Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(23)

Back in his suite, he made sure every lock on his door was bolted and headed straight for the closet. When he walked in and switched on the light, it was to find two huge blue eyes fixed on his.

A slow smile broke out on his face. “Hello, again.”





Chapter Five


Maria breathed heavily as she stared into that unnerving golden gaze. His smile was as devastating as she remembered, as seductive and as charming. But her heart fired like a cannon, warning of trouble, when she remembered how quickly the sinner had lost that fake smile and launched at her, wrapping his hands around her throat. Even now she could feel the bruising grip crushing her windpipe. She no doubt had marks on her skin. It hurt her to swallow.

Maria closed her eyes. Last night, or whenever that was, she had thought he would kill her. When she had lost consciousness, she thought she would die. She didn’t know what he wanted with her alive. Father Quinn and Father Murray had told her he was a murderer. But he had kept her. She blanched at what he might do to her next.

Raphael looked different from the previous night. He was in casual clothing, for one. His messy dark locks were unstyled. Like this, he looked young and kind. But Maria had borne witness to the monster lurking underneath his pretty fa?ade. She wouldn’t be fooled again. For some reason, God had spared her once more. She pulled at the binds tying her hands behind her back. Tried to push her tongue against the gag and tape on her mouth. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t scream. She was mute and immobilized. She tried to stave off the panic that was threatening to disable her. But the lack of freedom was like heavy quicksand that dragged her under. The iron-clad clutch that grabbed her by the ankle and started pulling her down. Down into her past, one she had fought for years to forget . . .

Maria blinked. Her eyes were sore. She tried to move, but something held her hands in place, her legs. Her mind was fogged. She tried to remember where she was, what was happening. Like the first signs of rain, drop after sporadic drop began to seep into her consciousness. Memories of a man walking into their home. Memories of the man shooting her father in the head, his body dropping to the ground, eyes wide open and watching Maria as she screamed on the floor, staring at her father, who had only minutes before brought them popcorn, as the movie they had chosen to watch still played.

Maria’s brother ran for their mother, who was trying to fend off the heavy fists of the man. But just as Mark tried to reach for the attacker’s gun, the man fired, and Mark dropped to his knees. Maria screamed as her brother held his stomach and collapsed to the side. His hand reached out for her. Maria scrambled to where he lay and managed to hold his hand just as her brother’s eyes frosted over and he exhaled a stuttered final breath. Maria didn’t see the attacker kill her mother, but she heard the single gunshot.

Maria was rolled onto her back and, in her state of numbness and shock, was bound and gagged and shoved into a car . . .

Raphael reached for Maria, ripping her from the darkness of the past. She flinched as he cradled her in his arms. He looked down at her. “I won’t hurt you, little rose.”

Maria didn’t know what to think as the softly spoken loving words fell from his lips. She had never been on the receiving end of an endearment from a man before. Maria remembered the savage expression that had torn apart his face as he held her up by her throat in the private room of the club. Her nerves were frayed by the two very different sides of this man. Lord, give me strength to endure this test, whatever it may be.

Raphael took her into a large ornate room. It was bigger than most apartments she had seen. Perhaps some houses. The bright winter sun peeked in through the floor-to-ceiling period windows that peppered the far wall. Raphael, with the gentleness of a saint, brought her to a padded red velvet chair. He placed her on the seat and sat on the end of the bed. He pulled her closer and smiled.

“I want to untie you, talk to you. But you can’t scream.” He nodded, trying to make his point. “Do you understand? I need you to be silent.” Raphael’s attention fell to Maria’s neck. His nose flared and he gritted his teeth, as if he were angry. Reaching out, he ran his finger over her skin. She flinched when it hurt. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said as he pulled away. “Your neck is too perfect to mark.” He shook his head and ran his hands over his beautiful face. “You were there and you were perfect and . . . you were lying.” Agony morphed his beautiful face again, only for her to see him fight it—deep breaths and clenched jaw—and adopt a visage full of guilt. Maria didn’t know if this was a ruse or whether he seriously regretted hurting her. A flicker of hope burst in her chest. He felt guilt. Guilt and shame. Maybe he wasn’t so far gone that Maria couldn’t be of help.

“You were holding that rosary.” His eyes lost some of their kindness, taking Maria from her thoughts. His mood changes were a turbulent twister, shifting an unpredictable path in a second, giving one no time to prepare for the destruction. “How are you connected to them?” Fathers Quinn and Murray. He must have been talking about Fathers Quinn and Murray. They had told her this killer knew them. She didn’t know how or why; she hadn’t asked. Maria had no idea how Raphael killed, his preferences or his motives. She had entered into this church-ordered task blindly. As a novitiate it hadn’t been her business to question anything. Nuns never doubted a priest. “You’re a woman. How did they get you on their side?”