Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(78)

Movement by the door caught Maria’s attention. Relief filled her when Bishop McGuiness stepped through. Her panic dissipated, until Father Quinn walked in behind him. Maria froze on the spot. She met Bishop McGuiness’s eyes and felt a chill reach down to her bones. “No,” she whispered.

“Father Murray,” Father Quinn said. “Take her.”

“No,” Maria said again and looked to Bishop McGuiness. “You too?”

“You have no idea how far our reach goes, Sister Maria,” Father Quinn said. Maria’s eyes filled with angry tears. Father Murray, taking advantage of her distraction, moved behind her and covered her mouth with his hand. Maria fought and fought, her screams muted under Father Murray’s gag. She kicked and thrashed, but Father Murray was depriving her of breath. She grew dizzy, but even though her vision blurred, she never took her gaze off Father Quinn and the bishop.

She had been so na?ve. She’d had faith in her church. She’d believed that the Brethren was isolated to Holy Innocents.

They were going to kill her.

They couldn’t let their secret out into the world. And Raphael believed that she would return. In her letter, she had made him a solemn promise. A promise he would believe she had broken.

Another person to fail him.

I’m sorry, she thought as black spots began to smother her eyes. I’m sorry, she thought as her body grew weak and her legs gave way. I’m sorry, she thought as she sank into darkness. I’m so sorry . . . my lord . . .

*****

Maria’s eyes fluttered open. Confused, it took her a while to gather her bearings. The room was dully lit, candles and a roaring fire its only light. The air was stuffy, and her skin was clammy.

As the rest of the room came into view, Maria stilled as her eyes drank in what lay before her. Devices and apparatus that she had only ever seen in history books. Instruments of torture. Racks, chains suspended from the ceiling, wooden wheels with metal spikes. Whips and shackles and scourges . . . She began to flail, but her arms and legs were tied down. She realized she was naked, her body completely stripped of clothes.

Panic surged through her veins. She pulled and pulled at her restraints, but they didn’t move. Tears filled Maria’s eyes as she searched the room. She recalled Gabriel’s explanation of Purgatory, of the torture room where they were taken each day.

“No,” she whispered, knowing that was exactly where she was. The underground building that no one but the Brethren knew of. Maria glanced down and saw she was on a wooden table.

She had barely taken in a breath when a door opened. Her stomach flipped in dread. Father Murray was heading toward her. When his brown gaze clashed with hers, his nose flared and a dark smirk etched on his lips.

“Sister Maria.” He came to a stop beside her. His eyes dropped to rove along her body. He lifted his hand, and Maria yanked on her restraints. When his hand landed on her ankle, she captured the sob that threatened to spill from her mouth. Her skin turned from clammy to ice cold at his rough, unwanted touch. “When we decided to send you on the mission . . .” Father Murray’s hand tracked up her leg. “When I saw your hair, when we learned of your past. Of William Bridge, of him killing your family and taking you captive . . .” He shook his head. “We thought you’d understand our mission from God. We thought you’d understand that we need men like Raphael and the rest off the streets.”

Maria’s skin prickled. His fingertips danced up her thigh and to her hips. She wanted to push his repulsive touch from her skin. Cleanse herself of his abusive poison.

Maria stilled when his hand reached her breast and began to circle her nipple. Father Murray shook his head again. “But, like the slut you are, that all women are, you fell for his lustful and sinful ways.” He squeezed Maria’s nipple so hard that she cried out, pain slicing across her chest. As quick as he had brought the pain, he released her nipple, smoothing it with his palm. “All you had to do was tell us where he was. Keep him in your company long enough so we could retrieve him.”

Maria watched him. She stared at his dark eyes and messy hair. But more than that, she focused on his face. On the expression of evil that he had only now bared, in this room of torture. Maria saw the anger in his eyes, saw his fury at her betrayal in the tensing of his jaw and the thinness of his lips. His hand traveled south. A lump filled Maria’s throat as his wandering fingers headed between her legs.

“You weren’t meant to take his side, Sister Maria. You weren’t meant to know of our brotherhood and try to have us stopped.” Father Murray’s hand paused on her inner thigh. Her legs were spread apart by the ankle cuffs; there was nothing she could do. Father Murray dropped his hand and cupped Maria’s core. She cried out when hurtful fingers dug in, pain flashing through her legs. He twisted her clitoris, and tears fell down Maria’s face as he pushed a finger inside her. He hurt her. As he plunged his finger in and out, her body went from pained to steadily numb. Her tears dried. Her body went limp and she stopped fighting.

Maria stared at the ceiling and thought of Raphael. She pictured the manor in her head, and the men gathered around the table, talking and smiling. She didn’t resent them for the life they lived. After just a few minutes in this room, she understood how year after year of torture would affect their childish minds, send them to a place of constant evil and darkness. Make them devoid of good, make them want to hurt people in the way they had been hurt.