Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(5)

Raphael smirked as he glared at her face.

The road to death would begin tomorrow.

He could hardly wait.





Chapter Two


It was a den of sin.

Father Murray fought to keep a hold on his anger as he looked around. He stood in the corner of the room, dressed in black slacks and a black shirt. He had shed his red dog collar and robes for the mission, but his rosary lay around his neck, a symbol of his faith. He could almost feel the cross burning his skin in revulsion as he took in the sight of a woman locked in a metal cage, her legs forced apart as her sinful lover pushed sex toy after sex toy inside her. Clamps bit into her nipples, a chain leading down and clamping her clit.

Father Murray tried to tear his eyes away from her face as she cried out in ecstasy for everyone to see and hear, putting on a show. But his gaze locked on her when she threw her head back and bared her long, slender neck. Murray felt the familiar stirrings in his groin. He gritted his teeth in self-disgust, snarling against his own weakness, against the darkness that lay in waiting, readying to strike, deep in his soul.

Turning toward the black-painted wall behind him, sinking into the shadows, he curled his fingers and slammed his fist against his cock, eyes screwing shut at the thundering blast of pain that splintered up his spine. The shooting agony crippled him. He flattened his hand against the wall as he breathed through the burning, the aching. He could barely stand. Father Murray pictured the evil that had once controlled him finding its way back to the surface. He couldn’t let it happen. Not again. He could never go back. Not now that he had been brought into the light, into the way of the brotherhood.

The priest punched between his legs again and again until he almost dropped to his knees. The sting of tobacco smoke burned his nostrils, and the smell of sex and immorality that infiltrated the air clogged his lungs with wickedness. Disgust sailed through his every cell, abhorrence for those polluting the world with their vice. Only when his hardened penis had deflated under his concrete fist did he turn back to challenge the sickening depravity. His erection might have dissipated, but the rage and anger at such unrighteous acts remained as strong.

Even stronger.

Father Murray’s eyes locked on the woman again as she was released from the metal cage and brought into her lover’s embrace. The man slammed his mouth against hers and thrust his fingers into her overused pussy. They were dressed in scandalous leather outfits that did little to conceal their bodies. Father Murray’s lip curled in disgust. The man pulled back and made for the bar. His slut’s cheeks were flushed, and her lips were swollen from the claiming kiss. She had red marks littering her body like the witch she was. Bruises and gashes from whips and chains and whatever else the male sinner had used on her flesh.

Flesh that belonged to the Lord, not her. Flesh that she was defiling, making a mockery of.

As Father Murray sipped on his water, he noticed the whore was walking to the bathrooms. His eyes tracked her across the room, then scanned the club for any sign that someone else would follow. But the heathens were too busy fornicating to notice or care. His heart kicked into a sprint; she was alone in the bathroom. He squeezed the bottle of water until it was crushed beneath his grasp.

Father Murray’s skin burned as he watched the door of the bathroom. His muscles tensed so tightly they felt as though they would snap. His eyes misted with red . . . and then he was moving. He let the Lord fill his senses and gave over control.

Do with me what you will. Use me as your vessel to destroy the evil walking this earth.

As quick as a shadow, Father Murray turned the knob of the bathroom door and walked inside. The whore stood in front of the mirror, wiping a cloth along her rancid pussy. She turned her eyes his way. What first seemed like shock at the interruption turned into heated interest.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was all seduction. The voice of the devil, Father Murray thought. A living temptation trying to sway me from the path.

It would only make her cleansing all the more powerful.

Father Murray licked his lips and pushed his jaw-length dark hair from his eyes. He saw the whore’s eyes flare. That was the reason he was picked for these missions. Father Quinn had told him God gave him his looks and body for this very reason. To ensnare impure sluts and send them to the depths of hell where they belonged and would dwell for eternity.

Silently, Father Murray turned, giving the slightest nudge of his head in instruction for her to follow. He didn’t look back, and the thumping music from the speakers in the club meant he couldn’t hear her high-heeled feet on the floor. But he knew she would follow. It was God’s will.

These missions were the Brethren’s very reason for existing.

Father Murray exited out of the back door and down the winding fire escape stairs. A metal door plunged him into the darkness of the alley outside. He stopped against the wall and waited. He smirked when the fire door opened and the slut walked through. He watched as her eyes squinted in the dark, searching for him. She smiled when she caught sight of his intense gaze fixed on her. “You like privacy, huh?” she asked, coming to stand before him. “Not into public displays?” She smiled. “You should try it. There’s nothing like all eyes on you as you come.”

The whore ran her long fingernail down Father Murray’s chest. Her touch did nothing to him. There was no stirring in his cock, no satisfaction from her attention. The bitch had no idea what turned him on.