Raphael (Deadly Virtues 1)

Mother Superior’s eyes filled with sympathy. She knew of Maria’s past. She knew the horrors she’d endured. Mother Superior stared out of the small window of Maria’s room. “Jesus walked with the sinners.” Maria stilled and tried to calm her racing heart. “He wouldn’t ignore them, cast them aside like everyone else. He walked beside them, even knowing they committed sins and evil crimes. He talked to them, tried to help them see the light.” Mother Superior turned to Maria. “Being devoted to the church isn’t about being sequestered away. It is about listening and helping when it seems all hope is lost. It is replicating Jesus’s example. Walking with the sinners and helping them find the way.”

Maria shook her head. She knew Mother Superior had lived that life before her old age brought her to Sisters of Our Lady of Grace to retire. Maria envied the older nun. She had counseled prisoners, men who had committed unspeakable crimes. “I . . . I can’t,” Maria said and shook her head, tears tracking down her cheeks and onto the bedding beneath her.

Mother Superior’s hand covered hers in comfort. “You may not be ready yet, my child. But one day you will be. One day something will arise that calls to you. Someone or some cause will arrive at your door, and you will feel the need to become the nun you say you could never be. You will follow Jesus’s path. You will walk side by side, hand in hand with the damned.” Mother Superior smiled. “And you will answer the call, Sister Maria. Your heart will tell you it’s time.”

Maria swallowed the lump that had built in her throat as she recalled her Mother Superior’s words. It was a few years ago, when her soul was still raw and her wounds still open. As she blinked into the shower’s heavy spray, she felt something click inside her. Was this that moment? Maria thought of Raphael, the club, and his hands around her throat. His golden eyes that in one moment bore softness and kindness as he looked at her face, and in the next, cruelty and the promise of certain death.

Maria’s soul was in a raging war. Fear and courage fought for control, both gaining ground back and forth, no clear winner.

But she had to move. She had to keep going.

Maria didn’t know how much time passed as she washed the hair products from her hair. The cleaner she became, the more she felt like herself. She made sure her legs and body were shaved and finally turned off the water.

Maria stepped out of the shower and dried herself with the towel. She drew out every simple movement. Finally, when her teeth had been brushed, and there was nothing left for her to do, she pulled Raphael’s shirt over her head. It smelled just like him. Of fresh water and salt.

Strangely, it made her feel calm.

Taking a deep breath, Maria stepped out into the room. Raphael was exactly where he told her he would be, on the ornate red chair. He held a glass of amber liquid in his hand, swirling it in circles, the liquid lapping the crystal glass. He lowered the glass to the floor.

“I dried my hair the best I could, but there was no brush in the bathroom to comb it through. Or a dryer.”

“Come closer.” Raphael crooked his index finger toward him. Ever the subservient nun, Maria’s feet began moving as soon as the order was issued. It was what she liked most about her daily life. Not being in control, following orders.

Maria stopped when Raphael held up his hand—another silent command. He got to his feet, his tight shirt stretching over his muscled chest to show the toned physique underneath. His head tilted as he studied her makeup-free face. Raphael stalked around where she stood, a full circle. Maria’s legs felt weak, but she remained strong in stature as Raphael drank in his fill. “Sit down on the chair.”

Maria did as instructed. Raphael crossed the room and opened a drawer. Maria’s heart was in her mouth as she wondered what would happen next. If he would touch her. If he would begin his games. If he would bring her pain and take her virginity this very moment.

But when Raphael turned, he held only a hairbrush in his hands. He moved behind her, and with a gentleness she didn’t expect ran the brush through her damp hair. Stroke by stroke, Raphael unknotted every strand until all Maria’s hair was smoothed out. Maria hadn’t dared move the entire time. She had expected sex and roughness. She didn’t expect tenderness. It confused her more than anything else that had happened thus far.

Raphael retrieved a hairdryer and started drying her hair. The hot air relaxed her exhausted body. Her shoulders slumped as sleep began to wrap her in its tight embrace. Maria drifted to a state somewhere between sleep and consciousness. She distantly heard the hairdryer turn off and felt the brush slide through her freshly cleaned hair. She only truly awoke when strong arms lifted her into a warm, hard chest. Maria jumped when she felt the connection of bodies, panicking at being in his embrace. She tried to get down. But Raphael laid her on the bed in the center of the room. “Sleep, little rose,” he murmured with the gentleness of a feather falling on a calm lake. “Time to go to sleep.”