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

by Logan Fox

  Fire cleanses.

  It was the only thing that made sense. I was doing them a fucking favor. And, if it didn’t work, then at least they’d already know what Hell felt like before they got there.

  I walk faster.

  The sirens are so much closer now.

  “Hey, easy,” Cass calls out.

  So I rip the man’s wrists out of his grip.

  There’s no time.

  “Zach, wait!”

  The man immediately flips onto his back and grabs a passing rail before I can haul him down the stairs.

  We stop.

  Stare at each other.

  My Ghost’s chest rises and falls, the action speeding up the longer I glare at him.

  Trinity’s stepfather.

  Keith fucking Malone.

  But he looks different now. Too different to account for age.

  Plastic surgery then.

  He really didn’t want anyone figuring out he’d faked his own death.

  Like Gabriel.

  Like Trin—

  Pain slices through me. My jaw clenches so hard the enamel on my teeth squeaks.

  Cass stomps on Keith’s hand. The man curls toward the pain, letting out a wordless yell.

  I yank him down the stairs.

  He tries to sit up, but his head still hits several of the stairs on the way down. Each time, he leaves a splotch of blood on the wood.

  I angle him down the short landing, and then we go down the next flight.

  Cass hurries after, stomping on his hands every time Keith manages to grab hold of something. He must already have several broken fingers—they jiggle around too loosely as we make our way downstairs.

  Police lights paint the living room walls blue and red. Outside, car doors slam.

  I grimace up at Cass. “Grab his fucking arms.”

  He does so immediately, deftly avoiding Keith’s teeth when the man tries to bite him.

  We hurry through the patio doors, Keith fighting us every step of the way. But Cass and I, we’re filled with the Holy Spirit.

  It gives us strength.

  It guides our feet.

  Keith gasps in pain when we drop him into the grave. It’s only about five feet deep—I guess whoever was digging it didn’t do all that well in school. But his body is cast in shadow when he rolls onto his side and coughs.

  “Hurry,” Cass says, a shovel already in his hands.

  When the first spade of dirt hits Keith’s face, he scrambles up and tries to claw his way out of the grave.

  Cass slams his shovel against the back of Keith’s head.

  But not hard.

  Just enough to send him toppling over. He lies there at the bottom, dazed, as we frantically pile more dirt over him.

  I hear voices coming from inside. But no one’s headed out back yet.

  I guess there’s enough to deal with inside.

  We throw heaps of dirt around Keith’s legs and torso, trying to weigh him down as much as possible. Keith comes to when dirt starts hitting his head again. He twists, spitting and cursing when a shovel of dirt hits his face. He pushes his hand down, face contorting as he tries to pull himself out of the dirt.

  But maybe he’s concussed, because he can’t seem to drag himself free.

  And then he screams for help.

  I jump into the grave and stomp on his head. He goes still, and then starts shaking. I stay there, my foot on the top of his head, as Cass fills in more dirt.

  Just before I climb out to help Cass, I crouch down and brush away dirt from his one eye. It trembles, but it doesn’t open.

  “See you in Hell, Keith Malone.”

  We shovel in as much dirt as we dare, toss the spades into the hole on top of him and then dart around the side of the house. We wash our hands and shake loose dirt off our clothes, and then enter through the front door.

  As we step inside the living room, I see a pair of cops step out onto the patio.

  A hand fumbles against my leg. Cass laces his fingers through mine. I look down, then up at his face.

  He’s staring after the cops, shoulders stiff, jaw bunched.

  “If he’s still alive…” Cass murmurs. Tears brim in his icy-blue eyes, turning them shiny as fucking marbles.

  “Then we’ll find him again.” I squeeze his hand fuck hard. “And we’ll dig him another fucking grave.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Trinity

  I’m blindfolded. Gagged. My hands bound behind my back. My bare feet scrape over an icy concrete floor as I shuffle around in utter darkness trying to figure out where the hell I am.

  Panic ratchets up my heart rate to that of a hummingbird’s.

  I’m not alone in this dark.

  I’ll never find my way out.

  Something follows me. I hear it crawling over the floor behind me.

  Nails scratch on the concrete. Skin drags.

  My foot slams into a mattress.

  Before I can find my balance, I topple forward.

  The bedding is wet and warm.

  Someone bled here.

  You, Trinity. That’s your blood.

  I push away the voice as I struggle frantically to stand. The thing crawling after me starts panting. Desperate as I am.

  Finally I get to my feet. I surge forward, running as fast as I can.

  Straight into someone standing in the dark. Strong arms catch me before I can fall. They drag me close, and hold me tight.

  It should have been comforting, but I know who these arms belong to, and I don’t want to be anywhere near him.

  My scream gets stuck in my throat. It’s barely a wheeze. Fingers tangle in my hair and drag my head back. My blindfold is ripped off.

  There’s a click.

  Light blooms, sickly yellow, from the bulb dangling above us.

  I’m in the basement of 2142 Maude Street, but it’s larger now. The floor is covered with dirty, blood-stained mattresses.

  And there’s a small, curled up body on each. Their shadows shift and dance as the light bulb swings left and right.

  Almost makes them look alive.

  I stare into my father’s face, and Keith Malone looks down at me without expression.

  Nails scrape against the floor. Plastic sheeting now—no longer concrete.

  The panting comes closer.

  I try to move away, but Keith is holding me too tight.

  “You should be dead,” he says. “I told them to kill you.”

  Nick and Jess. Are they here? With Keith’s grip in my hair, I can’t turn around to look. I can’t even see how close the panting, crawling thing is that was following me in the dark.

  “I will have to rectify that, child.”

  Keith’s head snaps back. His mouth opens, but too wide.

  Much too fucking wide.

  A long, serpentine tongue uncoils and slaps onto my upturned face. I try to cringe away, but he’s keeping me rooted to the spot.

  His tongue leaves a layer of slime on my skin as it slithers down my neck, like a slug working its way down my skin. With a tug, he pulls down the front of my dress. I try to collapse in on myself, to hide my nakedness, but I can’t. Not with my hands still bound.

  His tongue creeps over my shoulder like a blind, wet snake. Searching. Hunting over my naked skin.

  I try to scream, but I can’t draw enough breath. My lungs are too tight.

  The panting thing reaches my feet. Ragged nails scrape over my skin as it claws its way up my body.

  It’s smaller than me, but it’s angry.

  So fucking angry.

  It wants to hurt anything, anyone.

  Its hands grab my skirt as it tries to lift itself. As it tries to climb higher. My dress slides down to my hips and threatens to go all the way down my legs.

  All the while that tongue leaves sticky trails over my breast, a nipple, the hollow in my throat.

  The panting thing catches hold of my wrist. Drags itself up. The exertion makes it breathe faster. Like a d
og back from a run. Quick and hard.

  The sound comes closer as it crawls up my back.

  Hair snags in my fingers.

  And then I know what it is.

  Who it is.

  It had been lying on the mattress in that pitch-black basement. Already dead. That’s what I’d been smelling. A girl with short hair, or a boy with long hair.

  Dead.

  Alone.

  There in the dark.

  Keith’s tongue finds what it was looking for.

  The panting thing claws my face, tearing out my gag.

  A slick tongue forces its way deep into the hole in my chest, going all the way through to my back.

  The pain is excruciating.

  A scream tears apart my throat.

  Cold, dead little fingers creep over my face and try to seal my lips.

  “Ssh, Trinity,” the child murmurs in my ear. “Don’t let the bad man hear you.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Trinity

  My body jerks violently. I clap a hand over my chest, grimacing as I sit up in bed.

  I dislodge two arms on the way. Apollo mumbles something under his breath as he turns and goes straight back to sleep.

  Cass looks like he’s still sleeping.

  I shimmy out of bed as carefully as I can, and hurry out of the room. I pad down the stairs, take a left, and sprint into the nearest bathroom.

  If the basin had been another foot away, I’d have missed it. I retch violently, repetitively, my eyes streaming with pain.

  I shudder as I rinse out the sink, then my mouth.

  Again.

  That’s the eighth night in a row.

  I gargle half the bottle of mouth wash and stand at the foot of the stairs, staring into the dark.

  But I don’t want to go back to sleep. Not if that fucking thing is waiting to pounce on me as soon as I close my eyes.

  I head downstairs and let myself out onto the patio.

  The ocean sounds calm tonight. The crash and sigh of the waves are barely audible from where I’m standing.

  I flinch when hands wrap around my upper arms.

  “Same one?” Cass asks.

  I had woken him.

  “Yeah.” I swipe my hair out of my face, put a hand over my chest. “It hurts more every time.”

  “Psychic pain,” Cass says, coming to stand beside me and leaning his elbows on the railing. “Doctor said you’re hundreds. That shit’s healed.”

  I rub my palm into the scar just below my collarbone. “He also told me it wouldn’t become infected, and it did. He also told me the scar would be barely noticeable.” I turn to Cass and point at the dark, puckered mark on my skin. “This thing is visible from the fucking moon.”

  “Vain much, princess?” he says through a smirk, and reaches for me.

  I step back. “I’m not kidding, Cass. It hurts. It feels…”

  “Like it’s happening again?” he asks, cocking his head. “You read those articles I sent you, right?”

  I roll my eyes and go back to staring at the ocean. They’ve all been trying to help me through this, but I guess no one comes back from a near-death experience without a little emotional baggage. Me? I never pack light.

  A scar.

  PTSD.

  So many triggers they have to line up.

  I smile to myself.

  I’m one of them now. The Brotherhood. Just as broken and fucked up as they are. All it took was getting raped and shot.

  Kismet.

  Cass slings an arm over my shoulder and draws me against his chest. He’s wearing my pink robe, but didn’t bother closing it up—his skin is cool and smooth and oh so delicious to touch. I slide my fingertips over his pecs and down his ribs, then circle his waist and squeeze him as I lay my head against his chest.

  His heart thumps away quietly in his ribcage.

  If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be alive.

  Any of them.

  But especially Cass.

  I don’t remember much of what happened in the blue room. My therapist said the memories might come back one day or never. I don’t know if I want to know everything—my men already told me everything I need to know.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Cass murmurs into my ear. “Something to get you out of that pretty head of yours.”

  “We’re not going to raid the fridge,” I tell him, although secretly if he pushed me, I’d probably cave. I’ve already put on ten pounds—I’ll be rolling around like one of those kids in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory if my men keep stuffing me with food.

  “Not what I had in mind.” Cass steps away from me and goes to the edge of the infinity pool.

  He shrugs his shoulders. My pink satin robe slides down his back and pools by his feet.

  Oh God, he was naked and I didn’t even notice.

  How could I not notice?

  Because I was stuck in my head.

  He takes his time getting in the pool, as if he knows how much it turns me on looking at his body. Every muscle is toned and lean, from his taut neck to his slim biceps, to his almost-eight-pack to his gorgeous ass.

  “Is it cold?” I ask him, as he slips into the black pool.

  “A little.” He twirls around, sending ripples to all four sides. “Promise I’ll keep you warm if you get in.”

  I glance up at the main bedroom’s balcony. There are no lights on up there. Zach and Apollo must still be fast asleep.

  “Five minutes,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be all groggy for the doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

  Cass holds up a hand, fingers spread. He watches me intently as I take off my vest and boxer shorts, and swims closer when I step hesitantly into the pool.

  The water isn’t as cold as I thought it would be, but I still let out a theatrical shiver when it hits my nipples.

  “Oh, my poor baby girl,” Cass murmurs, scooping me into his arms and spinning us around in the water.

  He urges my legs around his waist, his hands lingering on my ass as we take another slow spin.

  “You know that crap about how time heals all wounds?” he asks, putting his forehead against mine.

  I nod, staring into his pale blue eyes.

  “Well forget about that. You have us, okay? What we can’t heal, we can easily make you forget.” His lips brush my ear. My jaw. My cheek.

  I turn, but he pulls back, teasing me with just a whisper of his lips before they’re out of reach.

  “Cass,” I whine, tightening my thighs around his waist.

  “Princess,” he says, in much the same tone. “Don’t be so demanding.”

  “I just want a kiss. But then we have to go to bed.”

  “And the demands just keep coming.” He squeezes my ass with both hands, hard enough to make me draw a quick breath. “When will you learn?”

  “Hopefully never.” I try and chase his mouth, but he keeps moving his head away.

  Just when I’m about to give up on our kiss, my ass hits the small island in the middle of the pool. During the day, there’s a fountain that splashes into the pool but right now it’s just a slab of stone.

  Cass pushes me against the side, grabs my hair, and kisses me.

  I melt against him, losing myself in the passion of his expert lips and forceful tongue.

  He breaks off our kiss and then hoists me onto the edge before sliding his hands down the front of my body. Tweaking one nipple, then the other. Then his fingers glide down my stomach.

  He’s already wedged his body between my legs, but I spread them a little wider when he gets close.

  “God, I fucking love it when you open your legs for me,” he murmurs as he pushes up on his hands to give me a peck on the lips. “You’re such a fast learner, my precious little slut.”

  He scoots me back, careful not to scrape my skin on the stone and reaches into the water to grab my leg. He lifts it, positioning my foot on the edge, kissing my knee as he stares up at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

&nbs
p; “Cass…”

  “What?”

  “We shouldn’t be—”

  He slaps my pussy, and I cut off with a sigh.

  “We should get back in bed,” I continue hurriedly as he lifts my other leg, positions it on the other side of my body.

  He ignores me, of course. He’s too busy staring at my pussy. Giving my knee an absent, cat-like lick, he sticks his hand in the water and starts stroking his cock.

  “We will, soon as I’m done with you.”

  “But the others—”

  “Can have whatever’s left.” His eyes dart up to mine as he strokes my pussy with his fingertips.

  “Fuck,” I murmur, my eyelashes trembling as I fight for my eyes not to close. If they did, it would be much too easy to surrender.

  This is wrong.

  It’s not written in stone or anything, but when there’s anything more than kissing, everyone’s invited.

  But Cass has been tempting me ever since my last bandage came off. Luring me away, kissing me until I’m breathless, and then trying to get into my pants.

  I’ve fought him off more times than I can count, and I’m fucking proud of that.

  But tonight…

  He strokes my pussy, sending tingles up my body. I tangle my hands in his hair as he plants tiny kisses on my inner thighs, his eyes never leaving mine.

  Like he’s daring me to tell him to stop. Fuck, I want to. Because this feels so wrong—just the two of us, out here in the dark but so very exposed. All it would take is one of my men waking up and wandering onto the balcony for a smoke, and they’d know what we did.

  Alone.

  When he spreads my legs even wider, ducks down, and drags his tongue through my slit, I almost yank out all of his hair.

  I force his mouth harder against my pussy, his tongue deeper. I lift my hips, and start rocking against his mouth, one hand behind me for balance, the other keeping his head exactly where I want it.

  And fuck it feels good.

  Diabolically good.

  I never want it to end.

  Seconds later, I’m already close to coming.

  He draws back, licks his lips as he stares up at me. He slides two fingers inside me, beckoning. “Come on, Princess. You know you want to.”

  Oh God, I’m like fucking putty in his hands. He played the long game and I guess he finally won. I don’t have the willpower to resist him anymore.