by Logan Fox
“Hey!”
He’s walking backward, dragging the trolley after him as he pushes open the door with his back. He smirks at me over his shoulder. “How ya doing, pretty thing?”
“Who told you I couldn’t eat normal food?”
His smirk turns into a grin. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“I knew it,” I say, stabbing a finger at him as I pass. “You made it up.”
“You gonna tell on me?” he calls.
My hand is on the door, but I don’t push it open. I stand there for a second, listening to the sound of the trolley wheels squeaking. Then a pair of sneakers coming closer.
Apollo comes into view from the corner of my eye. He leans against the wall near the hinge of the door and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Because you can go rat me out if you want, but it won’t change anything.”
“I’ll get to eat proper food again,” I snap.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He sighs and leans his head against the wall too, scratching at his forehead with his thumbnail. There’s a mark there, under the hair hanging in his eyes. A star-shaped scar. An old sports injury maybe?
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to leave? I mean, this place sucks ass. Why the fuck would you want to come to school here anyway?”
I gape at him. “What the hell does it matter to you where I go to school?” I take a step closer and poke a finger in his chest. “I don’t need your permission to be here.”
His smile becomes a grin. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“Fuck you!” I blurt out. “You’d better stop—”
My only warning is the sudden stutter of his eyes as he catches sight of something behind me. I spin around, already clamping my mouth closed.
Too late.
I’d been so caught up with yelling at Apollo I hadn’t spotted Sister Miriam coming into the kitchen.
“Sister, he—” I point behind me, and even turn a little to make it clear who I’m accusing.
Don’t ever turn your back on an angry nun.
She grabs my ear and yanks so hard I swear it almost comes off. I yell and shoot to my tiptoes so my ear doesn’t tear free.
“Enough,” Miriam snaps. “Enough, enough, enough!” The last word booms through the kitchen like a bomb going off.
Where there’d been the idle clatter of pans and cutlery, everything cuts off. The handful of people inside the kitchen are all staring at me.
Then Sister Miriam does the unthinkable.
She drags me out of the kitchen and through the dining hall…by my fucking ear.
Tears streak down my cheeks from the pain and humiliation, but I already know that whatever’s coming next is going to be a thousand-fold worse.
This is what happens when you fight back, Trinity.
Should’ve eaten the goddamn gruel. But no. Suddenly, you think you deserve a slice of normal.
Wrong.
So very fucking wrong.
No one in this place is your friend. They’ll never be your friend. Even Gabriel’s already trying to get rid of you. Maybe you should pack your things and start walking.
The forest will be more hospitable than this place.
Chapter Twenty
Trinity
Thankfully, Miriam doesn’t drag me all the way by my ear. A few yards outside the dining hall, close to the small prayer room, she releases me.
With a flick of her arm, she consults her little watch and then glares at me for a second. Her eyes move to the prayer room. She points. “You stay in there until I come for you.”
When I don’t move, she grabs me by my collar and drags me bodily through that little arched door. I stumble when she shoves me inside and catch my knee on one of the chairs. Whimpering, I turn as she starts closing the door in my face.
She pauses when there’s little more than her face showing. “Best you pray to God that I’ve cooled down before I come back, else you won’t have a strip of hide left.”
She bangs the door in my face.
I cup my ear, massaging at my itchy, stretched skin where it meets my scalp with one hand and rubbing my knee where I bumped my leg with the other.
“Are you all right?”
No.
No, no, no, no, no!
Come on!
I spin on legs that feel like they’ve turned to rubber. A big shape unfolds from the small chancel and slowly turns to face me.
Reuben.
I swallow an angry sob and move back, fumbling behind me for the handle. After everything that’s happened today, the only logical conclusion is that I’m about to die.
Terror traps a broken scream in my throat when I don’t find the handle. When my fingertips brush blank wood. I don’t dare look around, because then he’ll pounce me and do God knows what to me.
Maybe bash my head on the floor till my skull cracks open.
Fuck, he could probably crush my head between his hands if he wanted.
“Please.”
Wood.
Wood.
Brick.
“Don’t.”
Reuben ducks his head, and slowly replaces his rosary.
Brick.
Wood.
Brick.
Where the fuck is the door handle?
I have to risk it.
I glance around, all the while my skin crawling with invisible tarantulas.
He’s still standing by the pulpit. He hasn’t moved closer. My heart thumps in relief, but I don’t stop looking for the handle.
“Let me show you,” he says, and steps closer.
I let out a small squeal of panic and turn my back fully so I can find the damn handle.
But there’s nothing there—just smooth wood.
I’m locked inside with a psycho.
My stomach plummets to hell.
“Where’s the handle?” I yell, turning back to him. He’s closer now, but not like the first time I saw him here. He’s taking his time, edging forward as if he knows there’s no rush.
“I can show you,” he says calmly. “But only if you promise to calm down.”
“Sure. I’m calm. See?” I sweep out my arms and then hug them to my chest. I step back as far as I can, practically disappearing into the corner of the small room as he reaches me.
“Why are you so scared of me?”
Because you’re psychotic!
“I’m not. It’s Miriam. I don’t want to be here when she gets back.”
“You’ll get in trouble if you run away.”
“I don’t care!” I hastily lower my voice. “I mean, she knows where to find me. And I really have to pee. I’ll get her outside.”
“You haven’t prayed yet.”
Fuck. Fuck!
He’s just standing there.
Liar. He won’t open the door for me. It was just an excuse to get closer without me bolting. I glance to the side. I can make it over the chairs. Scramble to the front of the room. We’ll chase each other around in circles until Miriam comes back.
But what if he catches me before she returns?
What will he do to me?
Fear of the unknown drives icy panic through me. I shiver once, hard, and then I can’t seem to stop.
“Are you cold?”
“Please just open the door.”
He shrugs. Then he pushes his hand against the wood, close to where the handle would be on the outside. The door sinks inward a little, and then bounces open a crack. There’s a little rift where he slides in his fingers, and then he pulls it open.
I race for the opening, knowing I won’t make it, but not willing to stand there and accept my fate.
Reuben presses the door closed in my face. I freeze, standing an inch away from the wood, too frightened to move.
His palm slides down the wood as he lets out a long breath through his nose. He moves closer until his clothes brush against mine.
Blood roars in my ears. It drives heat into my cheeks and constricts my lungs.
; “You should pray.”
“Okay,” I manage breathlessly. “I’ll pray.”
“Ask God for forgiveness.”
“I will.” Forcing a swallow, I add, “I’ll do it when I’m done with Miriam. Outside.”
“You’ll do it now. Inside.”
This close, his smell is everywhere. Something floral, something rich, something woody. Masculine, but soft at the same time.
“Okay.” I turn, assuming he’d step back so I head over to the pulpit.
Isn’t this what you do when you’re held hostage by a crazy person? You humor them, keep them talking until the cops come.
I have no idea where Sister Miriam went or how long she’ll be away, but if I can keep up this pretense…
At first he doesn’t move. With his hand on the door behind me, he’s close to boxing me in. Admittedly, he’s not the ogre I first thought him to be. He’s tall and broad, but he’s not a steroid-junkie.
I’d probably have thought him seriously attractive if I hadn’t been so terrified of him.
Weird, how I’ve met so many handsome guys over the past few days. And in a place like Saint Amos? That’s bordering on freaky.
“Here. This will help you focus your intent.” Reuben lifts his rosary from around his neck and slips it over my head.
That’s where the smell is coming from. His rosary is made from rose-wood. The sweet smell envelops me as soon as he slips the beads over my head. But there’s something else mixed in there. His own scent. He must stroke the beads while he prays.
And I’m guessing he prays a lot.
My fear fades a little, even though I know it shouldn’t. There’s no guarantee that because he regularly prays to God that he won’t hurt me.
But it makes it easier to believe he might have a conscience. Threatening me is one thing, but actually physically hurting me? That’s crossing a line. One he might not be able to because of his beliefs.
I clutch that thought as I slip past him and stride over to the pulpit. It’s only three yards away, so it’s still like he’s right behind me when I sink down onto the pillow laid in front of the chancel.
Resting on my knees, I put my palms on my thighs and duck forward. Hopefully I look like the real thing.
But as I’m kneeling there, the smell of Reuben’s necklace getting stronger and stronger, his presence growing until it fills every inch of the room…I start feeling more and more like a phony.
I’ve never prayed. Not once.
Sure, I’ve recited the Father’s Prayer. I’ve read the bible. I’ve sat in church more often than I can count.
But I’ve never prayed.
I never felt that connection my parents and Father Gabriel claimed to have.
I was always acting.
Reuben knows it.
The last thing I want to do is make him angry. Should I stand? Give him back his necklace?
Fabric rustles behind me.
He exhales somewhere close behind before sliding his hands onto my shoulders.
I risk a peek. He’s kneeling behind me. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
Another breath. It warms the back of my neck where my hair’s been scooped up into an attempt at a bun.
“I’m praying for you,” he says in his sonorous voice.
“Why?”
“Because I’m guessing you don’t know how. And trust me, you need all the help you can get.”
Sister Miriam comes to fetch me sometime later. Reuben never lifted his hands, and he never said another word to me again. I’d slipped into a trance while energy moved between us.
I’m not being new age about it—I felt it. My entire body came alive at his touch. Every disastrous thing that happened up to that point had melted away.
I was at peace.
I felt loved.
I’m convinced he actually managed to contact God on my behalf.
That, or he’s some kind of god himself.
When Miriam comes for me, I’m not frightened anymore. Not of him. Not of her.
Not of this place, or my future, or my past.
I’m ready to face whatever she has waiting.
She notices that when I leave the prayer room.
But it doesn’t change anything.
I guess around here nothing ever changes. Rules are rules. I misbehaved and for that I have to be punished.
I just wish it wasn’t her handing out my penance.
Chapter Twenty-One
Zac
“This isn’t working is it?” Apollo says as soon as I get within earshot. “Why isn’t it working, Zac?” He was pacing, thumbs hooked into his belt, but as soon as I’m in the crypt’s sunken center, he sinks into a chair and starts jiggling his leg.
He’s not the only agitated one. Reuben is perched on the edge of his seat, meaty hands clasped and dangling between his legs. Cassius is smoking a blunt, but with an intensity that belies his slouched body and deadpan expression.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. I snatch the blunt from Cass’s fingertips just as he’s about to take a drag, and give it a hefty tug. “But she’s fucking testing my patience.”
Apollo snorts.
Between the four of us, I’m the rock. It takes a shit load to piss me off or deter me. Weather-beaten, but still standing.
Because, long before the Brotherhood, there was only me.
Then came Apollo. Then came Reuben. Then came Cassius.
Even back then, we had no notion of revenge. For us it was all about survival. Every day was a silent victory.
Every hour.
Every fucking second.
This girl is getting under my skin. Anyone in her position would have been out that door in ten seconds flat.
“She’s a fucking masochist, that’s what she is,” Cass says. “But you were right. She didn’t say a word about me to anyone.” He sits forward, imitating Reuben. “She didn’t, right?”
“Not to me.” I shake my head and take another drag. Then I have to smile, because it’s fucking rare either of us gets the chance. “That drawing though…”
Cassius’s face lights up with a grin. He leans across and taps Apollo’s chest with the back of his hand. “Bro, you should have seen it.”
Apollo looks up at me. “You still got it, right?”
I nod. “Some of Cass’s best work.” I study the blunt between my fingers. “She’s stronger than we thought. Braver. We might have to change tactics.”
I take a last hit of the joint. It’s almost down to the filter, but I offer it to Rube like I always do. I’m already retracting my hand on automatic when he takes it from me.
Apollo’s jiggling leg freezes. Cassius turns to stare.
Reuben studies the joint, and then eviscerates the last quarter-inch of weed. I almost dart forward and retrieve it before he inhales the fucking filter too.
He drops it to the floor and crushes it out under a massive shoe.
When he exhales, Cassius and Apollo disappear behind the smoke cloud.
“She’s not brave, she’s just stubborn,” Reuben says. He shifts in his seat before glancing hesitantly in my direction.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you said I shouldn’t go near her—”
I’m on my feet in a second. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Reuben spreads his hands. “She came to me.”
“What? Why?” Apollo demands.
“Doesn’t matter,” Rube tells Apollo before turning back to me. “I didn’t do anything. I just…prayed with her.”
“Rube…” My voice is dangerously low. “What did you say to her?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. But I saw she was more scared of me than Sister Miriam.”
“If she’s so scared, then why hasn’t she ratted us out?” Cass demands. “I mean, all she has to do—”
“Shame. Denial. Fear of the consequences. I could go on.” I take my seat, sitting back and spreading my legs. This isn’t comfort, but when the four of u
s are together it’s like I’ve come home after a long day. These brief meetings in the crypt are our versions of Sunday lunch.
Out there, we’re just a bunch of kids.
In here, we’re motherfucking assassins.
Unfortunately, Trinity Malone only sees us as we are outside these walls.
“Textbook behavior,” I add.
Every eyebrow twitches at this—even Reuben’s.
“So what do we do? The girl’s not budging,” Apollo mutters, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest.
“That’s just it…” I swing my leg up, resting my ankle over my knee. “We’ve been treating her like a girl. Like a delicate piece of glass we don’t dare break.”
Cassius chuckles. “I can break her for—”
“Cass!”
His eyes flick up to mine. “What? She suddenly so fucking special or something?”
“That’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” I ask, tilting my head. We’ve been down this path of reason before—Cassius always ends up in the fucking bushes.
“She’s a slut anyway,” Cassius says.
I don’t even bother looking at him.
We’ve all got twisted world views. But we also have an excuse. We never got to see the world as other kids did. Our crayon drawings didn’t have rainbows and stick-figure family portraits. Ours—if we’d ever had any—would have been black and red landscapes crosshatched with repressed pain.
Cassius thinks everyone’s a closet slut, and would fuck anything that moves if I didn’t reign him in.
Apollo is a full out voyeur. He’d rather film someone masturbating than actually have sex with them.
Reuben will probably die a virgin. Kind of.
Me? It’s best if I became a priest and swore celibacy for the rest of my life. Because unlike my brothers, there’s only one thing that actually brings me joy.
They’d crucify me in a heartbeat if they ever found out what it was.
“She’ll break,” I say, shifting in my seat.
Reuben’s staring at me so hard it’s like he’s digging through my brain with his fingers. If anyone’s got me figured out even a little, it’s him. But I’m hoping—dear God, I’m hoping—he knows better than to say anything.