The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,54

giving up on running out of here because he threatened to smack my bottom. Draw me over his knee? He’ll have to fucking catch me first, won’t he? Do they honestly think I didn’t notice how difficult it was for them to get inside this place?

Especially Reuben.

I’ll be out the door before they make it to the stairs.

Except for Apollo, who’s obviously guarding the door upstairs.

But everyone’s on edge right now. It shows in their eyes. I need them to let down their guard. I do my best not to let Zachary in on the fact I’m watching Reuben pouring alcohol into some mismatched tumblers and glasses.

Let them drink and be fucking merry.

Soon as they’re not paying attention, I’m out of here.

Zachary inhales a huge breath. His eyes haven’t left me once since I tried to run out. And that was my first mistake. I should have waited for the right time. But I’d seen this place, and I’d panicked.

Do they sleep in that mess behind the curtain?

Like…together?

It looks more like the kind of playpen you’d have rowdy sex in than somewhere to sleep. And while there aren’t any rats out here, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were fucking snakes in there.

Zachary tugs at the plastic ties around my wrists, and my eyes dart to him.

Was I staring? I’ve got to keep myself in check. I can’t give them even a hint about what I’m thinking.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, hoping to distract him. Hoping to get some actual answers. They owe me that much after what had nearly happened up there. After what they’d nearly done.

Zachary holds out a hand. Cassius—who’d been busy rolling a weed cigarette on a nearby coffee table—looks up like they’d legit had some kind of telepathic conversation. He moves to the bookshelf separating their man cave from the library and opens a tin.

I almost don’t hold my ground when the lamp’s orange glow bounces off the switchblade he hands Zachary.

This is it.

This is why they brought me here.

They’re a bunch of serial killers, aren’t they? They hide out here and carve their way through whatever student they decide no one will miss.

Holy mother of God.

Is that what happened to all those students who Father Gabriel had told me disappeared in the woods?

I’m shivering. My skin is hot and cold at the same time. Zachary is staring at me, but I can’t take my eyes off the switchblade. He drops his hand and flicks it open like a fucking professional.

My stomach drops straight into hell.

His hand darts out. I can already feel the blade sinking into my stomach. My eyes squeeze shut on instinct, and then flutter open a second later when there’s no immediate pain.

He flicks the blade through my ties, releasing me.

My fingers tremble as I massage life back into my wrist.

Thank the Lord.

This will make it so much easier to escape.

He clicks his fingers as he points at the sofa furthest from the exit. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog.”

He tilts his head. The orange light plays havoc with his eyes, turning them into surreal, gleaming orbs.

“Then don’t make us tie you up like one,” Cass says through a sneer.

I turn to frown at him.

In a flash, his fingers are around my throat. “Although you’d look real pretty in a collar.”

Zachary lays a hand on Cass’s arm, and he instantly releases me. Afraid he’ll touch me again, I hurry over and take a seat where Zachary pointed.

“You didn’t answer me,” I say, making sure to use a neutral tone of voice.

Zachary drags a wooden chair to the space in front of my sofa. He seats himself at leisure, as if he’s got all the time in the world.

“What makes you think you’re in a position to ask questions?”

Reuben walks up to Zachary and holds out a short, thick tumbler. Amber liquid swirls around in it as it exchanges hands. Zachary throws it down his gullet and hands the glass back to Reuben.

I can’t believe this is my psych teacher. Granted, I’d only had a handful of lessons with him, but I’d never thought he’d so much as touch a glass of alcohol, never mind sling it back like that.

Dad would have a nightcap before going to bed. I can still see him now, seated at his small desk in the corner of the dining room, a shot of brandy in one hand, the other slowly turning the page of his favorite bible. He would only ever have one glass.

Except when