The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,3

my eighteen birthday, would things have been different? Would we have spent less time in church and more time in the park, or going to the beach, or playing ball in the backyard?

Nope.

I open the first drawer and put the bible inside, shoving it as far back as I can.

I have no intention of reading it. I only brought it along because Mother treasured it so. I didn’t even know about the photo until I accidentally dropped the book on its spine while I was collecting my things from home a week ago.

Twenty-seven days.

Not even a month since they’ve been gone, and it already feels like a lifetime ago. I only remember bits and pieces since then, and most of those I try to forget.

Fuck you.

I kick the drawer closed with my ballerina pump.

“First day and you’re already destroying school property?”

I’m on my feet in a second and whirl around to face the door. There’s a guy in the doorway, leaning with his shoulder against the jamb.

He’s tall and lean-muscled with a sharp nose, angular jaw, and hooded blue eyes. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he turned out to be a fashion model despite his military-style haircut that leaves little more than a layer of fuzz on his perfectly shaped head. We didn’t have magazines around the house, but I saw them once or twice in the library. He’s wearing Saint Amos’s school uniform, but his collar is loose, and his tie crooked.

A smug smile carves a dimple into his cheek. “You miss the turn off for Sisters of Mercy or something?” He runs his gaze down my body before snapping them back to my eyes. “Or did you somehow miss the fact that this in all-boys school when you enrolled?”

What the hell is he talking about? I shake my head, and stagger back when he slips inside the room.

“Can you talk?” He glances about the room as if the answer doesn’t concern him. “Or are you an orphan and a mute?”

I’m starting to wonder the same thing, because I seem incapable of forming words. It doesn’t help that he keeps moving closer, and the only way to keep my distance in this tiny room would be to climb over the bed.

“’Cos I’m pretty sure they’d tell the hallway monitor to expect a mute orphan.” His eyes flicker to me. “Especially one as adorably fuckable as you.”

Hallway monitor? My cheeks flare with heat. “Excuse me?” I bark out before I can stop myself.

“Aw,” the guy says, pouting lush lips. “You just became slightly less tragic.”

“Who the hell are you?”

Air whistles through his teeth. He rushes forward. The closet door bangs as he pushes me up against it so hard, the air knocks out of my lungs.

“Blasphemous little slut,” he hisses. I open my mouth to scream.

His fingers wrap around my throat, and suddenly yelling for help isn’t an option anymore. He leans close enough for his breath to caress my lips. “I don’t like surprises.” His voice is dangerously low.

“Please,” I manage, grabbing his wrists and digging my fingernails into his skin.

He doesn’t even seem to notice. “Maybe you’re not even a girl,” he whispers, his mouth so close to my ear that his lips brush my skin. “Is that why they sent you here?” His free hand skims across my stomach and latches onto the top of my jeans. With a twist of his wrist, the button pops open.

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” he murmurs. His fingertips slide behind the elastic band of my underwear.

My body goes stiff. Nothing exists but his creeping fingers.

A gong sounds out.

It’s not exceptionally loud, but it’s so unexpected I jerk in surprise. His fingertips slip out from behind my underwear.

He steps back. Cool air rushes down my throat. I cough, sagging against the closet as he studies me.

“Saved by the bell,” he says through a laugh. His face transforms into a hard, unfriendly mask. “See you around, slut.”

Then he’s gone.

I count ten thundering heartbeats before I dare go over to the door and check if he truly has left. The hallway outside is empty. Slamming closed the door, I back up into the room until the bed knocks into the back of my knees. I sit on automatic, staring at the door through wide eyes.

How the hell am I supposed to process what just happened?

Who was that guy?

Why on earth did he—

I flinch at a knock on the door. Swallow.

He’s back.

But of course it’s not him. He’s