Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(6)

She would soon.

She dropped her hands to the fly of his pants and undid his zipper. Her tongue snaked out and licked along her too-white teeth. The whore was a demon wrapped in attractive female flesh.

But she wouldn’t make this man of God sin.

Father Murray grabbed the top of the whore’s arms, spun her, and smacked her back against the wall. An innocent soul would feel fear, dislike of the rough contact. But not this slut. She smiled, enjoying the pain Father Murray’s aggressive grip brought.

Heathen. A heathen who deserves to die.

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” she whispered in his ear. The whore lifted her hand and flipped her hair back over her shoulder, aiming for seductiveness. Father Murray knew the movement was a message from the Lord. An invitation to strike, to do his work of ridding the world of sinners.

Father Murray smiled; the whore smiled back. He didn’t bother to tuck his cock back into his pants. Instead, he ran his hands over her hell-created curves, listening to her moan. His fingers roved over her small waist and up over her large breasts. Finally, his hands rested on either side of her neck. Father Murray stared right into the whore’s eyes. Leaning in close, he whispered, “You are a blight on the world. You have no place on this earth . . . and I shall be the holy warrior to send you back to the second level of hell.” Her eyes only had a second to flare with fear before Father Murray began to squeeze. The whore’s mouth dropped open as she quickly became starved of breath.

Father Murray hadn’t been aroused by the whore’s touch. But now, with his hands ridding her of life, his dick was hard and throbbing with the need to release. He panted as the whore’s body began to fight back. But she was too weak; he was too strong. He pressed his wide chest against her tits and pushed her hard into the wall. The friction of her skin against his erection only heightened his excitement. Father Murray rocked against the front of her bare pussy, his hands tightening and tightening until the whore’s eyes began to bulge. She clawed at his chest. But the battle, the pain she was trying to inflict on his pure soul, only made his hold around her neck tighten.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.” Father Murray felt the pulse in the whore’s neck begin to slow. He thrust against her harder; the friction sent bolts of pleasure shooting down his spine. “Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.” Father Murray’s voice was raspy as completion raced to catch him. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.” The whore’s body began to still under his grip, and her eyes froze over with the heavy blanket of death. The sight, the tight purchase on her neck, made him groan out loud. He squeezed her neck tighter, hearing and feeling the jagged snap of her bone. A roar of release slipped from his throat; his holy seed cleansed her desecrated skin. He was breathless. His dick throbbed in the aftermath of his release. Father Murray dropped his sweaty forehead against the whore’s chest and whispered, “Amen.” As he drew his head back, he noted the imprint of the crucifix around his neck on the slut’s chest. He smiled, knowing the Lord was pleased.

Another demonic soul purged back to hell.

He didn’t wait around to admire his work. Pride had no place in a Brethren’s life. In minutes, Father Murray had tucked himself back into his pants, righted his clothes, and placed the body of the whore in his van that awaited in the pitch-black corner of the alley. Checking the time, he saw that he had enough night left to cleanse another soul. The underground sex clubs of Boston were rife with heretics and enemies of the faith. All of them needed to die. This club was the worst. Only the worst kind of wrongdoers dwelled there.

Father Murray slipped back up the stairs and retook his place among the shadows. He fixed his dark eyes on the man who had been pleasuring the whore who now lay dead in his van. The sinner had moved on to another whore, tying her with rope as she hung suspended from the ceiling, a ball gag in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back with the pleasure of her body being so tortured.

Father Murray was about to move from the shadows to begin his seduction of the man when someone at the bar caught his eye. He froze, feet rooted to the floor. He could barely breathe. Father Murray didn’t take his gaze from the black-clad man chatting to a blond woman with fake breasts. The man circled his finger around his glass, smiling flirtatiously at something the woman said. Father Murray watched the woman shift in her seat, free-falling into the seduction. Whatever the man was saying was having a strong effect on her. She was putty in his hands. But with that jaw and build, Father Murray could understand why. As he himself had been crafted with beauty meant for good, this man had been molded for sin.

It can’t be . . . not after all this time . . .

“Look up,” Father Murray whispered, the soft sound from his mouth disappearing into the heavy music pulsing through the speakers. “Look. Up.”

As if God were rewarding him, honoring him with a boon, the man looked up, and a rush of disbelief crashed through Father Murray’s body, so strong he had to reach out and touch the wall to remain on his feet. Golden eyes. Golden eyes smoldered as sensuous lips hooked up into a smirk, making the woman flush and bat her eyelashes.

“Raphael,” Father Murray whispered. Just the name leaving his lips caused his eyes to close and memories to spill into his mind.

“Get on your knees.” Father Murray had been working on this boy’s soul for four months. Raphael was Father Murray’s first. His first soul to cleanse. After Murray had pledged to the Brethren, Father Quinn had awarded him this boy.