Raphael (Deadly Virtues 1)

Father Murray laid his cheek on the wooden table, the needle still in his dick. Father Quinn pulled out, his holy seed dripping down Father Murray’s legs. Father Murray felt like he was fourteen again. An evil boy being exorcised by Father Quinn.

He’d saved him.

Father Murray loved him.

Father Quinn came to stand beside him, cock spent. Father Murray stared up at him. Father Quinn’s hand pressed to his cheek. “There, Francis. The darkness is defeated for another day.”

“Thank you, Father,” he whispered, voice fractured with the heady cocktail of pain and pleasure. Father Quinn reached down and pulled the needle from Father Murray’s soft cock. Father Murray knew there’d be another scar to add to his already ruined flesh. But they were scars of triumph over evil. Of his ongoing battle with the devil.

One that his high priest would never let him lose.

Father Quinn held his hand out for Father Murray. Father Murray kissed his fingers, and Father Quinn rewarded him with a caress on the cheek. Kneeling down, Father Quinn stroked Father Murray’s sweaty hair. “You need to practice patience, my child. God will bring the Fallen into our arms again. You must be patient. They may have won this battle, but we will win the crusade.”

“Yes, Father.” Father Murray got to his feet. He tucked his throbbing cock into his pants and left the room. Dazed and light-headed, he made his way to his room, feeling calmer now that Father Quinn had silenced the demon in his soul.

Forcing himself to sit, Father Murray poured another whiskey. The fire roared before him, the hot flames matching his inner ambition. “One day, Raphael,” he said to the almost-ruined photograph. “I’ll destroy you.” Father Murray smiled. “And you will finally repent.”

Chapter Seven

Maria wasn’t sure how long she had been waiting in the day room. There was no clock on the wall. She glanced down at the Band-Aid on her arm. Peeling it back, she took it from her skin and stared down at the tiny mark where the priest, Gabriel, had taken her blood. She had no idea why. But she didn’t argue. What was the point?

You are not to leave his rooms again . . .

She wasn’t going home. It was done. God had shown her His decision through Gabriel.

It is decided.

Maria took a calming breath and thought back to the room full of men. She tried to make sense of what she had found. Were they all killers? Did Father Quinn and Father Murray know? And Gabriel, the priest. Was he facilitating this evil behavior?

Maria was losing herself to those thoughts when she heard the lock begin to turn. She held her breath, waiting to see who would enter, then an older man in a suit came through the door. “Ms. Maria?” he asked, politely.

“Yes.”

“If you’d like to follow me.” He turned and held the door open for her. Maria ignored her trembling legs as she rose from the couch and made her way across the day room and to the . . . butler? She thought he was a butler. A mansion of this size no doubt came with staff.

“This way, please,” he said. Maria self-consciously pulled at the t-shirt she wore, trying in vain to protect her modesty. The butler didn’t even give her a second glance, just dutifully led her upstairs. Did he know too? Know about the nature of the men he served?

Maria didn’t see anyone else as she passed through the mansion, through countless hallways adorned with paintings and furnishings that she assumed would be worth millions. Gabriel had obviously trusted that she wouldn’t try to run. She wouldn’t. She had no idea where she even was.

Finally, she was brought to a familiar door. The butler knocked three times. Maria’s heart pounded just as loudly as the butler’s hand rapping on the wood. She heard footsteps approaching from the other side. When the door opened, Maria had to swallow back her nerves. Raphael stood on the other side. His lean, muscled torso was bare, and he wore only a pair of black silk pajama bottoms. His feet were bare too. Raphael’s cheeks were flushed and his dark hair fell over his forehead, the messy strands only emphasizing his incredible beauty.

“Sir,” the butler said, breaking through Maria’s thoughts. The butler walked away. Maria watched him go until he disappeared around the corner. When she turned back to the doorway of Raphael’s room, he was waiting.

“Little rose.” Raphael’s voice was low and soft, seductive. Confusion flooded Maria’s body. He’d told her if she escaped, if she ran, she would be punished. He didn’t speak to her as if she were to be punished. “Are you coming in?”

Raphael’s voice was as smooth as the silk that draped over his lean hips. A small smile was etched on his full lips. The look was devastatingly handsome. His dimples showed, and his long lashes kissed his upper cheeks when he blinked. He still wore the silver upturned cross in his left ear.