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  She swoons when she sits back, and our eyes lock through a haze of dank smoke.

  “Gabriel’s been here for years,” I tell her.

  She nods, and then shrugs. “I didn’t have anywhere—anyone else.”

  “What about foster care?”

  “I almost had to.” She nods a few times. “Because I couldn’t get hold of him. But then he finally got back to me.” She lifts limp hands and drops them again. “Brought me here.”

  “How long was he your priest for?” Cass asks.

  She leans to the side, studying him for a moment, and then hurriedly straightens when this brings her into contact with Rube’s shoulder. He’s watching her as intently as I am. He looks like a fucking psychopath—hands on his thighs, back straight.

  He tucks a stray corner of the blanket under her leg.

  “Ten, twelve years?” She cringes away from Rube as if she wants to burrow into the stuffing. “I’m not sure. Maybe longer.”

  “When did you first join his church?”

  “Gabriel’s—?” She breaks off and frowns, shaking her head. “Maybe eight years ago?”

  I glare at her. “You said you knew him for ten years.”

  “Or twelve,” Cassius supplies unhelpfully.

  She shrugs. “He was friends with my dad for a while before we moved to Redmond. That’s when we joined his church.” She slumps a little. “What is this all about? Why do you—?”

  “Pour her another drink.”

  I wasn’t even looking at him, but it’s Rube who stands to fulfill my order. Trinity waves a limp hand.

  “I really don’t want—”

  My eyes slide to Cass. “Tell Apollo to search her room. Make sure she’s not hiding anything.”

  Cassius is on his feet in a second, loping to the exit like a panther that’s finally spotted something to pounce on.

  “Hey!” Trinity sits forward, her tits bouncing behind that pathetic film of a vest. “You can’t do that!”

  “We can do whatever the fuck we want,” I growl.

  She stands in a rush and charges after Cassius, and I’m less than a beat behind her. I grab her shoulder, hauling her back. Her vest rips as she twists to knock away my hand. Then she’s fumbling with herself, trying to cover her bare naked breasts.

  “Ooh, can it wait?” Cassius croons from the exit, his voice moving closer. “Her roommate might spot him—?

  “That fucking queer?” I snap. “Jasper won’t say a word. Trust me.” My eyes never leave Trinity’s, not even to look at her tits.

  “Fuck,” Cassius mutters, and then there’s just the swish of the drape.

  Trinity tries to draw the torn halves of her vest back over her chest, and flinches when I tell her to stop.

  “How close are you with Gabriel?” I ask, stepping up to her. She moves back until her shoulders collide with a bookshelf.

  “We’re…friends.”

  “He ever fuck you?”

  Her eyes go wide, and color instantly suffuses her cheeks. “What? No! He’s…he’s my fucking priest.”

  “Was,” comes Reuben’s voice. He thrusts out her glass, now half-filled with whiskey. “Now he’s nothing.”

  “He’s still my friend,” she says, ignoring the booze. “He’s never done anything to—“

  “So he’s never touched you?” I close the distance, snatching the glass from Rube’s hand on the way.

  “No!” Her eyes sparkle with anger.

  I grab her chin, force it down, and tip the glass against her lips. “Drink.”

  She turns her head, spilling whiskey down her throat and bared breasts.

  “I’ll lick that off later.”

  At this, her body goes rigid. That same light sparkles, but this time it’s not anger. It’s not even fear.

  Weed’s really good at several things. It makes you chatty. Happy. Hungry. Horny.

  This little thing in front of me must be so fucking confused right now with her body throwing so many conflicting signals her way. I want to believe her.

  “I saw you with him,” Rube says as I steer the glass back to her mouth and wrench open her jaw. “You’re more than friends.”

  She doesn’t get a chance to reply, because I’m pouring whiskey into her mouth. This time, she catches it. Swallows it. When she coughs, some it sprays on my face.

  I tear off what’s left of her vest and use it to wipe my face.

  She starts crying.

  Those big fat crocodile tears insult me.

  I jerk her forward and bring the flat of my hand down on her ass with a solid thump. Her tears cut off in an instant. She sniffs, still trying to cover her tits, but no longer being pathetic about all this.

  “We never—I’m not—” She chokes on whatever she’d been going to say and hangs her head.

  “But you want to,” I say.

  Her eyes dart up, still brimming, but she blinks away the tears before they can fall. “No.”

  “Of course you would.” I slide a hand to the small of her back and draw her with me as I move to the couch. She comes with me, unresisting but unsteady. “Handsome fuck like that.” My stomach churns, but I swallow down the bile that comes up and keep going. “You must have imagined what it would feel like?”

  “No,” she lies, her voice barely a whisper.

  I sink onto the couch and draw her down with me. She takes her original seat, and glances warily at Reuben when he comes to sit beside her. He holds out her glass, and she lets out a forlorn little sigh.

  Finally, the fight is over.

  That last shred of resistance drains from her body. Her eyes dull to sullen gold as she drops the arms she’d been using to cover her chest. We don’t look. Right now we couldn’t be bothered with her tits. It’s her mind we’ve been trying to lay bare.

  She was right. We didn’t bring her down here to fuck her. We came down here to interrogate her.

  Torture never works.

  Victims will say anything to get the pain to stop.

  Weed and alcohol, though?

  The combination leaves them helplessly compliant.

  She lets Rube feed her the last inch of whiskey. When she shudders as the booze hits her throat, her convulsion reaches me through the seat cushion. Before I can stop myself, my hand’s around her throat. I push her back against the couch, and she lets me. There’s not even a sliver of fear in her eyes—just hopeless abandon.

  Do your worst, Zachary.

  Snuff out my life like the others. Why not? What else could I possibly tell you that you don’t already know?

  But then it hits me.

  It’s not what I need from her.

  It’s what she needs from us.

  If she honestly thinks this friend of hers is the pure, innocent priest from her past, then we need to set her straight. It’s a pity, having to break something so pretty…but at least the four of us will be there to pick up the pieces.

  “How do you want him to fuck you?” My voice comes from far away as I start to disassociate from the moment, from what I’m about to do.

  Her pulse quickens under my thumb.

  “Like in the drawing,” she says. Her lips curl up into a faint smile. “The one Cass—Cass’s—ius drew.”

  “You can call him Cass,” I murmur, leaning close, applying a little more pressure on her throat. She squirms a little, her eyelids flickering. But she’s been numbed to everything—panic included.

  It’s better this way.

  I know from experience.

  Rube’s hand enters my view. He fixes the rosary around Trinity’s neck, positioning the crucifix just-so between her heaving breasts. Then he trails his fingertips down the center of her body.

  Her stomach convulses at his touch, fluttering like a butterfly’s wing.

  She giggles.

  I flinch at that innocent, happy sound as it wrenches me back into the here and now.

  My hand tightens. I shove her back hard enough to dislodge Rube’s hand and to recapture her atten
tion.

  “Did he ever touch you?” I ask again.

  “No,” she gasps. “Never.”

  “Good.” I sit back, releasing her throat and flexing my fingers.

  Rube lays a hand on her stomach, and it nearly covers her belly. “You should be thankful,” he says.

  Trinity rests her head back, slowly bringing a hand to her throat. She strokes the faint marks I left behind as her eyes move to Reuben. “Why?”

  Her voice is thick now, her tongue sluggish as it forms the word. I guess she wasn’t lying when she said she doesn’t drink. She’s minutes—perhaps even seconds—from passing out.

  “He would have defiled you,” Rube tells her mournfully. “Just like the others.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Trinity

  “…take it to…drinks it all.”

  I open my eyes to orange-tinted darkness. It feels like someone’s standing on my head. They may, possibly, be the same culprit who rubbed grit in my eyes. I push onto my hands and glance around.

  I’m in their bedroom. This should alarm me. Terrify me, in fact, but I can barely think straight through the sullen thud-thud-thud of my head.

  Orange light slices a line across the myriad blankets and pillows scattered about. I blink at the silhouette a few times before I recognize it.

  Apollo comes over to me, stepping in and around the mattresses like he’s walking a minefield. He crouches beside me and holds out a steaming cup. “Coffee,” he explains. “Cream, two sugars. That right, pretty thing?”

  I can’t even.

  I nod at him and accept the cup. Thankfully, my ass barely hurts anymore, so I can sit up in a cross-legged seat as soon as he disappears out of the room.

  After a quick check to make sure there are in fact no snakes around, I drag a blanket over my shoulders. It’s absolutely freezing in this place, and no surprise—it’s not as if the library has heat.

  The guys talk in hushed voices for a few seconds, and then there’s utter quiet.

  I spill coffee into my lap when Zachary calls out my name.

  “Trinity? Join us.”

  I consider ignoring him.

  Then I remember his warning. I don’t need another hiding, thank you very fucking much. Juggling the coffee cup, I somehow manage to drag a blanket over my shoulders without spilling a drop. Then I make my way to the other side of the man cave.

  They’re all seated, Reuben and Cassius on the same couch I was on, Zachary still in his chair—although it’s been pushed back closer to the bookshelf now—and Apollo on a badly worn armchair on the other side.

  They all look up when I enter, making me freeze.

  “Are you hungry?” Reuben asks.

  Am I—?

  I glare at him.

  Do these freaks think they hit some kind of reset button when I went to sleep? What the hell is wrong with them? They’ve assaulted me, kidnapped me, and interrogated me, all in a matter of hours.

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  I still don’t even know why. It has something to do with Gabriel, but Lord knows what.

  Something inside me snaps. I storm forward, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my cup. “No, you sick fuck, I’m not hungry!”

  I expect one of them to say something, maybe to try and calm me, but they keep staring like they paid good money for this show.

  Setting down my coffee on the closest bookshelf, I keep the blanket closed with one hand and use the other to point at Zachary.

  “You think you can just go around doing whatever the fuck you want? Well you’re wrong! You can’t.”

  Zachary settles back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. Is that a smile ghosting his lips?

  “Someone’s going to notice I’m gone. You realize that, right?” I scan the other faces one at a time. Apollo with his mop of unruly hair. Reuben with his ten-yard stare. Cassius who—

  He’s fucking leering at me. “Who’s gonna notice you’re gone, my little slut?”

  “Stop calling me that!” I charge forward, emboldened by their apparent lack of giving a shit. I make to punch him on the shoulder, but nothing close to that happens.

  Instead, he’s on his feet pulling some kind of ninja move that has me draped over the back of the couch and him bending over me.

  No one stops him.

  Cass’s hand slides under the blanket, grabbing at my breast. Reuben’s rosary falls out and dangles from my neck.

  “How did you sleep?” Reuben asks, as serene as fuck. Contorted like this, I can barely breathe. The fact that Cass keeps groping me isn’t helping.

  “Okay!” I shriek. “Please.”

  “Let her go,” Zachary, by contrast, sounds exhausted.

  “God damn it, Zac!” Cass pushes away from me, but not before he squeezes my ass with both hands. “Stop giving me fucking blue balls.”

  “You’re doing it to yourself,” Zachary replies. “Now sit. Both of you.”

  “Yeah, right over here,” Cass says, showing me his teeth as he drags me around the couch.

  I end up on his lap, despite my protests. He seems to remember Zachary could get me to stop fighting with a slap on my butt, so it takes three of them before I sink onto his lap and don’t bolt straight up again.

  It’s not exactly the most comfortable seat. Does he always have a hard-on?

  “Where are your things?” Zachary asks.

  I glower at him for a second, and then remember how futile it is to resist, protest, or fight back. “What things?”

  “Trinkets and keepsakes and shit like that,” Apollo fills in. I glance up at him, but his eyes are on the camera in his lap. He seems intent on either fixing it, or taking it apart piece by piece.

  “I don’t have things like that.”

  “You didn’t bring any with you?” Zachary asks.

  “No. I don’t have things like that.” I cross my arms, mimicking him, and shrug. “What, is everyone supposed to have a whole bunch of junk for no reason?”

  “Things of sentimental value?” Zachary says. “Most, yes.”

  “All I found was this,” Apollo says, leaning over and picking up something off the floor beside his armchair.

  I would have stood if Cass hadn’t slipped an arm around my waist and clucked at me like I was seconds away from receiving another smack. So I toss my hair and try and make it seem like I don’t give a fuck that they’ve taken the only thing I brought with me that wasn’t clothing or shoes or underwear.

  “It’s a bible,” I say stiffly. “In case you were wondering.”

  “An old translation,” Zachary says, stretching to take it from Apollo. He flips it open, and I tense…waiting for the photo to fall out.

  After how they’d grilled me about Gabriel, what would they say if they saw the photo of him and my father? It might spark the kind of reaction that ends in violence.

  But nothing falls out. Either they’ve already found it, or I jammed it so hard between the pages that they’d have to open it to the exact place to take it out.

  I can only hope they’ve been too busy to check.

  Zachary hefts the thick volume in his hand. “I prefer these. The newer translations are too… polished.”

  “They’ve taken out all the good shit,” Cass agrees. “All that fire and brimstone.”

  “Strange how many things are open to interpretation,” Zachary muses, as if to himself.

  “Mis-interpretation,” Apollo says. The camera comes apart in his hands, and he stares at the assortment of pieces now littering his lap.

  “Not everything.”

  I turn to Reuben, and swallow when I see him staring at me. When he reaches for me, I instinctively close my eyes. They pop open when his fingertips brush my breastbone. He lifts the crucifix dangling around my neck and rubs his thumb along the wood. It releases a sweet, heady scent that makes me squirm on Cass’s lap.

  Which, in turn, makes his erection even harder.

  “Enough!” I snap. I yank the cru
cifix from Reuben’s finger and turn to glare at Zachary. “Tell me what the hell I’m doing here.”

  Now my head’s thumping like a bass drum. I press the heel of my hand against my temple, wincing, but I don’t break eye contact with Zachary.

  He sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “You, Trinity Malone, are going to help us take down a sex trafficker.”

  I laugh, because what the hell else am I supposed to do? “Me? How?”

  Zachary goes on as if I hadn’t spoken. “They called him ‘Guardian’.” His jaw ticks. “You know him as Gabriel.”

  There’s a beat of silence where even my heart stops beating.

  Zachary gives me a grim smile. “Sorry. Father Gabriel.”

  My coffee’s gone cold in my hands. They gave it back to me a few minutes after they’d started telling me their story.

  Apollo begins.

  “My parents got shot when I was six. Mugging gone wrong kind of thing. I’d been an altar boy for like a month before that happened. Somehow, I ended up at an orphanage in Redmond instead of foster care.

  “Not that I minded. I thought it was kinda cool. Had a lot of friends to play with. I was there for like a year before it happened.”

  He pauses, and starts collecting all the bits and pieces in his lap and putting them on the floor, arranging them around his bare feet.

  “One of my teachers told me I’d done so well in class that he was taking me out for pizza.” Apollo lets out a sardonic laugh. “Fucking idiot I was, I believed him. That’s how easy it is to get a kid into your car. Fucking pizza, man.”

  He sniffs, and drags his hair out of his face. It flops back again, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Zachary lights something. I first think it’s weed, but then cigarette smoke billows into the air between us. They start passing it between them, each taking a drag or two before passing it on.

  “We drove for hours. What it felt like, anyway. I started getting cranky. He slammed my head into the dashboard so hard I passed out.” Apollo scratches at the scar on his forehead like he can still feel that pain through the years.