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

by Logan Fox

  “No, wait!”

  “So many questions, little girl,” he says, his voice barely altered from the strain of keeping me in place. “Looks like we’re going to be here all night.”

  There’s no belt in my mouth when he slaps me. My teeth clamp down on instinct, and I bite the inside of my bottom lip. A trickle of blood seeps into my mouth.

  I let out a Hollywood-style scream that’s part rage, part agony.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, shoving away from me.

  I hurriedly spin around, ready to fend him off if he tries to pin me again.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” he growls as he bends to pick up his belt from the floor. He loops it through his jeans and buckles it up before pointing at the exit, one eyebrow quirking up in a silent command.

  My mouth works for a second before I find words. “No, but—”

  “You obviously don’t have the stomach for this shit,” he says, stepping so close that his erection brushes my belly. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

  I keep my ground, but barely. Every molecule in my body wants me to flee, but my mind keeps spiraling in on those two words. I won’t be able to sleep until I know more.

  His parents.

  His parents?

  I swallow hard and force up my chin. “We had a deal.”

  He huffs mirthlessly through his nose. “There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity.”

  “I’m not being brave or stupid,” I snap back. Without taking my eyes off of him, and while trying to ignore the fact that my hands are shaking, I grab the front of his belt and start unbuckling it.

  He drops his eyes, watching my fingers work. Then he studies me through dark, thick lashes. “The fuck are you doing?”

  “We had a deal.”

  “Not with a belt. You’re nowhere near ready for that kind of punishment.”

  For some unfathomable reason, my insides pulse at the way he says that word.

  Punishment.

  I wasn’t sure before, but I am now. This thing he’s doing to me? This is turning me on. I don’t get it—I don’t even think it’s possible—but nothing else can explain the way I’m tingling down there. When I move, I can feel how wet I’m becoming.

  “It’s so I won’t scream,” I say quietly after another hard swallow. “Unless you want to use my underwear again?”

  His eyebrows draw together. “Tempting, but no.”

  Before I can move away, he grabs my bottom lip and tugs it down. “Something to bite down on works better.”

  I nod as if I already knew this and pull his belt free from its loops. I fold it like he did, and hold it an inch from my lips. “Ready when you are.”

  He lifts his head as he closes the distance between us, his dick now pressing hard into my soft flesh. I try to ignore it, but it just stokes the fire already building in my core.

  His hands slide around my back and down to my ass. I wince when he starts massaging my skin. Then my eyes fall closed.

  The soothing pressure eases the sting and sends delicious ripples through my body.

  When his breath warms my face, I look up at him. He’s watching me.

  Hungry.

  Angry.

  But sad.

  So sad.

  And I need to know why.

  I wedge his belt between my teeth and slowly turn around in his arms.

  His hands trail down my curves. He hooks a finger behind the elastic of my underwear and tugs it down to the crease where my ass meets my legs. Then he steps back, leaving cool air to circulate over my exposed skin.

  I brace myself against the back of the couch and bite down on the belt.

  Slap.

  Air hisses past my teeth as I suck in a pained breath. The sting that follows his slap is immediate and brutal.

  Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

  Tears prick at my tightly-closed eyelids, and I scrunch up my face with the effort of not yelling out or letting those tears fall.

  Fingers brush my jaw. I reluctantly open my mouth and let Zachary take the belt from between my teeth.

  “Your question.”

  I try to focus on anything but the pain, but it seems impossible to ignore. “Hold on,” I murmur, my breathing picking up pace.

  “Now, little girl.” He caresses my ass, sending fiery licks of pain over my skin. I hiss and try to move away, but there’s nowhere to go with me sandwiched between his body and the back of the couch. “Now.”

  “Your parents,” I say through my teeth as my fingers dig into the couch. “Why would they send you to the basement?”

  It’s the first thing I can think of. The first logical thought of the thousands floating aimlessly through a mind that’s coming undone from this exquisite pain.

  Zachary’s hand pauses. He squeezes me, and I go onto my tippy toes as I gasp at the pain.

  I don’t understand this. I’ve had ten lashes, but they were nothing like this. They hurt more, but this…this is a different kind of pain. It has all these layers to it I don’t understand. I feel like crying, but not because it hurts, but because…

  Because Zachary is hurting, and I can feel it.

  I can feel his pain.

  “Good question.” Zachary starts massaging my ass again. “And I don’t know if I have the right answer for you.”

  “What? That’s not—” I cut off when his fingers stop an inch away from my entrance. Until now he’d been keeping well away from the hot, tingling mess between my legs.

  “I’m not sure if it’s the right answer, because I can’t look inside their heads,” he says.

  He squeezes me, and I barely hold back a moan of pain.

  “I’m not asking you to psychoanalyze them,” I say, having to force the words through the pain.

  He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat that could have been a stifled chuckle. “Aren’t you?”

  “You would have asked them. They would have given you some kind of answer. What did they say, when they took you down there? What reason did they give?”

  He lets out a laugh that turns my insides into a frozen mush. “It was my punishment,” he says. “See, I was a very naughty boy.” He shifts behind me and his jeans brush my skin. The rough fabric sends a flurry of hot tingles through me moments before his hard dick presses into my crack, forcing my cheeks apart.

  My breath catches.

  If he wasn’t still wearing his jeans, he’d be inches away from—

  Taking what doesn’t belong to him.

  Which he could have done if he’d wanted. Is he holding himself back, or just toying with me?

  “What did you do?”

  Another laugh. Thankfully, this one isn’t as chilling as the one before. “Sure you can handle another question?” He strokes my bare skin with his fingertips. They trace eight lines down my ass, and then converge less than an inch from my sex.

  My face heats when he slowly pulls me open. My lips part reluctantly, soaked through from the twisted desire that’s been coursing through me the entire time he’s had me pinned against this couch.

  “I said, are you sure you can handle another question, little girl?”

  “Yes,” I blurt out, immediately squeezing closed my eyes. “I mean…if you don’t hit me as hard. Maybe.” Fuck, my heart feels ready to explode from my chest.

  He chuckles quietly as he folds over me. “It’s sweet that you think I’m capable of mercy.” He grabs my wrist, bringing the folded belt up to my mouth. “Open.”

  And, against all reason, that’s exactly what I do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Zach

  I’m barely touching the ground and every breath I take is helium. If Trinity looked around and saw my face, she’d be screaming as she ran out of here.

  Which is why I slide my hand over the back of her neck and hold her in place. That way, she can’t see the sick lust on my face.

  I slip a finger behind the hem of her panties where they’re gathered just under the curve of her ass. Th
is time she doesn’t plead with me to keep them on. I tug them down to her knees, baring her smooth, shapely legs. I take a few seconds to admire the blurry red handprints on her ass before I start warming up her flesh again.

  She shifts as if considering bringing her legs together so I tighten the grip on her neck as I kick them open even wider. This stretches her panties tight between her knees, and that’s when I notice the near translucent patch in the fabric.

  My cock hardens painfully behind my jeans.

  I could unzip my fly and be inside her in seconds, burying myself balls deep inside her tight little pussy.

  Except that wasn’t the fucking deal.

  My fingers dip lower, almost touching her. Her body stiffens, but she keeps still. Keeps her legs open.

  I bite the inside of my lip as I give her body one last scan. Then I bring my palm down on her ass with all my strength.

  The sound of her shocked yell reverberates deep inside me.

  I’m in agony—suspended in ice, drowning in fire. Without conscious thought, I zip down my fly and take out my cock. I stroke myself, keeping my hand on the back of her neck as I inch my dick closer to her wet pussy.

  She must feel the warmth coming off my body, because she stiffens again, as if expecting another blow.

  Christ.

  Her heat coats the crown of my dick as I ram my fist down its length. The pain makes me harder. Makes me want to fuck her even more. To spread her open and drench myself in her juices.

  She makes a sound behind my belt. It sounds like a plea.

  It takes long seconds for me to realize she’s shaking. That she’s no longer pressing back against my hand, resisting me. She’s limp, draping the back of the couch like she doesn’t have the strength to hold herself up anymore.

  And then I hear her sniffs. The stifled sob.

  I shove my cock back into my jeans and move to the side. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her cheeks bright red.

  “The fuck is it now?” I ask roughly, ripping my belt out of her mouth. “Finally decided you’ve had enough?”

  As soon as the belt is out, she moves away from me, her hands shaking as she yanks up her underwear. She lets out a string of mangled words.

  “Sorry—don’t—happening—shouldn’t—stop.”

  I watch her as she tries to put on her yoga pants. When they’re halfway up her legs she turns away from me, surreptitiously wiping at the inside of her thigh as another sob wrangles its way out of her mouth.

  “Hey.” I grab her elbow, but she twists her arm out of my grip. I frown, and this time I grab her waist and drag her up against me. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her lips trembling. “I don’t know why that happened.”

  I stick my hand between her legs, wiping at the slick wetness on her thighs. “This?” I ask roughly. “Are you embarrassed about this?”

  She covers her face with her hands, shrinking in on herself like a wilting flower. I make an angry noise in the back of my throat. “You asked for this,” I tell her as I yank her yoga pants up the rest of the way. “Don’t play coy now.”

  She rips her hands away and struggles in my arms, but I refuse to let her go. “It was supposed to hurt,” she says. “It wasn’t supposed to…why did it…what the fuck’s wrong with me?”

  The last is a yell. She glares up at me before her face crumples and her mouth starts quivering again. “What’s wrong with me?” she whispers.

  “Nothing, my girl.” I wipe away her tears with my thumbs as I cradle her face in my hands. “Absolutely nothing.”

  I stare into amber eyes that demand more from me. But what the fuck am I supposed to say?

  She wanted answers, I wanted release. We made a deal. How the fuck were we supposed to know it would turn out like this?

  But now, staring into her eyes, I guess I had it wrong all along.

  This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t about me. It was about us. All of us. The Brotherhood. The Ghosts. The Guardians.

  It was about the basement.

  She can’t believe what happened to us.

  No one can be that cruel.

  That perverted.

  That sick.

  It can’t be true.

  But it is.

  Trinity Malone couldn’t accept the truth so she tried catching me in a lie.

  A slow, hard ache starts up in my ankles before spreading to my wrists.

  I trace the bottom of her lip with my thumb. “I disobeyed them,” I tell her quietly.

  She blinks, trapping a tear in her lashes. “What?”

  “You wanted to know why my parents were punishing me.”

  Her eyes widen ever so slightly.

  “I went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to. Saw something I shouldn’t have.”

  My chest closes up. I take a deep breath, but it barely fills my lungs.

  She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push me for more. Perhaps she thinks I’ll tell her to leave if she does.

  Those bright, amber eyes just watch. Not perversely curious, like the policemen who’d taken our statements after we’d finally escaped. Not pitiful, like so many of the parents in the foster homes we’d ended up in.

  Just watching.

  Waiting.

  I manage another breath, this one even shallower than the last. My erection has faded completely, and my skin prickles hot and cold. I move my hands to her shoulders, and she tenses under my hands when I grip her tight.

  Her lips move like she’s biting the inside of her cheek.

  I want to kiss her, which is weirder than fucked up because I never want to kiss anyone.

  “The basement was in my house.”

  Her lips move, but no sound comes out.

  “My parents were the Keepers.” I try to swallow, but I can’t. I try to keep quiet, but it’s as if she’s pulling the words from me. “Gabriel paid them to look after the boys. The Ghosts would arrange times with them. They kept it all a secret, but I started noticing things when I got older. Tracks in the driveway. Strange smells.”

  Trinity scans my face and presses her hands against my bare chest as if she wants to feel my heart beating.

  She won’t, though.

  “I stole their keys one day. Said I was going to a sleepover. They drove me to my friend’s house, but I came back, and I waited until it was dark. Until they were asleep.

  “They found me down there in the basement. A silent alarm had gone off. I should have run away, but I couldn’t just leave them there.” My voice trails away, thickening. I doubt she hears me when I add, “I couldn’t leave my brothers there.”

  Her fingertips dimple my flesh. Still searching for that elusive heartbeat?

  No, Trinity. There’s nothing for you to feel.

  My black heart stopped beating a long, long time ago.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trinity

  I’m already awake when the bell for Sunday service rings, but I lie there for a few seconds before getting up. Tomorrow it will be a week since I arrived in Saint Amos. After almost eighteen years living a life where nothing ever happened, these last few weeks are ridiculous in comparison.

  I like to think that I’d have preferred to live a boring life, but then I wouldn’t have met the Brotherhood. They’re the most interesting people I’ve ever met but they’re also the most fucked up people I’ve ever met.

  I stifle a yawn.

  Guess I’ll have to take the good with the bad.

  Jasper pushes into a sit and presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

  When he gets up, I stare up at him in astonishment. “You’re going to mass?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You’re going. Rutherford’s going. Everyone’s going.”

  Because your ass probably hurts worse than mine and those pews are fuck hard?

  I frown at him as he grabs his clothes and exits the room. I’m starting to think he’s becoming a little obsessed with Zachary. I get being pissed off with him, but this?
>
  Screw it.

  My mind’s way too fucked up to figure out what Jasper’s up to.

  I grab one of the two dresses I used to wear to church on Sundays and head to the restroom to wash my face.

  Jasper’s sitting on the edge of his bed lacing up his shoes when I get back. Guess he didn’t bother showering again. I can’t blame him—I wouldn’t want the other kids seeing my bruised butt either.

  I took a quick peek at my ass in the restroom mirror after making sure there wasn’t anyone else in one of the stalls. Surprisingly, it isn’t as bruised as it feels. Was it because Zachary kept massaging it while—?

  Oh no, Trinity. Hell no. Your thoughts will remain pure as freshly fallen snow today.

  “Want to walk together?” Jasper asks.

  “Uh…sure,” I manage while battling my shock. Dear Lord, I don’t think I can take any more surprises today. I already feel like I’m walking a razor’s edge.

  Jasper stands, wincing faintly, and then sticks out his hand.

  “What?”

  He glares at me.

  I cringe back when he darts forward and tries to grab my hand. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not going to rape you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Just…give me your fucking hand.”

  As soon as I give it to him, he hauls me up from the bed.

  Halfway down the hall I eventually find my voice. “What’s up, Jasper?” I try for casual, but I have no idea if he falls for it.

  “Shut up and look like you’re in love with me or something.”

  I barely suppress a snort. Everyone in Saint Amos is on the fucking spectrum. Must be the stuffy air in this place.

  Jasper’s palm sweats against mine, and he keeps shifting his grip as if he’s not sure if he’s holding my hand right. We draw more than a few eyes on our way down to the church, and no wonder. He’s wearing a thousand-yard-glare that could incinerate anyone who happened to cross his view, and I’m alternating between trying to make myself invisible and keep an eye on Jasper to make sure he’s not about to jump out a window—with me in tow.

  By the time we get to the chapel, there’s a small group of boys tagging along behind us.