Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(8)

They were unstoppable.

And they would never be defeated.

The undertaker took a hose and spray and began dousing the back of the van with chemicals. It was important to remove all traces of the sinners they killed. Every detail must be attended to with complete professionalism. Father Quinn made sure the men of his cloth never made it close to a mission without mastering how to eradicate any evidence that an exorcism had been made.

The priest rocked on anxious feet as he waited for the undertaker to complete the cleanse. He bit his nails as he pictured Raphael’s eyes in his mind. That smile. That olive skin and dark hair. Hair that was much longer than it had been in Purgatory.

Raphael had been beautiful as a boy. But as a man, he was unrivaled. Beauty was a sin, vanity the worst of all. And it was clear that Satan had blessed Raphael, his precious denizen, with extreme beauty to lure in his victims. Weak sinners wouldn’t stand a chance under Raphael’s hypnotic attention.

His kills must be so easy.

It was why Raphael needed to die. He was too powerful to remain on this earth. A deadly magnet to innocent, lost souls.

Thirty minutes later, Father Murray was heading back toward Boston, no trace of the woman who was now ash in the sky. When he’d parked the van, he ran into the shower, scrubbing the whore’s poisonous touch from his skin. Just the memory of his hand around her throat made blood fill his cock. He didn’t want it. Didn’t want the act of strangulation to still be attractive, to make heat travel over his skin and bones.

He took hold of the fine needle he kept in a small plastic case in the shower, breathed through his nostrils, and pushed the needle into the tip of his penis. Father Murray clenched his jaw, fighting back a scream as the needle sank in deep.

Gasping, he dropped to his knees. The hot water turned cold as it rained down on his bowed head. Insufferable agony suffused his every cell. Father Murray opened his eyes. Blood poured over the shower floor. He bared his teeth in disgust at his own weakness. At the hardening that never left him. Even after his exorcism and years in Purgatory, the feel of a slender neck under his palms, the last desperate gasp for life, and the frosting over of the eyes still caused him to become aroused. But Father Murray had married himself to the Brethren. He had forsaken sexual desires and would not succumb to his baser urges. He wouldn’t sacrifice his soul as he had once done.

After a deep breath, he jammed the needle the rest of the way into his hard flesh. He screamed at the blinding pain and toppled to the side, curling into a fetal position on the tiled floor. Blood washed from his cock and down the drain toward the depths of hell. He breathed in long deep breaths, fighting through the torture.

Then, mercifully, his cock began to deflate. Father Murray watched as he slowly lost his erection. The pain from the invasive needle began to numb as triumph smothered lust. A deadly sin to which he would no longer succumb.

He lay there for minutes and minutes, until his body had calmed and a heady peace swelled through his veins—peace birthed by victory, good defeating evil. He slowly extracted the needle from his unaroused penis. Blood seeped from the tip, crimson red, but blood penance was the price to pay for the temporary darkness he had allowed into his body.

Later, in confession, he would tell Father Brady—the keeper of his transgressions. He would willingly endure the devices in the heretics room, and the purging of the sin that he knew still lurked somewhere in his body. A place he couldn’t reach.

But first he would speak to Father Quinn.

He must relay the sighting . . . the miraculous gift from God.



“He’s at Sisters of Our Lady of Grace,” Father Cormack, a priest not much older than Father Murray, informed him. “He’s with the novitiates.”

Father Murray cursed internally at the news. He left Holy Innocents and drove the ninety minutes it took to reach Sisters of Our Lady of Grace, the monastery Father Quinn oversaw alongside the Mother Superior.

He made his way up the steps. Nuns of all ages and stages of experience milled about the picturesque lands deep in the stunning Massachusetts countryside. The place was silent, the gardens green and perfectly manicured. The stones of the building were gray and delicately laced with forest-green ivy. The monastery was old and large and suited the reclusive sisters perfectly. Sisters who stayed away from the community and instead thrust themselves into prayer and serving the Lord.

“Father Murray.”

Father Murray looked up to see Mother Superior walking down the hallway toward him. “What can I help you with, Father Murray? Father Quinn didn’t mention you would be assisting today.”

“I’m not,” he said, trying to keep the sense of urgency from his steady voice. “But I must speak to him. There is something we must discuss as a matter of great importance.”

Mother Superior smiled but shook her head. “I’m afraid he has sequestered himself and the novitiates in the education room for the day. He will be there until sundown and has made it clear they must not be disturbed. Patience, Father Murray, is a virtue. Make this a lesson in that.” Father Murray tried to control his sudden anger. He needed to speak to his high priest. But it had to be in private. Nobody could overhear a word he had to relay. “The novitiates will take last vows in a matter of months. Their schooling at this time is too important to interrupt.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“Very well.” Mother Superior gestured for Father Murray to follow her outside. “Then you may make yourself useful. The devil makes work for idle hands, after all. We have bushes that need pruning.”