The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,68

can knock the teeth out of anyone who dares look at you funny. I’d never be scared again. Not wrapped in his strong arms.

My hand slides down my hip, and I hesitate, biting down on my bottom lip for a second. I peek behind me, but I can’t see the bathroom door through the glass and steam.

Skimming lower, my fingers brush against my clit. A thrill flutters through me as my eyes slide closed. It should have been Reuben’s black eyes that appear, but instead all I can see is Zachary. His solemn expression, that almost permanent crease between his brows.

I took it for severity, but now I know it’s some kind of anger. Anger hardened into a diamond over time. But diamonds aren’t pretty when they first come out of the ground. They’re rough and murky looking. To sparkle, they have to be polished.

I doubt Zachary will ever let anyone close enough for that to happen. He or any of his brothers.

Sinful bliss flashes through me. I haven’t done this in ages, and the guilty pleasure of it makes me bite down even harder on my lip. What do they do in that lair of theirs? Drinking and smoking like they own the place. Do any of them ever slip behind that curtain to do what I’m doing?

Alone.

Together?

Fuck.

A tiny moan escapes my lips. I’m so close I can almost—

There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Trinity?”

I gasp and flinch away from my throbbing clit. Reuben’s deep voice sends a tremble through me that congregates deep in my belly.

“I’m done!” I call out in a cracked voice. “Be out in a sec.”

He says nothing, but I can imagine him frowning at the door, perhaps considering coming in to make sure I’m okay.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I’ve never considered what type of guy I would like—honestly, I’ve never met enough for that to ever have been a consideration, but out of all Zach’s brothers, Reuben strikes me as the sanest. Sure, he’s a bit hot and heavy with his bible, but on him that kind of zealous fervor seems pure and right.

Maybe because that’s the only kind of crazy I understand.

I rinse, turn off the faucet, and dart out of the shower to grab a towel and wrap it around me.

After I’ve dried off and draped Reuben’s rosary around my neck, I slip into one of my own dresses. Mom would have thrown this one out a long time ago, but I’d kept it because it was the prettiest thing she’d ever bought me.

Father wasn’t always a priest. They married young, and tried for years to have a child. Father eventually turned to religion, expecting answers from God for why Mom kept having miscarriages. I guess they ultimately found their answer, because a year or two after my father joined the clergy, Mom became pregnant with me and carried to full term.

She bought this for my sixteenth birthday, but I never got to wear it. The moment my father saw it on me, he sent me back to my room to change.

They had a huge fight that night, and Father left without bothering to stay around for cake.

The cream-colored dress has lace at the bosom and on the hem, and because she always bought everything at least a size too big, I’d grown into it since I last wore it. I’d put it on when they were sleeping and twirl around in front of the mirror, pretending I was just like all the other girls I saw in church, or walking down the street. Girls whose parents let them wear makeup and jewelry and high heels.

I don’t have heels, but this dress doesn’t need them. It comes mid-thigh and clings to me like a second skin. I saunter out of the bathroom all casual like, pretending to focus on untangling my hair as if I wear stuff like this every day, even when my heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest.

Reuben is busy texting on his phone. He glances up at me as I walk across the room. My stomach somersaults at his double take.

“Ready?” he asks. I nod, keeping my eyes away from him in an attempt to cool down my cheeks.

It doesn’t help, of course, but I have no right to complain. I know this dress is trouble—that’s why I chose it.

While I’d been rifling around in my closet wondering what clothing best suited a date with the devil—or four of