  My shoulder hits the ground first, and then the rest of my body, the force of the impact driving the air from my lungs and spittle from my lips.

  Ha, literally.

  So excuse the pun.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Trinity

  4201. Beep.

  4202. Beep.

  4203. Beep.

  I blink sweat out of my eyes and take a second to work my neck with my good hand. I don’t know what’s worse—hoping that I’ll hit the right combination before Gabriel comes back, or wondering if I even have the first two numbers correct to begin with.

  Nope! Can’t think about that. Negativity need not apply.

  4204. Beep.

  4205. Beep.

  Thump.

  I freeze. If my heart wasn’t pounding so hard in my chest, I might have been able to make out if that sound had been my imagination or not.

  Thump.

  No. It’s not. Gabriel is back.

  4206. Beep.

  4207. Beep.

  4208. BEEP.

  My hand cramps up. Not from pressing numbers, but I’m guessing from the ropes and from the tugging. My left hand aches relentlessly at my side, but I ignore it as much as I can.

  4209. Beep.

  Thump.

  Oh Lord, he’s coming.

  4210. Beep.

  My heart’s in my fucking throat. Every time I try to swallow, it bobs around like an ice cube in a glass of lemonade.

  Fuck, why the hell did I have to think about that when I’m so thirsty?

  Thump.

  My hand shakes so much, I can barely punch the right numbers.

  4221 Beep.

  Damn it! I have to remember I’ve already tried that one.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  He’s right beside me. Which room is that? I’m trying to picture the layout of my own house, but I can’t.

  4211.

  Click.

  Is it the dining room? The living room?

  42—

  Wait.

  I focus on the light above the panel. It’s flashing green now. Was it doing that before? Why do I remember it being solid red?

  I grab the handle, and open the door.

  It swings inward and bathes me in gray light. As I step outside and turn into the hallway, I figure out what room he’s in.

  Dad’s study.

  The room right above the portion of the basement I was just in.

  No wonder I never heard anything. Dad kept that door locked.

  I’m a fucking idiot. I thought my Dad was a God-fearing man with a fully functioning moral compass.

  How could I have been so wrong?

  The thought makes me nauseous, so I hurriedly stop trying to figure anything out. Instead, I focus on creeping down the hall as quietly as possible.

  Quietly…but quickly.

  The hall takes a turn and reveals the front door. It’s only about two yards away. My heart kicks into overdrive again, and then I’m running.

  It’s fucking idiotic, but I can’t help it. I can’t stop. It’s too close, and I’m too scared.

  So I run.

  And then I slam into the wood as I’m fumbling for the lock. It turns, the tumblers clicking loudly as they slide back into the door.

  I twist the handle. Step back so the door can open.

  Behind me, someone starts running.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud, THUD!

  The door is open.

  But I can’t go through because someone’s standing there.

  Cass is standing there.

  What the hell is Cass doing here?

  He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something. But he never gets the chance. Someone crashes into him, sends him tumbling over the rose bushes lining the front drive.

  Cass becomes Zach. Tall, grim, panting.

  A second of frozen time. Then I surge forward, delirious with thoughts of escape. Hardly believing my luck.

  He’ll save me.

  Wrap me in
his arms.

  Hold me tight.

  But none of that happens. He doesn’t drag me out of harm’s way.

  Zach surges forward, and then shoves me. Hard.

  I crash into the door. My scream is little more than a choked gasp of pain as my injured hand is trapped between my body and the door.

  Zach pushes past me. My head slams against the wood. Sparks flash and pop in front of me as I sink to the ground.

  And then he’s gone.

  My conscious mind drifts, losing track in a deluge of pain and confusion.

  There’s a loud clap in the living room, like a car backfiring. There was a young couple down the road who lived here a few years back. Their car would do that sometimes. Always scared the shit out of me.

  Grunts and roars from the living room. Then another clap, this one louder than before.

  Then legs swarm past me. I tip my head back despite the pain.

  Reuben. Cass. Apollo.

  They all look down at me, but only as they pass. Then they move on, deeper into my house.

  It’s weird having them here.

  Weird being back.

  I should show them around. But I have to clean my room first. What’ll they think of the basement? Maybe I shouldn’t show them that. They wouldn’t like it.

  I’ll show them the picture of the unicorn. It’ll make them laugh.

  Awsum.

  “Hey, pretty thang.”

  I force my eyes open, catch sight of Apollo’s face. He’s pale, eyes jittery. “Everything’s just fine, hear me? You’re safe now.”

  And I believed him.

  Lord, I believed him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Zach

  Christ, where are my brothers going in such a hurry? I’m too far away to see who’s driving—all I know is that Reuben was inside the Redford Missions of Love church for a few minutes, and then came out empty-handed but with a speed to his steps I haven’t seen in a while. Not full out running—I guess he didn’t want to draw unwanted attention, but it was obvious he was on the move.

  When they slam on the gas and throw the car into a U-turn, I almost think it’s because they spotted me.

  But I doubt it.

  It seems they have other things on their mind.

  I give them a lead before following.