The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,131

my way, so I have to twist awkwardly to get at the laptop.

Would it work with the lid closed? It’ll have to, because I can’t open it. That’s something Gabriel would definitely notice.

I peek up over the top of the table and almost immediately latch eyes with Zachary.

Oh. My. God.

My lips part as a quiet shock rifles through me like wind through a discarded newspaper.

Gabriel sinks to his knees in front of Zachary, who’s propped against the back of one of the armchairs on the other side of the room, his back to the fire.

There’s a clink of a buckle as Zachary yanks open his belt.

But his eyes aren’t on the priest in front of him.

They’re on me.

Hot and livid.

Look what you made me do, Trinity. Look what you fucking made me do.

Guilt wracks me. My hand trembles uncontrollably as I try and push the drive into the slot on the side of the laptop.

Gabriel wrenches down Zachary’s fly. I force my eyes to stay on the laptop, but those two bodies are stuck in my peripheral vision. Even blurred, I still know what’s happening. What they’re doing.

The drive twists, falling on the floor. I almost don’t catch the hiccup of frustration that claws up my throat. I drop down, panicked tears filling my eyes.

Zachary groans.

Even that sounds angry.

Look what you made me do.

I snatch up the drive and straighten, not bothering to duck my head anymore. Gabriel has his back to me, and he’s so focused on servicing Zachary’s dick that I doubt he’d notice if the rapture happened.

Despite my trembling fingers, I force the drive into its slot.

Zachary’s next groan drags my gaze back to him.

This time, I can’t look away.

His head moves back, mouth parting. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Then he grabs Gabriel’s head, his fingers sinking deep into the man’s dark hair.

He grunts as he forces Gabriel to move faster over his cock.

All the time glaring at me from across the room, lips parted, his whole body moving with each furious breath.

His jade eyes glitter with hatred. But none of it’s focused on the man giving him head.

Every ounce of that rage, that revulsion…that disgust…

Look what you made me do, little girl.

His eyes flutter as he lets out a deep moan. As if that sound triggers the memory, his promise fills my head.

Christ, we’re going to enjoy making you bleed.

I don’t dare stay any longer in Gabriel’s room, so I creep out while they’re busy. I can only hope Zachary manages to take out the thumb drive without Gabriel noticing.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but somehow—despite everything—I manage to fall asleep a few minutes after I get back to my room.

And not only do I sleep…I dream.

In my dream, Zachary’s stalking me down the halls of Saint Amos.

I know it’s him because when I turn my head fast enough, I catch a glimpse before he ducks away behind a column or an open door.

When I try to run away from him, I quickly realize my top speed maxes out at a fast walk.

Which means it’s only a matter of time before he catches up with me.

When I face forward again, Gabriel is waiting at the end of the hall for me. I come to a stop but the hallway keeps moving as if I’m standing on a conveyor belt.

Whether I like it or not, I’m headed straight for him. He opens his arms—a handsome, charismatic, modern-day Jesus with his short hair and dark eyes. His clothes flicker—priests robes, jeans, slacks—and then he’s just wearing a loincloth.

His body gleams. Sweat? Oil?

A crown of thorns appears on his head.

They pierce deep. Draw blood.

A hot breath warms the back of my neck. I turn around. Now the hallway streams backward and it’s Zachary I see. But I’m racing away from him, and he’s reaching for me.

I’m a sinner.

I hear his voice even though his mouth doesn’t move. In the blink of an eye, his face contorts into that of a maniac’s—mouth twisted in a sadistic laugh, eyes wild—before smoothing into the mask of a saint.

Just like you, little girl.

Terrified, I spin around and start running away. The hallway zooms past in a blur.

Gabriel streams toward me. Dark, wet blood masks his entire face, the whites of his eyes too pure in contrast.

He tends to his flock like a shepherd. He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart—

I try to scream, but the sound stays lodged in my chest, burning.

Burning.

Gabriel’s skin