The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,237

and Zach, and we’re merely going in to scope the place and see if this is where Trinity is being held.

“You sure you want to go in there unarmed?” Cass asks, twisting in his seat and grabbing the headrest. “I mean, you could just wave it around. It doesn’t even have to be loaded.”

I shake my head.

The last time I touched a gun, I almost killed two innocent girls, and traumatized an entire family.

If I’d had a sliver of doubt left that I wasn’t a normal kid, that day changed everything.

It was a Saturday. Pissing with rain. My foster parents had a lunch date with friends, and their four daughters had decided to stay at home and watch sitcom reruns instead of going with.

I don’t know who bought the bottle of booze, but it was almost empty by the time I walked past and saw them passing it around. I wasn’t going to rat them out—I was just going to take it away. Our parents had made it pretty fucking clear how they felt about underage drinking. I mean, the youngest was thirteen. No one that young should be drinking anyway.

But when I tried to take it away, they ganged up on me. Thought it was a game. They were drunk, and I guess they’d been eyeing me for the past few weeks, because they tried to get me to kiss them.

They even started taking their shirts off.

A normal kid my age would have gone with it. But they were my sisters, and it was wrong, and the harder I resisted, the more intent they became.

My brothers think I’m a pussy because I never hit on any of them. I can’t even imagine what they’d say if I told them the truth about what happened that day.

Because it wasn’t just kissing.

They tried to get my pants off. And that shit triggered me worse than anything I’d experienced since we’d escaped the basement.

I snapped.

Lisa was the youngest.

She was so beautiful. Long blond hair, bright blue eyes.

I was just trying to keep her back, all of them. I shoved her too hard, and she took a tumble.

Ha. Took a tumble.

She slammed into a glass coffee table, face first. She almost lost an eye. I didn’t see her again after that, but I have no doubt the accident disfigured her.

So much blood.

And then the screaming began.

I had to keep them quiet.

I know what happens when kids scream. Adults don’t like it.

Kids are meant to be seen, not heard.

I grabbed two of them, put my hands over their mouths. The third was unconscious on the floor. I don’t even know how that had happened. If I’d done something.

Still don’t.

And that’s how they found us. My foster parents.

Me with an undone fly, their daughters half-unclothed, and I’m holding two of them tight so they can’t scream anymore.

Blood.

Limp bodies.

The mother passed out.

Henry—my foster dad—was holding a gun. At first, I thought they’d just arrived. I couldn’t understand why he’d carry a gun around with him.

But later, when the red haze receded and memories came flooding back, I realized they’d been there long enough to see what was happening and then Henry went to get his gun.

Because I was lost.

Out of my own body.

I didn’t hear them begging with me to let their daughters go.

I just saw the gun. And then I tackled Henry to the ground. I pressed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, but thank fuck the safety was on so nothing happened.

And I kept pulling that trigger until the police came and arrested me.

Zachary got everything sorted out, of course. Since no one actually died, and he’d offered to pay for Lisa’s plastic surgery—and then some—the charges were eventually dropped.

“I’m sure,” I tell Cass.

“Looks empty anyway,” Apollo says. “Maybe we’re too late.”

We sit in silence for a moment, and then all flinch at the faint pop of gunfire.

“Shooting range,” Zach says.

Me, Cass, and Apollo nod.

And as if that’s the signal, we file out of the car and head for the house.

“Is that…” Cass points.

I nod my head. “A grave.”

“Is there a…”

“We’ll have to check later,” I tell him. “Keep moving.”

We’re at the back of the property, headed for the patio doors. It’s the first set of doors we found, and one of the sliding glass panels is standing open.

It’s too quiet.

Surely there would be something. Voices, a radio playing, a television set. Unless, like Apollo said, we’re too late.

Or this is a dead end.

Who’s to say they even own this property