The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,134

the bar’s pretty fucking high.

“Hey, wait now, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, really, it’s fine,” I mutter. I stumble to my feet, pushing him out of the way when he jumps up and tries to stop me from leaving.

“You don’t understand,” he calls out. “I can’t!”

I come to a stop, head low and curtained by my disarrayed curls. “Can’t, or won’t?”

And then I wait for whatever vague, bullshit excuse he expects me to accept. Because that’s how it is with the Brotherhood. They’re so caught up in their own shit, they don’t realize that the people around them have a right to know what’s really going on in their heads.

Even if it’s tragic. Or horrific. Or downright psychotic.

You can’t trust a stranger. And they’d always be strangers to me until they actually started telling me the—

“It’s…kinda complicated.”

And there it is.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had enough complicated to last me a lifetime, thanks,” I call out behind me without turning around. I storm to the little prayer room’s door, fumbling for that special spot—

Apollo grabs my shoulder and turns me around. “But if you have a minute,” he says quietly, “I can try and explain.”

It takes longer than a minute, but fuck does he do a lot of explaining.

I sip at my hot chocolate as I peek at Apollo from under my lashes. He brought me to the bell tower after fixing me the drink so we could talk. He’s wearing a puffy bomber jacket, and I’m cuddling into a blanket.

One of the things he told me was that he wasn’t allowed to fuck me.

Girls, sex, money, clothes, parties, sports, movies, games—they were all distractions.

The Brotherhood had sworn an oath to each other. And nothing—nothing—was as important as that oath.

“So…none of you have ever really dated anyone?”

I’m more than a little tired. It’s exhausting just kissing Apollo—having him explain the intricacies of the relationship between four friends who met in a sex dungeon when they were kids…

I’m too scared to tip my head to the side in case all that information pours out of my ears.

At least he made me hot chocolate. And it’s fucking delicious. And at least, tonight, we can see the view. Which is fucking spectacular.

But the Brotherhood’s personal life?

I. Can’t. Even.

“I guess.” He tugs at his cigarette and exhales a plume of smoke into the black night. “Although, Cass once brought home this chick—”

“Home? Where?”

He flicks ash from his cigarette. “Virginia. Zach rented us a house. We only stayed six months or so.” He takes another drag. “But it was home while it lasted.”

“How old were you?”

He lifts the hand holding the cigarette and squints as he scratches his head. “Shit. I dunno. Sixteen? Seventeen? Zach might have been nineteen already. But anyway, Cass was still getting fucked up back then, and when he went out to go score, he picked up this random chick. Think she was fucked on heroine too, I can’t remember. Anyway, he brought her home, back to us.”

My body goes rigid. I’m not sure I want to hear what happened to the fucked up girl. And Cass did drugs? It’s like I’d need an encyclopedia to keep track of these guys.

“…and then she was all like, you don’t have to pay me, I’ll just take the dope—”

“But Cass tried to fuck me,” I cut in. “More than once.” I turn to look at Apollo. “Why do you let him get away with it?”

Apollo flinches, maybe because I sound so fucking bitter, but what? Am I supposed to be nice about the fact that Cass can assault me when his brothers aren’t even allowed to touch me?

“He can’t help himself,” Apollo says.

I laugh. “Are you for real?”

“He has impulse issues.”

I frown over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You take psych, don’t you?” Apollo shrugs. “We all got our issues. Cass can’t keep it in his pants. It’s like he blacks out or something.” He waves a hand, smoke trailing erratically behind his cigarette. “Zach can explain it better than me.”

“So that’s it? He has issues, so he can get away with whatever he wants?”

“Yeah, no,” Apollo murmurs. “On that count, you’re very fucking wrong.” He stands. “Anyway, you have school tomorrow. You should get back to bed.”

I stand and quickly drain the last of my hot chocolate.

“Just leave it there,” he says, waving in the general direction of the cup as he walks past me. “I’ll come fetch it tomorrow.”

My eyes skip past him. The door he took me through yesterday is