Their Kingdom Come: A Dark Bully Romance (The Sinners of Saint Amos Book 1), page 1
Their Kingdom Come
A Dark Bully Romance (The Sinners of Saint Amos Book 1)
Logan Fox
Copyright © 2020 by Logan Fox
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Blurb
We're ready to die for the sins of our fathers, but is she?
Zac, Apollo, Cassius, Reuben
They told us we were the cure.
That we were special.
That we were pure.
It was all a lie.
We were just like all the others they defiled, abused, neglected.
We formed a brotherhood and vowed to have our revenge. Now no one stands in our way.
No one, except one girl.
Trinity Malone doesn't know about our past.
She doesn't have a say in our future.
At least, so we thought.
Until we realized Trinity's exactly who we were looking for.
She's our secret weapon.
Soon, she'll be seeking revenge...
Just like us.
Contains strong language, violence, and sexual situations some may find triggering.
This is the first book in a series. Cannot be read as a standalone and ends in a cliffhanger.
No cheating.
HEA guaranteed.
Multiple love interests.
Theme Song
The In-Between — In This Moment
Playlist
Pet — A Perfect Circle
Never Enough — Fetish
Imagine — A Perfect Circle
Crawling — Dream State
The Trauma Model — King 810
Call Me Devil — Friends in Tokyo
Touched Your Skin — Landon Tewers
Soldier — Fleurie
How Deep Is Your Love — The Bros. Landreth
Check out my Their Kingdom Come Playlist!
Prologue
Exodus, Matthews, and Ephesians say you must honor your father and your mother. Guess it’s only fair then—the day my parents and me have the worst fight in history is the last day I see them.
And what was the fight about?
Clothes.
New clothes. Since I’d literally worn holes in all of mine.
Mom promised we’d go buy some as soon as Dad came home. There was a sale on at the mall, so the timing was perfect. I knew exactly what I wanted too — we’d be back way before the night service at our church.
But Dad ran late, and because Dad didn’t believe in things like cellphones, we had to wait for him. I mean, he knew they existed, obviously, but he saw them as materialistic trappings.
Clothes fell under that category too.
When he finally arrived, there wasn’t enough time for us to go.
I guess the planets aligned or some shit because for the first time in my life, at the age of seventeen, I threw a tantrum.
I yelled. I screamed. I swore.
They said nothing. And then they left and went to church without me.
It’s weird to think that if we hadn’t had that fight, things would have been so much different.
For instance, I’d be dead.
But I hadn’t been in the car when they’d hit the black ice on the road. I’d been in my robe and slippers, sulking into a cup of hot chocolate.
I never finished that chocolate.
I don’t even know what happened to it.
Someone must have taken it to the kitchen, tossed it out, cleaned it.
But it wasn’t me.
Because I was at a police station for most of the rest of the night, pretending to understand what they kept telling me.
My parents were dead.
Just like I should have been dead.
Something did die that night, something deep inside. Back then, I’d thought it was a precious, sacred thing like love.
Turns out I was wrong.
The only thing that perished that night were the invisible chains keeping me tethered to a life I silently hated with every breath.
I didn’t die that night.
I was set free.
And it changed everything.
“For those who believe, no proof is necessary. For those who don’t believe, no proof is possible.”
Stuart Chase
Chapter One
Trinity
There’s a loud thump. My head bounces off the window of the cab, and my eyes fly open in surprise. I squint out at the blurring landscape as my mind scrambles to figure out where the hell I am while my heart tries to climb out of my throat.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Road’s not exactly in the best condition.”
I glance over at the cab driver, and swipe the back of my hand over my mouth. Had I been drooling in my sleep? I’d been out cold—dreaming again. A happy dream this time. One where my parents were still alive.
“How long till we get there?” I mumble, trying to work out the kink in my neck. Outside, colossal birch and maple trees block out everything but a strip of gray sky. There’s another thump, followed by a rattle, as the cab’s wheels skate over another pothole.
“A few more minutes.”
Hugging myself, I turn and stare out my window. Better than watching the cab driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. We’ve spent over two hours together, and barely said a word.
We passed through the last town at least an hour ago and we’ve been heading deeper into West Virginia ever since. At least I know where I’m going. For the first time since that policeman knocked on our front door, there’s some kind of order to my life.
“There it is,” the driver says as we round a corner.
He didn’t have to—my eyes latched onto the all-boys boarding school the second it appeared through the windshield.
Holy crap.
My mouth goes dry. “That’s Saint Amos?”
I feel his eyes on me, and we make eye contact in the mirror. “Isn’t it a little late in the year to be starting boarding school?”
Heat touches my cheeks. “I…don’t have a choice.”
The last hundred yards or so, the dilapidated tar road smooths into a hard-packed dirt road. The closer we get and the more the building looms, the deeper my stomach sinks.
This place looks more like Dracula’s castle than a boarding school. There aren’t statues of demons and things on the facade, but with its multitude of spires and fancy moldings, it’s undeniably Gothic. Before Dracula could live here, someone would have to remove the enormous crucifix above the front entrance.
The trees thin. An immaculately trimmed lawn spreads like a pool of green algae around the base of the massive, sprawling structure.
The driver maneuvers the cab around a fountain where a concrete, pigeon-shit stained Virgin Mary is nursing baby Jesus.
Some of those streaks look like tears.
“Need help with your things?” the driver asks.
I huff as I shake my head. “I can manage, thanks.”
He nods as he brakes and puts the car into park. “Good luck, and God bless.”
My mouth tightens, but I give him another nod and drag my duffel bag out with me. That and my backpack are the only things I have with me. Our family wasn’t big on material possessions like clothes, or jewelry, or furniture. In fact, the only thing they were big on was that.
I tip my head back and stare up at the crucifix.
I hope it stays up there. It could crush someone if it were to fall.
There’s a rattle of gravel as the cab driver pulls away, and I turn to watch him until the shadow of the distant maples dapples the roof of his car.
The best way out is through, right?
I wince as I bang the big brass knocker on the door. Every person inside must have heard that racket.
But nothing happens.
I shuffle my feet and glance around as I wait, then try again.
The door shifts inward.
Guess there’s no point in locking things around here. Who the hell’s going to rob this place? It’s miles away from anything.
I push open the door and step into cool, damp shadows that cling to me like a film. I’m in a vast entrance hall. Small, stained glass windows barely let enough light through to illuminate the double staircase. On a brighter day this place would look magnificent. Right now it’s like I’m starring in my own horror movie.
“Hello?” My voice hurriedly warbles back to me as if it’s terrified to venture deeper inside.
Lord, it’s quiet in here.
Where is everyone?
Surely someone had to know I was coming.
“Are you Trinity?”
My heart leaps into my throat, strangling a gasp. I whirl around.
A kid a few years younger than me stands in the shadows beside the doorway. Dressed
Where the hell did he come from?
“That’s me.” I try and sound jolly but I probably look more like a lunatic. “And you are?”
“Jasper. I’m your roommate.” Judging from the faint scowl on his face, he’s not thrilled with the fact. He strolls past me, heading for the left set of stairs winding up to a landing.
I tighten my grip on my duffel bag and readjust the strap of my backpack before following. Our footsteps echo hollowly until we reach the wooden stairs. “Roommate?” I call out after him. “So we don’t get our own rooms?”
“Duh,” he says dryly.
Holy crap, I’m just trying to make conversation. I didn’t ask to be here any more than he did. And I know he’s not here by choice, because no one would be here by choice. This is the place bad souls go to await sentencing.
Damp. Dark. Dismal.
Jasper turns into a hallway leading off the landing. Almost immediately, he takes another turn. Then another. A minute later, I stop trying to keep track of where we’re headed.
Flickering sodium lights cast an ugly yellow glare over the doorways and somber portraits we pass.
Holy crap, it’s cold. Two weeks until summer break, and it could be the middle of winter.
I’m wearing a black cardigan, a vest, and jeans with the hems turned up so I don’t step on them. The thin wool covering my arms could have been tissue paper for all the protection it’s offering me. I’m tempted to let down my mass of black curls, if only for some extra warmth around my neck.
What I know about Saint Amos could barely fill a serviette. It’s an all-boys, faith-orientated prep school specializing in training new priests. But I didn’t come here for their theological program—I’m here because it’s the only place where even a remnant of my previous life still exists.
His name is Father Gabriel. Technically, he’s all the family I have left. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be a ward of the state. Enrolling at Saint Amos wasn’t my first choice, but I’m starting to realize orphans don’t get a say in how their lives are run.
Luckily I’m used to having all my major life decisions made for me.
“So how long have you been here?”
“Too long,” Jasper replies stiffly.
What did I do to piss him off? Is this because he has to share a room with me? I glance at the multitude of doorways we’ve passed in this stretch of hallway alone. It’s impossible that every room in this place is occupied. So why do I have to share with a boy?
I should make an effort to be friends, especially if I’m going to be living with this kid. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” I say.
He lets out a sigh and gives a half-hearted shrug without looking back at me.
On this level, we pass several stained glass windows, none of which look as if they can be opened. Most are random arrangements of colored glass, but the larger ones form crude images.
Doves flying toward rays of heavenly light.
Various saints and angels.
People tilling the soil under a watchful eye. Literally, an eye in the sky—lead strips for lashes and everything.
“Place used to be a Catholic orphanage,” the kid says.
“It’s…” I want to say beautiful, but that would be an outright lie. “Impressive.”
We take another set of stairs, putting us on the fourth floor. Wooden doors crowd the walls of the passage. Small cards slipped behind tiny brass frames centered below each doorway’s arch bear the room’s number.
Jasper leads me to room 113.
He opens it and steps inside.
“You don’t lock doors around here?”
He turns and gives me a dead-eyed stare. “You got something to hide?”
I laugh as I enter the room, but I cut it off a second later.
It looks more like a prison cell than a bedroom. Even the small window is meshed with a steel frame as if to stop anyone from climbing out and jumping. Two cots—one against each wall—fill most of the space. What’s left is crowded out by a double-door closet and a desk with a set of drawers on each side of the gap where the chair fits in.
Jasper points at one of the beds. “That’s mine.”
“You sure?” I mumble to myself. The beds look identical. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d told me no one lived in this room.
“That’s yours,” he says, pointing at the left-hand closet door. “Stay out of my side.”
“Why, you got something to hide?”
He turns angry eyes on me, and I bite down on my lip.
It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long month.
My duffel bag and backpack thump to the floor. This place reeks of mothballs and stale air but if I can open the window that might help.
The window is sealed shut.
Jasper grabs something out of his drawer. “I got class,” he says before walking out.
I rush over to the door and poke my head out in the hall. “Hey!”
My voice booms back at me. Jasper swings around, but he doesn’t stop walking.
“Where do I go?”
Jasper shrugs. “Only told me to show you the room!” he yells back before disappearing around the corner.
“Mother of God,” I mutter to myself as I step back into the room. I stare out the doorway, and shiver when a damp breeze slips inside. “Surprised no one gets pneumonia.” I push the door closed and let out another sigh as I sink onto the corner of my bed.
It groans theatrically under my weight, and I roll my eyes.
This is what happens when the only thing going through your head for days at a time is the mantra, what else could possibly go wrong?
I challenged the Universe, and it came at me swinging.
Chapter Two
Trinity
I’m glad everything I own fits into two bags. There’s barely enough space on my side of the closet to hang the few dresses and jeans I have. Even the four cubbyholes on my side of the cabinet are barely large enough to fit a pair of shoes.
I take my fat, leather-bound bible and perch reluctantly on the creaky bed with it my lap. I trace my fingers over the gold title embossed on the cover. Then I flip it open and take out the photo nestled between the first few pages.
My father’s stern eyes stare out at me from a decade past. He looks dashing in his full clerical vestments, despite his no-nonsense expression. I wish I had a photo of mom too—even better, the three of us together—but my parents considered photos a form of vanity, much like having more than three sets of clothes to rotate out during any given week.
Or makeup.
Or jewelry.
If they knew they would die months before my eighteen birthday, would things have been different? Would we have spent less time in church and more time in the park, or going to the beach, or playing ball in the backyard?
Nope.
I open the first drawer and put the bible inside, shoving it as far back as I can.
I have no intention of reading it. I only brought it along because Mother treasured it so. I didn’t even know about the photo until I accidentally dropped the book on its spine while I was collecting my things from home a week ago.
Twenty-seven days.
Not even a month since they’ve been gone, and it already feels like a lifetime ago. I only remember bits and pieces since then, and most of those I try to forget.
Fuck you.
I kick the drawer closed with my ballerina pump.
“First day and you’re already destroying school property?”
I’m on my feet in a second and whirl around to face the door. There’s a guy in the doorway, leaning with his shoulder against the jamb.
He’s tall and lean-muscled with a sharp nose, angular jaw, and hooded blue eyes. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he turned out to be a fashion model despite his military-style haircut that leaves little more than a layer of fuzz on his perfectly shaped head. We didn’t have magazines around the house, but I saw them once or twice in the library. He’s wearing Saint Amos’s school uniform, but his collar is loose, and his tie crooked.
