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

by Logan Fox

Is it just me, or is she slightly colder than a living person should be?

  Nope.

  Not a chance am I starting to think shit like that. She’s just having a little siesta. Lot of work, fighting off a big guy like that. I’m not hundreds, but I think she shot him in the head too.

  I have to take her to a shooting range sometime. She’s a fucking natural. Okay, admittedly, it was as point-blank as you can get. I’m sure he’s got powder burn. Ha, ha—we’ll never know. Rube caved in his fucking skull with the gun.

  “How’d you get so much blood on you, babe?” I ask her.

  You shot the back of that bitch’s head off, Trinity says.

  “Whoa, easy on the snark there, little girl. Who’s the one plugging you up? I believe it’s me. You keep up that attitude, I’ll let you bleed out.”

  Oh no, Cass, please don’t do that. I love you so much. I want to live so I can thank you for saving my life, Trinity croons.

  “That’s more like it.” I swipe my damp shirt over her nose. “And don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to thank me for saving your life. Rest of your life, come to think about it.” Soon as her nose is clean, I press the tip of my finger to it. “Boop!”

  “Cass,” comes Apollo’s voice from the doorway.

  Christ. Can’t he see I’m trying to keep our girl alive?

  “What?”

  “C-ass.” This time, there’s a hitch in Apollo’s voice. I stop trying to clean Trinity’s blood-splattered face and glance over my shoulder at the door.

  “Get up,” says the man behind Apollo as he walks them inside. Dark eyes scan the room, taking in the partially headless corpse on one side, then the other body on the floor by the bed.

  He’s a handsome man, but unnaturally so. His nose is just too narrow and shapely. His cheekbones slightly too pronounced. Like he was good looking to start with, and then went under the knife a few times just for shits and giggles.

  “I said, get up.” He presses the muzzle of his gun so hard against Apollo’s ear that my brother’s head tilts to the side.

  “N-No,” I manage. “If I do, then she’ll die.”

  “If you don’t, then he dies.”

  Apollo’s holding tight to the arm slung around his upper chest. His eyes are closed, but I really wish they were open so I could at least have a chance of communicating with him.

  It’s pointless, though.

  He’s not a fighter like us. He’s the thinker. The philosopher. A true hippy who believes violence is never the answer.

  Bet he’s regretting some of his life choices now.

  “You always a dick to strangers?” I ask him as I furiously try to think of a way out of this.

  Could shoot him, of course. There’s a gun on the floor. The dead woman must have dropped it there. But I can’t move that far or Trinity will bleed out. Plus, Mr. Vain looks trigger happy enough to shoot me if I so much as fart without his permission.

  My comment curls up his lips ever so slightly. And God, that pseudo-smile makes my blood run ice-cold.

  “You don’t know who I am?” He shifts his grip on Apollo, grabbing a fistful of his hair instead of the chokehold. He turns my brother’s head to the side so he can stare at Apollo’s face. “Trevor recognized me.”

  A shudder goes through Apollo.

  No.

  It can’t be.

  If this guy was involved with our captivity ten years ago, I would have remembered him. Which means he must be a new player in this fucked up game, but who? Is he Gabriel’s replacement?

  But doesn’t matter. Whoever he is, he’s about to kill one, if not all, of the people in this room.

  Where the fuck are Rube and Zach?

  Rube went into the hall looking for Apollo so he could get the address…

  I lock eyes with the new Guardian. And it’s as if he reads my motherfucking mind. I barely open my mouth before he turns and slams the door shut behind him.

  But the lock’s busted, so it pops open again just an inch.

  “Rube! Zach! Help!” My throat burns how I yell, but fuck knows if they can hear me.

  Pointless. They’re already dead, Trinity says.

  Christ, not now, babe. Please, not now.

  Okay, fine, she says. They’re alive. They’re just busy, right? Jerking off somewhere, having a puff, taking a dump.

  She’s got a mouth on her, this one. I’ll have to take her to task for it when we get out of this jam.

  The Guardian sees the problem with the door the moment I do, though.

  And that, finally, is when Apollo’s balls decide to drop. Most of us had that happen during puberty. Nope…not him.

  He slams his elbow into the Guardian’s stomach.

  Which, sadly, doesn’t do much. It just makes the guy grimace and then pistol-whip him so hard he goes down like someone pulled the plug.

  “Fuck you, you shit-eating cunt!” I yell.

  The Guardian doesn’t even look in my direction. I guess he’s established I’m not going anywhere.

  He walks over and picks up the chair by the dresser and jams it under the door handle.

  Literally a second before something big and angry slams into it on the other side.

  Fuck, we both get a fright.

  The Guardian steps back, gun raised, and points it at the door.

  He pulls the trigger. The shot goes off. A hole appears like magic in the center of the door.

  Right where Rube’s chest would have been.

  The assault against the door stops. There’s a heavy thump outside.

  Not unlike a big body hitting the floor.

  I’m starting to lose grip on reality. The world is shifting ever so slightly, like a roller coaster ride just starting up.

  I look down at Trinity’s ashen face. I don’t know if she’s still alive. I press my fingers to the artery on the side of her neck, but I can’t feel anything.

  “Get off her.” The Guardian is closer now.

  “Might as well shoot me,” I tell him as I drop my head and look at him over the point of my shoulder. “Because that’s the only way it’s happening, you cunt.”

  “Hmm.” He takes another step closer. “Sebastian, isn’t it?”

  The ground drops out beneath me. I shake my head, leaning back, trying to get away without taking my weight off Trinity’s chest.

  “Yes, that’s right.” The Guardian tilts his head a little, and his voice becomes husky. “I remember you. You were the little junkie.”

  He lifts his free hand, swipes it down in front of his face like mimes do. Happy/Sad. But his expression doesn’t change except to become…hungrier.

  “Always doped up,” he says. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me.”

  “Guessing you had an uglier face back then,” I tell him, but there’s no strength in my voice.

  Don’t listen to him.

  It doesn’t matter.

  All that matter is keeping—

  “Not at all. But I had to change. You understand.”

  And then I do. Like a fucking lightning bolt hits my brain and implants the information there.

  I look down at the dead body I’m leaning my knee on. Then up at him. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

  He laughs and comes a little closer, but still too far away for me to attempt anything. “Why would you?” he asks, and then runs his hand through his hair like he’s putting on the charm.

  I want to throw up those fish tacos I ate seven weeks ago.

  “She’s not my daughter.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Right. She’s Gabriel’s. Guess she got her mom’s good looks then.”

  Something touches his expression then. The faintest micro-movement around his eyes. A twitch of his lips.

  “It was their idea, calling her Trinity,” he says. His voice sounds a touch hollow now. “They thought we’d all raise her. The three of us.”

  His eyes hadn’t exactly been cheery before, but they’re dead cold now. He glances down at Trinit
y’s body, then back up at me. “Monica would have aborted her like the others, but then that prick interfered.”

  As if my earlier revelation had taken up every bit of computing power, my brain fails to comprehend what he’s saying.

  The Guardian looks at Trinity again. “Her father was a pain in the ass, but he worshiped me. Do you have any idea the things people will do if they think you’re a God amongst men?”

  I open my mouth to say something brutal, but then there’s a gun in my face. “It was rhetorical, Sebastian.”

  As his finger curls around the trigger, a distant wail catches both our attention.

  Ambulance.

  Police siren.

  And that’s not the only thing I notice. Apollo is picking himself up off the floor.

  When the Guardian looks back at me, I show him my teeth. “Think you can get out of here in time?” I ask him.

  His eyes narrow. He straightens the gun. His lips part, a particularly malicious gleam in his eyes as he starts to speak.

  And then Apollo hits him over the head with the chair he quietly took out from under the door handle. When Keith Malone crumples to the ground, my body sags as if it wants to follow.

  But I grit my teeth, gather saliva, and spit it on his slack face. “That was rhetorical, you sick fuck.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Zach

  At the top of the stairs, the hallway splits east to west. Rube and Cass head west, so Apollo and I take the east wing.

  “Stay close,” I murmur to Apollo. “And be quiet.”

  “You’re the one talking,” he whispers back.

  I open the first door and we peek inside.

  Crib.

  Mobile with stuffed animals.

  Gender-neutral geese dancing over the walls.

  I start opening the closet doors to make sure no one’s hiding inside one waiting to leap out at us. But the closets are empty. As in, there’s not even a single diaper in sight.

  This place creeps me the fuck out. It feels staged, like the owners moved out ages ago and the real estate agent set it up for an open house.

  Who lived here? Where are they now?

  “Next room,” I murmur, backing up with my weapon still pointed, just in case someone appears out of thin air.

  A gunshot sounds.

  I spin around and face a locked door.

  Apollo’s not inside with me. Then I hear a key turning in the lock and my hair stands on end.

  What the fuck?

  “Apollo?” I run up and try the door handle.

  Locked.

  Christ. “Apollo!”

  I know it wasn’t him that locked me inside, but now I’m shitting myself wondering what happened to him. I bang on the door a few times, but that’s not helping. I could shoot at the lock, but what are the chances of the bullet ricocheting and hitting me somewhere vital?

  I start kicking the door, but it’s sturdy as fuck.

  “Apollo! What’s the address?”

  Rube.

  “Reuben!” I yell. “Reuben, open up!”

  But there’s no response. What the fuck is going on out there?

  Screw this. I step back, raise my gun—

  “Rube! Zach! Help!”

  I pause. That’s Cass. But wasn’t he just with Rube? What the—

  Thud.

  Thud.

  The sound’s coming from down the hall. Like someone’s banging on something. I turn on my heel, scan the room. My eyes latch onto the window.

  With every distant thud, my heart climbs another inch up my throat.

  I shove my gun into my belt and hurry over.

  I don’t stop to think. I don’t even allow myself to give the ground more than a passing glance.

  My sight is fixed on a nearby tree. From what I saw before I looked away, there’s a good yard of thin air between me and the closest bough.

  But there’s a gunfight going on, and my brothers are involved. I don’t know who’s on the winning side, or if there even is a winning side.

  I bundle myself up tight, and then push away from the window as hard as I can.

  My stomach slams into the bough. A stray branch scratches my face. I fumble, manage to get an arm slung over the bough, and hold on until I have my bearings.

  I work my way to the main trunk and climb down. I drop down the last few feet, already running for the patio doors.

  Something deep and dark and rectangular draws my eye.

  A grave.

  A grave?

  I race upstairs, my legs almost giving out when I see Rube on the floor. I fall down beside him, and start panting as I hike up his shirt with a shaking hand.

  Gutshot. Surprisingly little blood. Does that mean the bullet’s still in there?

  There’s a crash from inside the room, but Rube needs me more right now.

  Except…I don’t have a fucking clue what to do.

  A hand lands on my shoulder, trembling slightly. I look up into Apollo’s face.

  “Cass needs you,” he says.

  “But—”

  “Go.” He falls to his knees beside Reuben and starts ripping off a piece of his shirt. I stand on unsteady legs and half walk, half stumble into the room.

  It’s the one from the video.

  But there’s blood here now.

  And three dead bodies.

  Four if you count—

  “No! Trinity!” I rush forward, but then Cass is in front of me, driving me back. “No!” I try and shove him, but he somehow manages to herd me away from the bed. My back slams into a wall.

  The sound of police sirens and ambulances want my attention, but I don’t give it to them.

  Cass clasps my head in his hands, wiping my face, forcing me to look at him. “Hey, bud. Hey. Over here.”

  We lock eyes.

  “I did everything I could, okay? I tried to save her, but she’s gone. She’s gone. You read me?”

  My heart stops beating. “CPR,” I croak.

  “Got no blood left,” Cass says. He’s grinning, but it’s the kind of smile you see on a corpse where the fleshy bits of the face have been picked clean by scavengers. “It just kept oozing out. Can’t put it back in, can I? So that’s that. But listen, buddy, listen to me, okay?”

  There’s a heavy drone in my ears, which makes complying difficult, but I nod anyway. My eyes dart to the side as I try to look past him, but he tightens his grip on my face and sinks his fingertips into my scalp.

  “Look, the police are going to be here in like…fucking seconds. All right? Now we need to do something very important. And we gonna have to do it really fast.”

  He steps back. Points.

  A dark-haired man lays sprawled on the carpet. There’s a gun near his right hand.

  “We got to take this motherfucker downstairs. There’s this big hole outside—”

  “The grave.”

  Talking is good. Not looking at the bed, that’s good too. Doing something that gets me out of this room? Even better.

  “Yeah, the grave.” Cass pats my chest. “Good. So, you grab his legs, yeah?”

  Cass backs up, still grinning like a fucking Jack-O-Lantern, and grabs the guy’s wrists.

  “Come on, Zach. Stay with me.”

  I keep my eyes down. When my vision blurs, I blink them clear.

  “We can do this.”

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. But as soon as Cass breaks eye contact, my gaze flies to the bed.

  She looks so serene.

  So pale.

  So fucking dead.

  I blink again. My chest feels like it’s caving in. Tighter and tighter and tighter. I try and breathe, try to clamp my mouth shut, but then another set of hot tears races down my cheeks. The salt in my mouth triggers a sob.

  “No, n-no,” Cass says, voice wobbling. “Fuck you, Zachary. You’re grabbing his fucking legs, and we’re putting him in that fucking grave!”

  I choke, wipe my face on my shoulder, and lift the guy’s feet. />
  He groans.

  Maybe a normal guy would have dropped him. I don’t. I hold on even fucking tighter. Because he undoubtedly had something to do with the dead girl on the bed, and that means I owe him a world of hurt.

  A spasm goes through the guy’s body, and then he lifts his head. He looks at me, dazed, unfocused.

  There’s something wrong with his eye.

  Outside, in the hall, someone starts sobbing. Big, heavy, ragged sobs.

  It takes me a few seconds to work it out.

  Time where I’m holding back the ephemeral agony gouging out my lungs and stomach. Time where I’m moving back, dragging the guy’s stomach over the pale blue carpet. Time where I’m staring at that fucked up eye so I won’t look up again and see Trinity on the bed and lose my shit.

  The man twists in our grip. His strength is coming back. There’s a wet slick on the back of his head. Splinters in his hair.

  That’s where the broken chair comes from.

  “Doorway,” Cass warns. “Take a left, bud.”

  I angle out the door.

  Apollo’s head is on Rube’s chest. His blond hair shifts with every sob wracking his lean body. He’s hugging Rube with his elbows, hands fisted in Rube’s shirt.

  The guy we’re dragging begins fighting us. Cass’s grin turns into a grimace. My arms are starting to burn from the weight, from keeping his ankles clasped when he tries to kick his legs.

  He keeps bucking off the floor, forcing us to take his full weight instead of letting us drag him over the tiles. He sends a loathing glare at me over his shoulder, mouth twisted with frustration and fury.

  And then I get what’s wrong with his eye.

  It happened a few times to Rube, and would always freak me out.

  His contact has slipped. Like an eclipse, the dark lens creates a crescent from the lighter iris below.

  I almost drop his legs.

  But then I think he recognizes me too. And his face loses all color.

  I don’t blame him.

  He knows what happened to my parents. Fuck, maybe he was even the one who found them.

  Were they still in those chairs? No, wait…the chairs must have burned in the fire.

  I honestly wish I could have stayed to see their faces.

  See how they struggled to get free.

  How their skin began blistering from the heat.