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

by Logan Fox

  Fuck.

  I rake fingers through my hair.

  Fuck!

  He’s one man, Gabriel, but suddenly I feel like I’m facing off against an army. And it’s just me this time. I don’t have any of them. Yeah, I’m only supposed to find out where he is. Track him until we’ve got everything in place to grab him. But it’s suddenly too real. And, at the same time, surreal.

  I’m walking into a nightmare, when I should be heading for the life of my dreams.

  That house is everything we’ve always wanted—

  I close my eyes, shake my head.

  What the hell am I thinking? Of course they won’t be happy. This—I open my eyes and glare at Gabriel’s door—this is what they want.

  What I want.

  What we’ve always wanted since that first repulsive hand touched us. Since that first voice whispered to us that everything was going to be fine, as long as we play along.

  It’s just a game. You like games, don’t you, Mason? Can I call you Mason?

  My skin crawls at the thread of unwanted memory, but I’m too agitated to push it away. So it slithers in deeper, grabs hold of my conscious mind.

  I fold my fingers around Gabriel’s door handle. Open the door. It should be locked, but it isn’t.

  This game, I call it hide and seek. But we’ll be playing it a little differently, okay?

  My Ghost’s voice raises goosebumps on my skin. I grit my teeth and step inside Gabriel’s apartment. The next door is standing open. I swear I can hear sounds coming from inside.

  I’m going to take this chocolate—you see it?—and I’m going to hide it. You like chocolate don’t you, Mason? You must be hungry. If you find the chocolate, then you can eat it.

  My heart hammers inside my rib cage like a fist trying to break down a door. I slink to the side, pressing my back to the wall.

  There’s a clatter from inside Gabriel’s room.

  Fuck. He’s here. I have to leave. Go wait by the stairs. Watch him. Send a message, let my brothers know—

  Now close your eyes, Mason. Close your eyes so I can hide the chocolate. Good boy. Keep them closed. I’m hiding it now. Good boy. Keep them closed. Give me your hand. Yes, good boy. Now I want you to find it. Go on. Don’t be scared. Put your hand in, Mason. There. You feel that? Feels good, doesn’t it?

  Nausea wells up so fast, so bitter, I taste bile in my mouth before I can swallow it down.

  The world swims, and for a second I’m convinced I’m back there in that room. My first night with my Ghost. Playing hide and fucking seek with a sicko.

  I cataloged them all. My Ghost, their Ghosts. They’re all saved neat and tidy inside my head. Their voices, what their aftershave smelled like, the size and shape of their dicks. Any rings, or freckles or scars on their hands. Those that showed their faces? They’ll be the easiest to find. But we’ll find them all.

  Each and every last one of them.

  Keep them for as long as it takes. Until we’re satisfied.

  And then burn them at the motherfucking stake. A sacrificial offering to the God who abandoned us, left us to rot in that basement with those demons.

  My phone trembles as I bring it out of my pocket. The memory retreats. Finally have my body under control again. Sticking to the plan.

  But before I can back out, something slams closed inside Gabriel’s room. Thankfully, instinct takes over. I throw myself against the wall, crowding into a corner by the small key table. Holding my breath, closing my eyes.

  He swarms right past me.

  I catch a whiff of his aftershave as he disturbs the air, and like I always have, compare it to the database inside my head.

  Unless he’s changed what he wears, he’s not one of them. Not one of the men who abused us.

  Gabriel leaves his apartment in a rush, not bothering to close the door behind him. I wait for my arms and legs to stop quivering, and then slip out of the room and follow him down the hall.

  I start to type out a message, but then I hesitate.

  I almost lost control back there. Teetering on a knife’s edge. Me. Them. I’m good at bringing myself back from the void, but they aren’t. It’s their one weakness.

  I’ll follow Gabriel, see where he’s going. If he looks to be leaving, then I’ll let them know. Then we can take him down.

  I lick my lips as I wait for him to hurry down the first flight of stairs, then I follow him.

  Silent.

  Wary.

  I’m always thinking of traps. Still not entirely convinced he doesn’t know exactly who we are. That’s my paranoia of course. Not as easily turned off as old memories.

  You feel that, Mason? It feels nice, doesn’t it? Oh, you’re such a good boy.

  Gabriel goes to the bell tower. And that makes no sense, but I follow him anyway. I follow him all the way up the stairs and then hang around out of sight behind the first twist in the stairwell.

  What’s up there? A big fucking bell. Is this part of his provostial duties or something? Does he have to ring the bell to signal the end of term or some shit?

  I still feel sick. My skin feels oily. I could use a shower to wash that debilitating memory off me. But I’ll watch Gabriel first.

  My phone’s still on silent, so it vibrates furiously when someone calls.

  Cass.

  But I can’t take it now. I need to listen. I need to be a few steps ahead when Gabriel comes down again.

  And then he does. But something’s different. His footsteps sound heavier than before. Little details like that don’t get past me. I was on full alert back in that basement…I don’t think I’ve ever gone back to normal.

  I sneak down the steps as fast as I can, and it’s too easy to stay ahead of him, silent like this. Because he’s moving slower. Carrying something, maybe. Something heavy enough to slow him down. It’s driving me mad trying to figure it out, so I just fucking stop with the mental gymnastics. I concentrate on staying ahead, keeping the sound of his heavy footsteps within earshot.

  I slip into a nearby alcove when the stairs exit on the top floor landing. I’m sure the shadows are hiding me, but I’m quivering with adrenaline when Gabriel finally shows.

  What?

  No.

  I blink, hard. Then again.

  Is that…?

  I watch Gabriel walk past with Trinity in his arms. If I ever had any doubt they were father and daughter, seeing them together eradicates it.

  Same dark hair. Same nose, even. His is slightly larger, of course, and there’s a fan of blood leaking from it that makes me think Trinity must have put up quite a fucking fight.

  I follow as soon as he has a big enough lead on me. I expect him to go to his room seeing as it’s only one hallway to the left, but instead he takes the stairs.

  My phone vibrates again, but I don’t bother checking. I know I should be calling my brothers and updating them on the situation, but there’s a question that plays on repeat in my mind, crowding out all other thought.

  Why is she still here?

  Why is she still here?

  Why the fuck is Trinity Malone still here?

  Chapter Seven

  Rube

  When I squeeze into our lair the first thing I see is Apollo on his armchair with a washcloth pressed to the back of his head, wincing as he stares at nothing. Cass comes out of the bedroom like he heard me struggling to get in but for once he isn’t wearing a look like he’s about to tell you the punch line of a joke. He looks grim and serious and it scares the living shit out of me.

  “Tell me everything.”

  But it doesn’t help when they do, because they don’t know all that much. Apollo got knocked out before Trinity said anything useful.

  “And Zach?” I ask, still standing near the exit, barely moving.

  Cass drops his gaze. “No answer.”

  “What if he got him?” Apollo says, and from the frown that flashes over Cass’s face, he’s only stating what we’re all thinking. “He was supposed to
keep tabs on Gabriel’s room. He could be—”

  “Cass, go check.”

  “Should we really be splitting up right now?” he asks.

  I’m about to tell him to go check anyway, but he’s right. Even though we have a huge school to search, splitting up will leave us vulnerable and exposed.

  The trick is working out where Gabriel will go. We have to get into his head and figure out his plan.

  The fact that Trin had been lying there, waiting for Gabriel to come back…that makes me think she surprised him. Perhaps they fought over something. That room is so far out of the way—maybe that’s where they’d been meeting all this time.

  The thought makes my heart calcify.

  We’d trusted her.

  But Apollo said she was injured. So things must have soured between her and her father. Now he’s taking her away, but where to? Where in Saint Amos could he—

  “He’s leaving,” I say, already turning on my heel. “We have to get to the road, try and stop him.”

  “How? We’ll never make it!” Cass calls after me, but I’m already sprinting down the library’s main aisle.

  They’ll either follow me or go look for Zach. We shouldn’t split up, but I know deep down Gabriel’s leaving. We’d only be at risk if we tried to stop him. I can take him on my own, unless he has a gun. But if he had one, he’d have used it on Apollo.

  Not every criminal runs around wearing a pistol on his belt. Not like in the movies. I’ve known plenty of bad people in my life, and not a single one of them would even know how to fire a weapon.

  I do. We all do. But we don’t keep guns on us because we know there’s a chance one of them might go off. And who the fuck knows who’d be at the receiving end of that bullet?

  Guns are too easy to use, and too difficult to keep hidden. Especially around a bunch of boys still struggling with the fact that they’re men.

  The exertion of the sprint hits me when I’m halfway across the lawn. I circle around the side of the dormitory, heading straight for the road.

  We don’t know how long Apollo was unconscious for, but the sun’s barely warming up the land yet. It feels like everything’s just happened.

  I can’t bear to let her slip away. Not a second time.

  When my legs and lungs start burning, I push harder.

  And I’m rewarded for my effort. Despite my heart clanging like a race horse’s in my chest, despite the fact that I’m breathing fire, I make it in time.

  I turn the corner.

  I see the car.

  Gabriel’s car.

  I’m in exactly the right place to watch him drive off, a shadow slumped beside him in the passenger seat.

  He doesn’t notice me because I’m yards away. If he did, I doubt he’d care.

  Because I’m too late.

  I ran too slow.

  I didn’t give it my all.

  My legs collapse. My teeth clack together as I go down.

  I’m still there, staring at the last place I saw them, when Cass runs up to me. He’s out of breath, muttering something about stairs and smoking, and then his hand is on my shoulder.

  I slap it away. I’d stand and face him, but I can’t.

  Muscle failure is a bitch.

  “Gone?” he asks, but it’s more a statement than a question.

  Fucking gone.

  And I was so close. If I’d pushed a little harder, if I’d thought just a little faster…

  Cass helps me up. The ground feels spongy as we head back to the library. Something catches my eye.

  I turn.

  Zachary’s standing on the front steps of Saint Amos. The big doors are open wide—Gabriel must have left that way. Zachary turns and disappears into the blackness without a word.

  And then it all comes together.

  I’d be mad, but I’ve got nothing left. I burned up everything in the useless sprint over here. It’ll take time for my tank to refill.

  I don’t say anything to Cass, and I probably should. But sometimes it takes me a while to process things.

  Like the fact that we were just betrayed by our brother.

  Chapter Eight

  Trinity

  It was all a dream. Saint Amos, the Brotherhood, Ghosts and Keepers and Guardians. Nothing but a nightmare. Sure, it makes no sense, but how else do I explain waking up in my old room back in Redford with groggy memories of photos and men with knives and losing my virginity in a library with four psychopaths?

  My core aches when I try to remember details of the dream though. How they used my body for their own pleasure until they were spent.

  Until I was spent.

  I’ve had sexy dreams before, but nothing like that. Nothing that intense, that...vivid.

  I force myself to picture the Brotherhood’s faces.

  Zachary with his intense green-eyed stare and that serpent tattoo on his chest. Apollo with his long, sandy-colored hair and light-brown eyes. Cass—mouthwateringly handsome, but those blue eyes so heartless. And Reuben. Black eyes and such a kind heart.

  I sit up in bed, staring around blearily at my room as I scratch my tummy. Daisy wallpaper. French-pane windows. Pastel pink curtains.

  My body is stiff, my muscles sore. The itch is what woke me, I think, but it’s hard to remember more than that.

  I tug down the sheets and stare at myself. I’m still wearing the lacy white dress. There are a few spots of blood on it. More blood on the inside of my thighs—dried, smeared. My neck feels stiff. When I touch the back of my head, I find a bump on my skull. It should hurt, probably, but it doesn’t. Not really.

  The aroma of onions trickles into the room, wiping out my own stink of sweat and dried blood. There’s a distant thump. Someone’s in the kitchen.

  Mom? Dad?

  Awesome. I should go say hi.

  Somehow, I make it to the top of the stairs, even though it’s like I’m walking on clouds. From here I can only see a slice of the kitchen floor—I still don’t know who’s making the noise. The smell of cooking is intense now. I should be hungry, but instead I feel empty inside. Hollow, like a chocolate Easter egg. But in a good way.

  I don’t know why, but everything’s good. And if it wasn’t, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t give a damn anyway.

  I cling onto the railing as I make my way downstairs because my legs feel kind of unreliable. Cigarette smoke comes to me in between the breakfast smell.

  Wait. That’s not right.

  Dad’s not allowed to smoke inside the house. He didn’t even do it when Mom went to the shops.

  Where is Mom?

  She died in a car accident.

  I falter halfway down the stairs.

  Oh my God. They didn’t both die. All this time, Dad’s been living in our house in Redford while I was sent from pillar to post. While I had to bear the shame of being stranded in a school full of boys, an orphan girl who no one liked. No one except the Brotherhood.

  Why would he do that to me? How could he?

  The thought is visceral, but with no emotions attached. In fact, I don’t feel anything. Except for a sudden itch behind my neck.

  “That you, child?”

  Dad called me that. Child. Like I was one of the kids in church. Maybe he got it from Gabriel.

  I clear the stairs. I can see in the kitchen now.

  There’s a man by the stove. He has his back to me. There’s a whole fog of smells now—bacon, onions, cigarettes, coffee, burned toast.

  The man turns, smiling fondly when he spots me.

  I’m convinced it’s Dad, even though I know he’s dead. So convinced that I see him there, right there. So convinced that, when my brain tries to interject, to correct me, I write it off as the fact that he’s got a big Band-aid over his nose, and his face is a little puffy, and that’s why he doesn’t look quite like Dad but just enough that it must be him.

  Dad beckons me closer with a spatula as he turns and starts dishing up food onto the plates standing ready on the kitchen island.

>   “Is this a dream?” I ask him through numb lips. Might as well make sure, after all.

  “Would you like that?” he asks. And it’s not Dad’s voice at all. It’s Gabriel’s.

  “Dunno,” I say, but actually, I don’t care.

  Unsteady legs take me deeper into the kitchen. I stand next to a stool, but I can’t even imagine how much effort it would take to get up.

  Gabriel puts the pan back on the stove, dusts his hands, and comes around the island. His damaged face should scare me, but instead it intrigues me. I feel like I should know how he was hurt, but I can’t seem to find the memory. He slips his fingers under my armpits and lifts me onto the stool like I’m a toddler.

  “Morning, daughter,” he murmurs, close to my ear, before he walks around the island and takes his seat on the opposite side. “Sleep well?”

  When he slides my plate over, I try and pick up the fork propped on top of a piece of blackened toast. My fingers can’t seem to get it right though.

  Something is wrong.

  With this setup.

  With me.

  “Hasn’t worn off yet,” Gabriel says, as if talking to himself. He takes a bite of his food and then points his fork at my plate. “You’re probably not hungry. Should I put it in the microwave?”

  The fork drops from my fingers, and he chuckles at me as he comes around to my side again. He pushes away the plate and grasps my chin with his fingers, turning my head to face him.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, staring deep into my eyes.

  “Not feeling anything.”

  He smiles. “That’s good.” He drops his gaze, and it takes me a second to realize he might be staring at my body. I think I should care about that, but I don’t. Not even when he rubs his hands up and down my arms like he’s trying to warm me up. “You’re so dirty. We’ll have to get you cleaned up after breakfast.”