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

by Logan Fox

  Jess grabs my right hand, tugs. Despite the dead body lying on top of me, she still shifts my arm enough to send a spike of pain through me. I sob, my breath catching. I wriggle furiously, even hoping that her grip might pull me out from under Nick.

  She’s grimacing at me, but her face is whiter than the walls. “F’kn ’tch,” she says through her teeth. “F’kn kill you.”

  Metal drags over the fabric. She lifts Nick’s gun, aims it point-blank at my face.

  I don’t even have time to close my eyes.

  This bang isn’t as loud as the first, but maybe that’s because I’m already dying. I also expected this bullet to feel like the first. Like a blazing-hot punch, then a poker being shoved through my flesh.

  But I just see red.

  The side of my face is hot, then warm, then cold. And very wet.

  I blink.

  The world turns pink.

  I blink again.

  Jess slides to the floor.

  Shapes move, too fast for me to make out. A weight is lifted. I hear voices, a yell.

  Someone looms over me. My eyes are squeezed closed from the pain, so I don’t know who.

  For some reason, I’m sure it’s Nick. That he’s somehow still alive, and he’s about to climb on me again. To finish what he started.

  “No,” I manage, slurring the word. “No.”

  Another wave of dizziness comes. The biggest yet. My face tingles furiously, my fingers ice-cold and numb.

  I try to fight it, but I can’t. It’s too big, too powerful.

  It lifts me up, so I’m flying, and then I come down the other side. But I just keep sinking and sinking.

  And sinking.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Cass

  When I step inside the upstairs bedroom, my mind balks at what I see. So while I’m still pointing my gun, I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to be shooting at.

  Shock makes my brain slow as fuck as I try to work through it.

  There’s a thick trail of blood leading from the passage outside into the bedroom.

  A kid’s bedroom.

  The one from the video. Even still has the same furniture, except some of it’s been moved around and the paint is faded.

  The blood leads to a woman propped up all awkward against the side of the bed like she’s attempting an advanced yoga pose.

  She’s a suspect. Definitely.

  Then there’s the big dude on the bed. But he’s taking a little nap. Fuck knows why he decided to take his dick out first, but I’m sure my brain will get to that in just a sec.

  Then I see her.

  My little Trinity.

  And then the gun pointed at her beautiful face. My finger squeezes the trigger without bothering to get me up to speed first.

  Trinity recoils when the woman’s head goes splat inches from her face.

  The woman—kinda dead looking now, especially with the hole in the back of her head—slides down and sprawls on the carpet.

  Trinity looks like she just got done auditioning for Carrie, and they made her do the scene with the bucket of pig’s blood.

  But then Rube’s in front of me, and all I see is his back as he charges the bed.

  He grabs the guy off of her and tosses him to the floor like a sack of rubbish. He goes to lift Trinity, but I manage to dart forward and catch his arm.

  I shove my pistol against his chest.

  If I could have spoken, I’d have told him to back off with his big fucking hulk hands so he doesn’t break her. But my chest’s all clogged up with panic.

  Trinity’s eyes flutter. Her blood is everywhere. But somehow, she’s still got some left. It wells out of the crater in her chest, and then disappears into the already blood-soaked fabric of her dress.

  I smooth her skirt down her legs as I study the wound.

  I’m the furthest thing from a paramedic, but Apollo and I were the fixer-uppers back in the basement. I know a hole like that can’t keep pissing out blood, or else Trinity’s going to run dry.

  The sudden high-pitched whine in my ears tries to compete with my pounding heart. And there’s more noise on top of that. But I have no time to listen to any of that. I have to keep Trinity’s blood inside.

  I slap the flat of my hand over the wound and press.

  Hard.

  Her pained groan goes through me like a fork through the heart. But I can’t let up. When it starts seeping through my fingers, I grit my teeth and I put my knee on her.

  Her whimper sounds exactly like the kind a kitten would make while I’m crushing it between my bare hands.

  “Fuck,” I whisper. “Rube, call an ambulance.”

  But he doesn’t answer.

  At first, I don’t know why. And then I hear it.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  I drag my head around.

  My eyes shut on their own.

  Christ.

  Jesus fucking Christ. That is not how you use a gun.

  “Rube.” I swallow down bile. “Rube!”

  Thud.

  … . . .

  Thud.

  I retch anyway. “Rube, Christ, call the fucking ambulance!”

  Rube’s knees creak as he stands. He lets out a blustery breath, sounding more animal than human. Something falls to the carpet, and I can only assume it’s the gun he was using to cave in the man’s skull.

  I’m not going to be able to sleep for a week.

  I keep my eyes closed until I’m facing Trinity again, and only then dare open them.

  I think the bleeding has stopped.

  Dear God, let the bleeding have stopped.

  But she’s passed out, and that’s not good.

  “Trin? Baby girl. Wake up.”

  “She’s been shot,” comes Rube’s voice.

  My skin goes cold. He’s not even out of breath. He sounds…

  Like he always does.

  Maybe even a touch calmer than usual.

  Shock, that’s all. He’s obviously in shock. Fuck, I’m in shock.

  But I’m keeping her blood in, and that’s all that matters.

  Rube doesn’t matter right now. What he was doing to the dead guy over there, that doesn’t matter either.

  My stomach convulses.

  Nope. Keeping my puke in.

  “I’m not sure of the address. Hold on.” I only hear Rube’s footsteps when he reaches the tiles out in the hall.

  “Apollo!”

  I jerk at his bellow.

  “What’s the address?”

  2142 Maude Street, Trinity whispers.

  My eyes fly open. But those white lips aren’t moving.

  Great. Just fucking great. Now I’m hallucinating?

  Her chest isn’t moving under my knee either.

  What’s worse? Suffocating, or bleeding out?

  But no. Our girl’s stronger than that. She can breathe with me on top of her, right?

  I brush my fingers against her cheek, smearing around the blood on her face. Shit…I can’t let the guys see her in this state. She looks like a medieval prostitute who applied her rouge by candlelight.

  I snag the hem of my shirt. Wet it with saliva. Wipe it over her skin. That works. But God, there’s a lot of blood on her face. I keep licking my shirt and wiping it off.

  Her cheek is semi-clean. I move onto her forehead.

  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 b
ack 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 Trinity’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 att
ention.

  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?