The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,90

in the lion’s den and instead of looking for a way out, I’m poking the fucking lion.

I know Father Gabriel isn’t capable of hurting anyone. But that doesn’t matter to the Brotherhood, does it? I’ve been drawn into their war, despite my protests.

I don’t have a choice but to fight but I’m going to make sure I’m on the right side of the battle line first.

“You couldn’t handle hearing what happened to us in one day, never mind the years we spent down there,” Zachary says.

“We? It’s always we.” I poke him right between the dripping fangs of his snake tattoo. “I want to know about you. I want to know what kind of person you are. How else can I trust you?”

He laughs. “You want to know what kind of person I am, Trinity?”

The only warning I have is the darkness shadowing his eyes as he scans my body.

Zachary grabs me, spins me, shoves me.

Hard.

I tumble over the arm of the couch, barely stopping myself from bouncing onto the floor. Expecting him to pounce on me—perhaps even try what Cass tried—I scramble into a sit. But he just stands there watching me, his chest heaving like he went three rounds with the world champion.

“I used to think I was a good person, back when I was a kid.” His hands curl into fists and then open again as he steps closer. “Thought I’d become something great. Astronaut, doctor. The usual shit kids fantasize about.”

In my fantasies, I was a ballerina. But my parents made it clear that the only career they approved of was me becoming someone’s wife and, eventually, someone’s mother.

It didn’t faze me that much. I was probably too short to be a ballerina anyway.

Zachary moves to the front of the couch. And I stay right where I am, because for the first time since I’ve been pressing him for information about his past, I’m actually getting what I want.

So instead of bolting, I pull my legs into my chest, hugging myself as he stands in front of me.

Does he like towering over people? My neck’s already aching from craning up to look at him.

“So what happened? What changed?”

There’d been a faint smile on his mouth. It fades as his hands slowly unfurl again.

“You really want to know?”

I nod.

He inhales deep and lets out everything as a long sigh through his nose. “There’s something I want, too.”

His smile returns.

I wish it hadn’t.

It makes my stomach coil.

“But you’re not going to like it.”

Chapter Sixteen

Zach

No one’s ever shown such interest in my past. My brothers already know everything, and we’re not exactly the type to sit around a campfire trading anecdotes. Not any that touch on the basement, anyway.

So what is her ulterior motive? Why is she still here?

“Deal?” It says a lot that I’d give her a chance to back out.

She nods.

It’s possible Trinity doesn’t fully comprehend what she’s agreed to. Not because she’s dumb—far from it—but because she’s literally that naive.

“Get up.”

She stands, her eyes not staying on mine longer than a second before flickering away.

She should be nervous.

I move behind the couch and pat the headrest. She visibly steels herself, lifting her chin and pushing out her chest before following.

When she’s close enough, I grab her hips and shove her into the back of the couch. My cock stiffens at her surprised gasp. It’s still a long way from being hard, but just the thought of what I’m about to do to her sweet, innocent little ass has my body readying itself.

“Hold on.”

She hesitates and then spreads her arms, digging her fingers into the headrest’s cushion.

“Like thi—?”

I grab her dressing gown and yank it off her shoulders, letting it pool by her feet. When I grab the waistband of her yoga pants she tries to move away, but a shove to the small of her back keeps her in place.

“Do they have to come off?” she asks in a tight voice.

“Obviously.” I yank down her pants, baring her panties. My fingers itch to delve inside her underwear, to touch her…but that’s not what we agreed.

I could have left her pants around her knees, but instead I draw them down all the way to her feet. I slip off her boots and slide her pants off, tossing them over the back of the couch.

When I touch the elastic of her panties, she stiffens. “Please,” she murmurs. “Leave them on.”

I should have ripped them off, but I fight back the urge. That thin film of fabric is inconsequential.