The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,188

but then she stayed at home after that. The missionary life isn’t for everyone.”

Oh no, it most definitely isn’t.

“And Miss Langley sat for them?”

“She did. If I can get another two or three witnesses, then I can have those records ready by next week.” Vicky looks proud of herself, and I almost feel sorry that her hard work will be for naught.

“Well, I do hope you find her.”

“Won’t be that hard,” Vicky says with a laugh. “She’s Trinity’s next-door neighbor.”

I have to stop myself from jogging back to the car. Cass and Apollo are already inside, Cass at the wheel.

What the hell were they expecting? That I’d come running out with a file under my arm like they’re the getaway car?

I slam the truck’s door, turn to Apollo. “Find Maude Street.” Then to Cass. “I have the address to her old house.”

Cass puts the car in gear, staring at Apollo in the rear-view mirror.

I don’t know why we’re all so strung out, but I can feel the seconds streaming by as Apollo searches.

“Turn around,” Apollo says. “Then take the first left.”

Cass stomps on the gas and throws the car into a wide arc that leaves tire marks on the road. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I’d told him not to rush. But maybe it’s a good thing. If Vicky calls the police and sends them to Maude street, they might get there before we do.

I don’t know what we’ll find there, but something’s telling me we have to hurry.

“Faster,” I tell Cass.

He doesn’t say anything, but he skips the next light regardless of the fact that it’s been red since it came in sight.

I guess it’s a good thing this is a quiet part of town and there weren’t any cars on the road. The only one in sight, in fact, is a white Hyundai.

But I don’t think it would have mattered.

We’re on a mission from God.

Chapter Sixteen

Trinity

The urge to start feeling sorry for myself is back, and twice as strong as before. Honest to God, I don’t know how the Brotherhood did it. I’ve been tied to a rusty bed in my family’s basement for what feels like days, and I’m about ready to lose my mind.

The rats don’t help. I can’t see them, only hear them, and that makes it worse somehow.

Gabriel turned the lights off before he left. Something about the dark helping me find the light I was so desperately seeking.

I should have known he had me figured out. I mean, he’d told me so himself. I’d never considered myself an optimist, so I guess I’m just naive then. A hopeless romantic—

Gah!

I cut off the thought with a grimace. That’s what he’d said when he’d been talking about my parents. And God he’d even sounded a little lovesick.

Which makes me feel sick.

I test the ropes again, rattling the metal bed frame, but they’re as tight and unyielding as the previous thousand times.

All this time I was living right above this room, and I had no idea.

Rattle. Squeak.

He’s coming back. And soon. He doesn’t have to—I’m sure he thinks I’m pretty secure—but it was the way he said those words.

You should pray, Trinity. Pray to God for forgiveness.

Forgiveness? How fucking dare he? I don’t believe for a second he wasn’t a key player in this whole thing. Of course he’d try and shift the blame—he’ll die a horrible death in prison. And it’s not like my parents can testify against him.

Rattle, rattle, SQUEAK.

I stop moving. That last squeak sounded different. Like something was giving.

Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle—

The part of the bed frame designed to hold the mattress collapses under me. Pain dashes through my wrists and ankles as I’m suddenly suspended limb from limb in the air. I gasp, let out a breath, inhale deep. When I squirm, my butt barely brushes the mattress under me.

Fuck.

My wrists ache and burn where the ropes are cutting into me. My left hand especially—there’s a dull, thumping ache coming from the base of my thumb, as if the sudden tensing on the ropes did some serious damage.

As soon as I can breathe through the pain, I start shifting again, tugging at the ropes.

I’m loathe to try with my left because it already hurts so much. I go around again. Right hand, right foot, left foot. Nothing. The bed’s posts are still rooted to the spot. Nothing seems to have changed except the fact that I might have a dislocated thumb.

My left hand aches even more, as if thinking