“That’s just it…” I swing my leg up, resting my ankle over my knee. “We’ve been treating her like a girl. Like a delicate piece of glass we don’t dare break.”
Cassius chuckles. “I can break her for—”
“Cass!”
His eyes flick up to mine. “What? She suddenly so fucking special or something?”
“That’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” I ask, tilting my head. We’ve been down this path of reason before—Cassius always ends up in the fucking bushes.
“She’s a slut anyway,” Cassius says.
I don’t even bother looking at him.
We’ve all got twisted world views. But we also have an excuse. We never got to see the world as other kids did. Our crayon drawings didn’t have rainbows and stick-figure family portraits. Ours—if we’d ever had any—would have been black and red landscapes crosshatched with repressed pain.
Cassius thinks everyone’s a closet slut, and would fuck anything that moves if I didn’t reign him in.
Apollo is a full out voyeur. He’d rather film someone masturbating than actually have sex with them.
Reuben will probably die a virgin. Kind of.
Me? It’s best if I became a priest and swore celibacy for the rest of my life. Because unlike my brothers, there’s only one thing that actually brings me joy.
They’d crucify me in a heartbeat if they ever found out what it was.
“She’ll break,” I say, shifting in my seat.
Reuben’s staring at me so hard it’s like he’s digging through my brain with his fingers. If anyone’s got me figured out even a little, it’s him. But I’m hoping—dear God, I’m hoping—he knows better than to say anything.
Apollo sighs. “I guess if we keep pulling her hair long enough, she might—”
“I’ll send her to the Hag,” I cut in. My eyes cut to Cassius. “That okay with you?”
Cassius shows me his teeth. “Pics or it didn’t happen.”
“Why would I be there?” I ask calmly.
“You could be, if you wanted.” Reuben cuts me off. “She’s a girl. Wouldn’t be appropriate for you to punish her yourself.”
Cassius is already nodding furiously before Reuben’s done talking. “But he can watch, to make sure she receives her penance, right?”
Reuben nods.
I swallow. Hard.
This was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid.
From the first day I’d had Trinity in my class, I could tell she wasn’t brittle like the countless other children who’d crossed my path the last few years.
I knew this would come to outright violence. The kind of pain and hardship people rocked in the Old Testament.
And, secretly, I’d hoped the girl would meet my expectations. Because, besides this bunch of misfits, I’ve never met someone I could truly regard as my equal.
She’s looking to be a strong contender.
It will be a pity to break her.
“Bro, I want details,” Cass says through a devilish chuckle. “I mean, blow by fucking blow.” He sits forward, eyes shining. “Hear me?”
Cassius isn’t a sadist.
He is, however, sitting on the fence between sociopath and psychopath.
I nod, and drop my eyes as I get to my feet. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
Cass lets out a laugh, clasping hands with Apollo.
Reuben watches me, silent and forever judgmental.
I guess I’m being naive thinking he doesn’t have some inkling about my own dark heart. He was by my side for months before the others showed up. We’re all brothers, but he’s my twin. We mirror each other’s darkness in different ways, but we emerged—reborn—together.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Trinity
Sister Miriam leads me to the first floor of the main building. We pass several administration offices until we reach one right at the end of the hall.
There’s a window. A desk. An office chair. A wooden cabinet and an old-school telephone with its receiver resting on the cradle.
It stinks of cigarettes in here, which is surprising because I didn’t take Sister Miriam for a smoker. Perhaps she received a visitor that did? Was that what she was busy with while Reuben was praying for me?
She says nothing as she walks up to the wooden cabinet.
I stand in the middle of the room, not moving a hair, hoping to delay the inevitable.
As if.
She finally turns to me, a strip of leather in her hand. Broad, maybe two inches. So stiff it barely moves as she steps closer.
“Close the door.”
“Sister—”
“Close the door!”
My eyes squeeze shut at her yell. I spin around and go to close the door.
When I turn, I notice a second chair. Now the cigarette smoke makes sense.
Brother Zachary Rutherford is here, smoking a cigarette. There’s a low table beside him, an overflowing ashtray, and a pack of filter-less cigarettes.