The loud clang of the bell broke through Maria’s sleep. Hymns sung by the sisters walking the hallways drifted under the gap at the bottom of the door. It was still dark outside, the Massachusetts winter still holding tightly on to its final chilly breaths. Maria sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked into the dark and reached over to switch on her lamp. The light bathed the room in a warm glow. Maria smiled as she heard the birds beginning to sing outside the curtain-less window. The owl that nested in the nearest tree surrendered his night song to the early-rising jays’ serenade.
Maria kneeled on the cold wooden floor and clasped her hands in prayer. Closing her eyes, she whispered into the silent room. When she was done, she got to her feet, moved to her closet, and dressed in fresh robes. Finally, she retrieved her headdress. She laid the white garment on the edge of the bed and sat down at her desk. A small mirror was the only thing on the desk. That and her comb. Maria glanced at her reflection as she ran the comb down her thick strands. As with every morning, without fail, she didn’t see the reflection of now, but that of years ago. Of that girl. The one who still cowered in a corner of her soul. The girl she couldn’t reach to heal. To soothe or convince that all would be okay.
After all the knots were freed, Maria brought her long hair into a ponytail, then wound it into a low bun at the base of her neck. Pins held it in place. With a deep breath, meeting her own blue eyes in the mirror, Maria placed her headdress over her head and dusted out any stray creases that might have crept onto her black robes.
As Maria walked to the door, a sense of duty and peace washed over her. Convent life had given her a freedom she’d believed she would never find. The rigid schedule and deep, silent prayers were a balm to her soul, a Band-Aid to her ever-bleeding heart.
The second Maria set foot in the hallway, she cast her eyes down and clasped her hands, tucking them into the sleeves of her robe. Her feet led the way to the refectory for breakfast. Maria focused on the stone floor beneath her. Soon she would pledge her final vows to the church, committing herself to a life of sacrifice and servitude. A life loving God and thanking Him for saving her, for singling her out of the many who had perished before her.
Maria recalled her first vows. She relived the sense of happiness and joy she’d felt rain over her body and mind as she donned the white dress, as she kneeled before Father Quinn and took her first step in becoming a dedicated bride of Christ. Something happened to her on that day. Something pulled at her heart. Her gut. Something that told her she was about to embark on the journey that would explain why she had been spared. God was warning her that her reason for surviving was about to be revealed. And she was ready to receive the message and give all of herself to the task. Mind, body, and soul if needs must.
Breakfast passed quickly. Today was a day of reflection and chores. Father Quinn’s lessons would recommence the following day. A heavy mist hung in the air, making it difficult for the rising sun to sneak through. As Maria stepped outside to tend the garden, the morning dew kissed her face. This, Maria thought. This is all the evidence I need to know You exist.
Maria thought upon the people in the world who took every new sunrise for granted. They simply didn’t understand how fleeting life could be. They didn’t know the gift they were awarded every day by simply opening their eyes and seeing the sky. Breathing in the fresh air, igniting life in their lungs.
But Maria did. And she’d vowed years ago to never take the simple things for granted again.
A hand pressed on her shoulder. Maria spun, caught off guard. Mother Superior’s face was before her. “I’m sorry, Reverend Mother,” Maria whispered, trying to calm her racing heart.
Mother Superior smiled. “I called your name three times.”
“I was caught in gratitude, Reverend Mother. In prayer and thanks.”
“I thought so, child. There are none more grateful for their position here than you.”
“Thank you.”
“Come, child. You have visitors.”
“I do?” Maria asked, confused. Maria had no family—none but the family of the church.
“They have come especially to see you.”
Maria dutifully followed Sister Theresa, her Mother Superior, down the hallway that led to Father Quinn’s office and the education room. Head down and hands clasped, Maria tried to focus on God and Jesus as the custody of the eyes required, but her head was too busy with questions of who could be there to see her.
Maria’s questions were answered when the door to Father Quinn’s office opened and Fathers Murray and Quinn rose from their seats at the desk.
“Sister, good day,” Father Quinn said.
“Father Quinn,” Maria said softly. “Father Murray.”
“Please.” Father Quinn gestured to the seat on the other side of the desk.
“I’ll leave you alone.”
Maria didn’t look behind her as Sister Theresa left and locked the door. The room plunged into silence. Maria kept her head bowed, staring at her clasped hands.
“Relax, Sister Maria,” Father Quinn said. “You are not here to be reprimanded.”
Maria released a pent-up breath and lifted her head and looked nervously at the two priests. “Sister, we have been locked in study for a while now. Years in fact,” Father Quinn said. “In a few short months, novitiates, if they decide this life is for them, will take final vows.” He paused, watching her curiously. “Where do you stand on that? On taking final vows?”
“I am pledging,” Maria said quickly, confidently. “I already see myself as a bride of Christ. I want this. This life is everything to me. I understand now that it has been God’s plan for me all along. Everything that has happened to me . . . it was to guide me onto this path, as painful and difficult as it has been.”
Father Quinn and Father Murray looked at one another, seemingly sharing a private thought. Then Father Quinn turned her way and smiled. “You have no idea how happy this makes me, Sister Maria.” Maria exhaled a long, relieved breath. “But,” Father Quinn said, interrupting her relief, “there is something I’m going to ask of you.” Maria waited patiently for him to continue. Father Quinn leaned forward on the wooden desk that separated them, hands steepled. “Sometimes, sister, we, as priests and experienced men of the cloth, need novitiates to prove that they are ready.”
Maria’s heart sank, ripped in two, when those words left the father’s mouth. There was none more fit for a life as a nun than Maria. She wanted to argue that she was prepared, ready for what this life entailed. But she would never speak out of turn. She would never disobey a superior so rudely.
Father Quinn held up his hands. “No one doubts your faith, sister, nor your diligence to your duties. But what we believe you lack is conviction. The ability to do harsh, and often frightening, tasks for the sake of God and mankind. Being sequestered here at Sisters of Our Lady of Grace is noble and will prepare you for a life of service, but what we seek is proof that you are willing to step outside the shackles of these high walls and be a disciple of Jesus, not just His subservient bride.”
Maria’s hands trembled at the thought of stepping out of the gates that kept her safe. When she had decided to join the church at seventeen, Maria was the youngest nun in the convent. She was still only twenty-one; her twenty-second birthday fell on the same week as final vows. But what she lacked in age she made up for in life experience. At age sixteen, she’d felt as though she were ninety. Hardships aged the soul even if the skin your body wore told another story.
Father Quinn sat back in his seat. “Are you ready for that challenge, Sister Maria? One that pushes you, takes you out of your comfort zone and into the graceful arms of Christ?” Maria didn’t speak at first. Father Quinn took advantage of that silence. “Christ died on the cross, in slow, agonizing pain, to save mankind. Is it too much to make sacrifices for Him in return? Love is a two-way street. To take, you must also sometimes give.”
“Love and sacrifice, Sister Maria,” Father Murray said, speaking for the first time. His voice was gentle. “It is what our lives in the church are made of. The church protects us and our mortal souls. Sometimes we need to protect it back.”
Maria swallowed, afraid her voice would shake when she talked. “I-I . . .” she stuttered and cleared her throat. “I am willing to sacrifice myself for the church.” And she was. Her voice may have betrayed her fear, but she knew she was made to endure hardships.
She already had.
Father Quinn smiled so widely that warmth blossomed in Maria’s chest. She had pleased him. “That’s good, sister. I believe it will be your last test before final vows. You will know, as you kneel and give yourself over to Christ, that He is pleased.” Maria nodded. Father Quinn’s face lost all humor. “In the church, we are sometimes faced with evil that many cannot comprehend.” Father Murray sighed, and his eyes softened. “But not you, sister. We understand you are aware of such forces. Are aware and have faced them.”
Maria fought to keep her breathing steady. “Yes, Father,” she whispered. She tried not to feel the permanent red marks on her body burn. Feel the dark touch she had tried to forget. His breath, the sound of his voice, and the devastating mockery in his awful laugh as it filtered into her claustrophobic prison.
“In our years as priests we have encountered many corrupted men like William Bridge.” Just hearing that name said aloud caused shivers to accost Maria’s skin, beads of sweat building on her brow. The mention of his name brought his face to her mind, the one that still caused her to wake at night, panting and unable to calm her pulse. She saw his cold smile as he looked upon her naked teenage body, his eyes as they roved over her skin. And the blood on his face as he tore her world apart, all so he could take her apart, piece by piece, for his own sinful needs.
Father Quinn cleared his throat, taking her from her nightmare. “In fact, there are a group of men we believe are even more evil than he is. Men whose influence has allowed them to evade even the power of the law, has allowed them to assimilate into society among good and honest people. Men who are intent on hurting others, not caring if their victims have families, loved ones, who depend on them, need them. They just want to hurt people, in vile and sick ways. They want to kill.” Father Quinn’s face reddened, and Maria saw incredible anger building in his usually kind eyes. “We have been in positions like this before, where it has fallen to God’s everyday warriors to defeat evil. To bring a reckoning to their door. This time is no different.”
Maria focused on her breathing, sure she would pass out if she didn’t. She didn’t want to face men like William Bridge, men who were worse. She liked her quiet life. Confronting the terrors of her past made her paralyzed with fear.
“That’s where you come in, Sister Maria,” Father Murray said.
“How?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“One of the men has been spotted for the first time in many years. He was found dwelling in a place of perpetual sin and disgrace. A man who uses his beauty and the lust of others to lure in his victims,” Father Quinn informed her. Maria’s eyes were wide as she drank in the information. “We need someone to help us lead him into our path.”
“Me?” Maria whispered.
“The man knows who we are. He will know we are there for him. But you . . .” Father Murray trailed off. Maria looked into the priest’s dark eyes. He must have been about thirty. Still young, Maria thought. But he has risked his life for God many times. She glanced down at her hands, hands that still remembered what it felt like to be trapped in the dark, searching for a way out of her own version of hell. Maria’s eyes closed, and she tried to calm her nerves. She’d always known this day would come. She had chosen Sisters of Our Lady of Grace for its solitude, but God had not saved her so she could hide behind high walls for the rest of her life.
There was a higher purpose to her survival.
Was this it?
Something . . . some inner pull inside her told her it could possibly be.
“Okay.” Maria was terrified even as she agreed to whatever task they were laying at her feet. The thought of meeting the man they spoke of in the flesh was almost too much for her to bear. But if he was anything like William Bridge, as wicked or as vile, she had to help. The very idea of someone hurting an innocent person the way William had hurt her, her family, and many others made her skin crawl in horror.
She had to be more than her fear.
Father Quinn exhaled in relief. “God will see your devotion through this act, sister. All of His great prophets and disciples have endured hardships to prove their love. Yours will be recognized just the same.”
“We will protect you,” Father Murray said. “We will be close and will give you a way to contact us immediately and discreetly if you fear for your safety.” He leaned forward, eyes boring into hers. “I won’t let anything harm you. I won’t let him touch you.”
“Thank you,” Maria said. “What is it you want me to do?”
“We will explain everything. But first . . .” Father Quinn’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her headdress. “I am going to ask you to reveal your hair.”
Maria’s pulse thundered. “M-My hair? But it is to be hidden. My vows . . .”
“It is not sinful if I have asked. I’m your superior and demand this in God’s name,” Father Quinn said sternly. Both priests fell silent and waited for Maria to remove her headdress. Maria had not let down her hair in public for years. It was for her only. To be released in the privacy of her own room. But the priests still waited. Maria knew she was to obey, even if the order was difficult.
Her hands shook as she reached up and slowly removed the headdress. The pins in her bun came next, and Maria let her long hair fall from its captivity and flow down her back and over her bottom to the tops of her thighs.
“Stand please, sister.” Father Quinn’s voice was gravel. Maria got to her feet, eyes cast to the floor. “Turn around.” Maria did as instructed. She didn’t know what the priests wanted, or why they wanted to see her hair. There were no words spoken as the priests got to their feet and walked around her, assessing her.
“Yes,” Father Quinn said, a hint of excitement in his voice. “This will work very well.”
An hour later, Maria stood at the monastery’s gates. Father Quinn and Father Murray waited at the main doors of the building while Mother Superior came to speak to Maria. Sister Theresa took Maria’s hands. Concern was written all over her face. “My child, are you sure you want to do this?”
Unease flooded Maria’s heart, but she nodded her head and squeezed the older lady’s hands. “I am.”
Mother Superior stepped closer. “I don’t know what they have asked of you. Father Quinn doesn’t have to tell me. Nor do you. But I know how hard it will be for you to leave these gates.”
Maria dropped her eyes, but then raised them again to say, “Reverend Mother, you have worked with me for years to get me to this point. To where I have the courage to leave.”
“Are you sure you’re there?”
Maria wasn’t. She was honest with the woman who had been her rock since her first days as a postulant. “I’m sure I have to try. These priests are good men. They have been patient with me.” Maria attempted a weak smile. “You always wanted me to entertain the idea of missionary work outside of these walls.”
Mother Superior sighed. Hugging Maria, she whispered, “Be careful, child. I’ll see you when you return.” She left Maria without another word and went to speak to Father Quinn. Maria watched her go with a lump in her throat.
“Are you okay?” Father Murray asked as he came to stand beside her, the cold wind seeping into the very depths of her bones. Maria kept her focus on the iron gates, and the lock that was firmly in place.
“I haven’t been beyond these gates in nearly five years,” she revealed, for once not caring if she sounded weak and cowardly. The outside world scared her. That was the honest truth. She would never lie.
“We will look after you,” Father Murray said again. Maria smiled up at the young priest. “I promise,” he assured her. “You have my vow.” She knew she did. Father Murray was a good priest. He loved his church and faith. She could see it in his face.
“Thank you. I trust you. I trust you both.” With that said, Mother Superior opened the heavy lock, and Fathers Quinn and Murray stepped over the threshold to a waiting car. With a kiss for Mother Superior, and a soft farewell, Maria stepped over too, ready to sacrifice herself for Christ.
However that may be.
*****
Maria didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. She wore a black dress that fell to mid-thigh. The immodest skintight material showed off her every curve. Maria had not worn anything form-fitting since she was a young teen, and even then it was nothing like this. A thick layer of makeup had been painted on her face by a lady the priests had hired under the guise of Maria being a regular girl about to celebrate her twenty-first birthday with her brother and father.
The stylist had curled her hair, making it glossy and voluminous. The curls shortened the length slightly, but only by an inch or so. Large silver hoops were clipped on her unpierced ears. Her blue eyes stood out against the black kohl liner and mascara that rimmed them. Bright red lipstick and black high heels completed the look. Maria’s skin was fair, and the dress strategically hid all of her scars. The scent of roses drifted up her nose from the strong perfume Father Quinn had given her to wear on her neck and wrists.
Maria heard a sharp inhale behind her. She spun to find Father Murray in the doorway, dressed in civilian clothes—they all were. It was part of the ruse. No one could know they were here on official business of the Catholic Church. Once the man had been captured, he would be turned over to the police and dealt with through the proper channels. Maria didn’t question a word from the priests. They wouldn’t lie. They were devout men of God.
They were stationed in a hotel in downtown Boston. Maria had grown up not too far from where she now stood. It was strange being back around familiar streets. Familiar, yet felt so distant from her life now.
“Sister Maria . . .” Father Murray whispered. Maria felt her cheeks blaze under the priest’s brown-eyed scrutiny. She rebelled against his roving eyes, taking a step back. Seeming to catch the sinful way he was regarding her, Father Murray stood straighter and quickly averted his eyes.
“Father Quinn sent me to see if you were ready. It’s time.”
Maria took one last look at her foreign reflection and picked up the purse the priests had given her. Inside was a tracker. A panic button also lay in the lining of the purse, along with a few other things. When she was ready for the priests to come into the club, or if she felt in danger, she would press the button and they would be there in minutes.
She turned and walked into the living area of the hotel suite. It was an opulent room, all rich golds and thick velvets. The plan was for her to visit the club every night until this “Raphael” appeared. If she could, she was to get as close to him as possible. If God was on her side, she could carry out the more detailed plan.
Father Quinn got to his feet and nodded. “He will be rendered speechless when he sees you, sister.”
Maria lowered her eyes at the compliment. She would find no pride in this mask they had painted on her. She would find no pleasure in this task. This was a sacrifice to God. And she would not be derailed from its purpose.
“Remember,” Father Murray said, “you will know him when you see him. He is beyond attractive. He has olive skin and dark hair that falls over his eyes.” Father Murray paused, a strange look overtaking his face, as though he were lost in a memory of some sort. Clearing his throat, he finished, “But it is his eyes that will confirm it’s him. Light-brown eyes that appear oddly golden.”
Maria nodded. Nervously, she played with her hair. “That,” Father Quinn said, pointing at her moving hand.
Maria dropped her hand. “Sorry. I play with my hair when I’m nervous. It’s why the headdresses we wear at the monastery are a gift.” She tried to smile through her mirth, but it was swept away by her rising anxiety.
“No,” Father Quinn said. “Keeping doing that. Raphael will like it. It will draw his attention. That and the move I showed you.” Father Quinn looked at her expectantly. Maria, understanding she was to practice one final time, tipped her head to one side, pulling all of her hair over one shoulder, baring her naked neck. And as Father Murray had insisted, she ran her red-painted nails down the bones underneath her skin. A caressing, seductive movement. It made her feel sick every time she did it.
“Yes,” Father Murray hissed. The pleasured burst of praise made Maria stop dead. Her gaze snapped to the priest. For the first time since she had met him, Maria saw something unusual in his expression—want, need . . . all from staring at her bared neck. Maria quickly righted her hair, covering both shoulders and hiding her throat. Father Quinn took hold of Father Murray, who was still staring. The touch of his superior’s hand snapped him from whatever impure thought he was lost in. Father Murray’s eyes widened when he saw Maria staring, and Father Quinn whispered something into his ear.
“I’ll be right back. I need to check on something.” Father Murray fled into his bedroom. Maria flinched as the door slammed shut and she heard the running water of the shower.
“He is tense,” Father Quinn said from beside her. Maria jumped; she hadn’t realized the older priest was so close. “He wants this sinner caught. Taken off the streets to protect innocent lives. It pains him that this task has fallen to us, to the church.”
Sadness plowed through the high defensive walls Maria had built years ago. “I understand.” She tightened her grip on the purse. She knew what it was like to feel failed by the authorities. She knew how it felt to lose hope.
“Are you ready, child?”
Maria nodded at Father Quinn, trying not to fall into the black well of despair. She had crawled out of the abyss once. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to do so again.
He checked his watch. “It’s past midnight. The club will be brimming with carnal sinners. Do you have your cards?” Maria checked in her purse for the ID card the priests had supplied her with and the card that allowed her into the club. Father Murray told her no questions would be asked of her—it was club policy. “Keep that purse with you at all times. And press that button when you see him, or if you feel you are in danger.” Maria nodded again. Her voice was silent as she mentally prepared for what was about to happen.
Maria made for the door, but Father Quinn stopped her with his hand on her arm. She spun around, and Father Quinn pushed a rosary into her hand. Maria had left hers at the convent for safekeeping. She missed the beads as they slipped through her hands in prayer. “Keep this with you, Maria. Do not wear it around your neck or have it where anyone will see. But keep it with you for courage. To know the Lord and Mother Mary are with you.” As soon as the rosary was dropped into her palm, peace filled her. She looked at the new rosary in her hand and studied the red beads and ornate silver cross, Jesus hanging on the crucifix, redeeming mankind’s sins. On closer inspection, Maria noticed a miniscule “B” carved into Jesus’s chest. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “But what does the ‘B’ stand for?”
Father Quinn’s eyes flashed with something she couldn’t understand. But he quickly recovered enough to say, “I was told it was originally to represent the Boston archdiocese.” Maria nodded, although she was surprised she had never seen such a design before. Father Quinn laid a hand on her shoulder. Maria froze. She wasn’t comfortable being touched. Especially by a man. Father Quinn leaned in close. “But I like to think it stands for ‘Baptist.’ As in John the Baptist. The man whose sacrifice paved the way for Jesus to save all mankind.”
Maria let those words wash over her. “I like that too,” she replied and kept the rosary in her hand. She turned to the door and, without looking back, stepped out into the hallway and began her mission.
In the privacy of the elevator that would take her to the hotel’s foyer, Maria tucked the rosary into her left bra strap. If she couldn’t wear it publicly, she would wear it as close to her heart as she could manage.
Her legs were jelly as she crossed the marble floor of the lobby and walked on unsteady feet out into the frigid Boston winter. The club was only a few yards away. Keeping her head held high, she played her part as best she could. Feigning confidence had been the greatest challenge so far. Maria was used to keeping her eyes to the ground, hands clasped in constant prayer. Her hands were not linked, but she could still find peace in her faith. Hail Mary, full of grace, Maria prayed silently in her mind as she approached the liquor store. She walked through the automatic doors and headed to the back room, praying she had the entrance right. A steep staircase awaited her on the other side. A large man stood at the bottom of it. Maria handed him her cards as he looked her up and down with a salacious smirk on his face. Handing back the cards, he opened the gate that allowed her to pass upstairs.
Maria heard the music from inside pulsing against the walls. She clutched her purse tightly. Maria had never been to a club before. Before she was taken by William Bridge she had been too young. When she was freed, she pledged herself to the church. Maria was sheltered in a way most twenty-one-year-olds were not. Normally, she was thankful. Right now, she wished she had some prior knowledge of what she was walking into.
Ignoring her shaking hand, Maria opened the door to the club and almost stumbled at the sight that greeted her. She froze on seeing a woman tied to a wooden stake in the center of the room, bound by leather straps and metal chains. She was naked but for a strip of black material in her mouth . . . and there was a man, dressed in a three-piece suit, flogging her with a thin leather strap. Even over the blasting music, Maria heard the strap lashing, marring the woman’s skin. There was even blood. But what disturbed Maria more was the look of ecstasy on her face.
Maria could barely breathe. There wasn’t a part of her that was functioning as it should. Her breathing and heartbeat were too quick. Her eyes were too wide and her mouth was dry in shock.
What was this place? Maria wanted to run. The sights and sounds were too much. They were too much like the ranch . . . William’s ranch. But these women were here by choice, wanted to be degraded and hurt and sexually used by choice. She felt as if she had walked into an alternative world, one where nothing made sense and sin, violence, and lust were the norm.
Then Maria’s eyes dropped to the woman’s legs, and all of the blood rushed from her face. Inserted inside her was a toy that resembled a man’s private parts. But that wasn’t what horrified Maria the most. It was the fact that the toy was spiked. Maria’s thighs tensed at merely the sight, as though she could defend the woman from the frightening device. Maria prayed for the woman’s sake that those spikes were rubber and not metal as they appeared. But by the screams and shouts traveling from every corner of the room, Maria couldn’t be sure.
Maria’s body grew colder as she forced herself to move. Men and women stopped to watch her as she moved past, hands reaching out and stroking her bare legs, over her dress, along her breasts. Maria fought back tears as others tried to reach between her legs, pushing themselves on her in ways she could barely stand. She shivered, cold wrapping around her as memories she never wanted to relive sprang into her mind.
Darkness . . . pain . . . despair . . . weakness . . . giving up, I’m giving up . . . no one is coming to help me . . . please . . . please God, please save me . . .
“You want a drink?” A voice pulled Maria from her dark memories. A barman was looking her way.
“Just a water, please,” she said and took a seat at the bar. She placed her purse beside her and, naturally, her hands began playing with her hair. Maria took a large drink of the water when it landed on the bar, and forced herself to look around the club. The sights were too overwhelming, but she kept searching the crowd, looking for the man she was sent to capture. The quicker she found him, the quicker she could return home. In the purse lay a small syringe, one that was filled with a liquid that would render Raphael unconscious. It was only there for if she found herself in the position to get him alone in a private room. Father Quinn and Father Murray didn’t emphasize that expectation too badly, but she knew it was what they prayed for.
She had to do it.
Almost on cue, a man came through the doorway. Maria stilled, her glass halfway to her mouth. He was dressed in a black fitted shirt and black slacks and walked like a god through the club. His confidence leaked from his every pore. Maria’s heart kicked into a sprint when she noticed the olive hue of his skin, the dark hair that fell over his forehead and dropped over his eyes. From this distance, Maria couldn’t see the color of them. The man was looking to his left, away from where she sat. But his lean build, his solid frame—well over six feet tall—fit the description she had been sent with.
He was beauty personified.
Maria was motionless as she watched him cross the club to a woman who waited at the opposite bar. She had blond hair and wore a dress that showed every inch of her figure and what little she wore underneath—a barely-there bra and panties that revealed her shapely behind. In all her life, she had never seen such clothes.
Maria placed her empty glass on the bar and nervously played with her hair. She watched as the blond woman reached out and stroked the man’s wide chest. His top few buttons were undone, revealing the start of a tattoo Maria couldn’t decipher. She raked through her thick dark-blond strands, waiting for the man to look her way. The man lifted his head, and a smile so stunning it was blinding formed on his lips as he threw his head back and laughed. The entire club seemed to fade away as she focused on the man.
And then he looked her way . . . Golden eyes latched onto her. Maria was starved of breath as light-brown—golden-hued—eyes set right on her, on the movement of her hand in her hair. Scrambling to remember what Father Quinn had told her, Maria tipped her head, casually baring her neck. Closing her eyes, she began stroking her hand up and down the fine bones that lay underneath her fair skin. Her fingernails tickled, and goosebumps spread along her spine. Maria pictured Sisters of Our Lady of Grace in her mind, knowing that once this was done she would return to her beloved monastery and never have to be in such a sinful den as this again. This was the last thing she must do to prove she was ready to take final vows.
Maria felt him before she saw him. The scent of fresh water and salt traveled up her nose. The smell was addictive. The steady beat of the music controlled her heartbeat, and, taking in a deep, freshwater-scented inhale, Maria let her eyes flutter open to the vast depravity of the club. Only Maria didn’t see the club, nor the patrons and the people screaming in carnal ecstasy as they were flogged and flayed. She only saw the most captivating face she’d ever seen, that sinfully beautiful face, and that mesmerizing golden stare that rendered her immobile.
Raphael. This wickedly beautiful creature was Raphael, one of the most dangerous men prowling the earth.
“Hi.” His deep voice sailed into Maria’s ears, the heavy Bostonian accent wrapping around the simple greeting. Spell broken, Maria forced herself to play with her hair. Every simple move she made, Raphael devoured like an offering. Maria didn’t understand why such a bad habit would inspire such captivation from the man, but every movement made his chest rise and fall faster, until his tan cheeks were flushed red.
“Hello,” Maria said back. Raphael tore his gaze from the hand running up and down her neck and met her eyes. Maria stroked along the curve of her neck and over to the front of her throat. Her movements were discreet, subtle, like Father Murray had instructed. The movements were so unnatural she felt sure her ruse would be discovered immediately.
“I haven’t seen you here before.” Raphael flicked a hand at the bartender. In less than a minute, a tumbler of amber liquid was placed on the bar before him—whiskey? Brandy? Maria wasn’t sure. Besides red wine at Mass, she never drank. Raphael took the whole shot in one deep swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in this throat. His eyes squeezed closed for a second and shook his head, as if he were arguing with an internal voice. Maria was caught off guard by his strange actions, the tightening of his lips and the twitching of his head. Raphael looked pained, as though something were hurting him from within.
When his eyes opened, they were locked on hers, a strange intensity to his gaze. He straightened. “I’m here for someone else,” he said. His voice had changed from seductive to curt and cold. As if he were reprimanding her for even existing. Anger seemed to flash across his face, and his fists clenched at his sides. Maria’s gaze was drawn to his fist, but she couldn’t help but notice his arousal, the bulge in his slacks that was more than obvious.
Maria’s cheeks burned.
She faced the bar, her hair falling forward to cover her neck. She was chaste. No part of any man, let alone a man as dangerous as this, should draw her attention. The bartender placed another glass of water in front of her. Maria reached for the glass, but before she could take it, she felt rough fingers brush aside her long curls. The pulse in her throat throbbed with unease. But she let it happen; she endured the uncomfortable touch. She let Raphael push her hair away from her milky skin. The pads of his fingertips ran along the bone she had been caressing.
Father Murray had somehow known that simple move would appeal to Raphael. A moth to a flame, and Raphael was wholeheartedly diving into the fire.
“Your hair,” he whispered close to her ear. His soft voice was back and sending hordes of butterflies swooping down her spine. Maria couldn’t help herself. She watched as Raphael’s eyes locked on his slowly moving hand. Up and down along the bone, over and over again. Maria wanted to look away, but she couldn’t not look at the face of this man. The face of an angel.
He is not an angel, but the devil in disguise.
Self-hatred washed over Maria as though she were being doused with holy water after a lifetime of ungodliness. It pulled her from her enraptured state and thrust her back into reality. This man was as ugly on the inside as William Bridge had been in both body and soul. William had been a lot older though. Maria couldn’t help noticing how young Raphael appeared, maybe not much older than herself. It didn’t matter, she told herself. Fathers Murray and Quinn had deemed him one of the most evil men in the world. His age was of little consequence.
She had to keep focused. Though that part of her, the part that believed people could be redeemed, wanted to know more, pulling her mind from the task at hand. She wanted to discover why a man like this, with the world at his feet, would choose this damned and forsaken path.
Raphael stepped closer and closer until he was before her—not touching her, but a mere hairsbreadth away. His scent was overwhelming, his height and lean body imposing in a way no man had ever been to Maria before. “I’m here for someone else.” Raphael’s words sounded reasonable enough, but when she replayed the sentence in her mind, her stomach fell and her chest seized her breath. I’m here for someone else. Not I’m here with someone, but for.
Panic setting in, Maria cast her eyes across the bar to the blond woman who had made him laugh so freely. She was older than Maria and Raphael by quite some years, but she was watching them now with an envious scowl on her face. Her eyes were tight as she watched the man who had been seducing her talk to another.
I’m here for someone else.
Raphael wasn’t at this club for sexual release; he was here for blood. To take another life and rob her loved ones of her grace.
Maria couldn’t let that happen. She could not knowingly allow this man to ensnare an innocent woman . . . even if it meant plunging into the darkness herself.
Edging closer, ignoring the voice in her head that warned her to run, Maria forced herself to play the part of the temptress, a veritable Delilah to this dark-haired, golden-eyed Samson. She forced her finger to move, and ran one red nail down the buttons of Raphael’s shirt. She felt him tense under her touch. Heard him strive for breath, for control. Maria was in a sex club; she had to appear as though she was looking for the same pleasure the other patrons were.
Even if inside she was screaming for forgiveness.
Drowning in a sea of shame and despair.
Raphael leaned closer and closer until his breath ghosted over her face. “Come with me,” he rasped, the sensual tone of his voice stirring something unknown in the depths of her soul. Maria closed her eyes, trying to fight the peculiar sensation. Raphael didn’t appear to see her momentary lapse of strength. He was too busy running his fingers through her hair, from root to end, as gentle as could be. Maria made herself move. She stood off the stool and tried her best to hide her fear. Raphael smiled. The result was breathtaking. That smile could cause a million chaste hearts to succumb to the darkness.
She refused to be one of them.
“My purse,” Maria whispered, just as Raphael tried to reach for her trembling hand. But when Maria searched the bar top, it was nowhere to be seen. Panic set in. “My purse is missing.”
The bartender overheard her.
“New policy. No personal items allowed in the club. There have been leaks, people using their phones. The boss won’t stand for it. Secrecy is key.” He placed a pink ticket beside her. “You’re number nineteen. Hand this in to the doorman when you leave, and he’ll retrieve your purse. It’s safe in the lockers.”
Maria’s vison shimmered. Tears sprang to her eyes as true helplessness and terror wrapped their talons around her heart. Her purse was locked away. The tracker. The panic button. The syringe to render Raphael unconscious.
Caught in her silent despair, Maria flinched when Raphael possessively took hold of her hand. Instinctively, she went to pull it back, to run from the club and to the safe arms of the church, but in her peripheral vision Maria saw the blond woman approaching from the other side of the room. She was walking determinedly toward Raphael.
She was an innocent.
And Raphael was going to kill her.
Maria closed her eyes. She had to make a choice. She could let this woman perish. Many would encourage Maria to allow it. The blonde was a sinner and had no respect for the Lord. But Maria didn’t judge. She would not cast the first stone. A soul was a soul. She believed everyone deserved a second chance in life. A chance to right their wrongs. It was the most fundamental part of her faith in mankind.
She couldn’t let another die in her place.
“I’ll come with you,” she whispered, unsure if her voice would be heard over the pounding music. But she saw the light spark in Raphael’s unusual eyes and knew that it had.
“Robert?” The blond woman came to a stop beside them. She looked Maria up and down, displeasure on her face. “Are we going to get a room?” She smiled, trying to be seductive. Robert. A pseudonym he must use with his victims.
Raphael didn’t even look at the woman; instead he kept his eyes on Maria. He didn’t let go of her hand. In fact, he gripped it tighter, as if he were sure she would try to escape. But Maria had made her decision. She would see this through.
It was strange. Maria had been in the position of being taken, convinced she would be killed every day that she had been held in captivity. She’d had no choices, her free will stripped from her. No decision had been hers. But right now, deciding she would be the one to die under the devilish hunter’s hands brought with it only peace. And a firm sense of control.
Because she was making the choice freely.
Sister Maria Agnes was walking into this willingly. Eyes wide open. Maybe this was God’s plan for her after all, why she had been saved all those years ago. To bring another killer to justice. Father Quinn and Father Murray would know who slayed her. They could bring him to the police and save more of the lives he would inevitably take.
“I’ve found someone else.” Maria was taken aback by the venomous tone of Raphael’s voice when he spoke to the blonde. He was a chameleon, she realized. In one breath he was seductive and charming, in the next, cold and abrupt. Maria saw the evil underneath as he looked at the woman. “I have another play partner. You’re dismissed.”
The blonde’s face reddened with anger and embarrassment. But she turned away and disappeared into the thickness of the crowd. When Raphael turned back to Maria, he adopted his deceptively charming mask again. “Where were we?” Bringing Maria’s hand to his mouth, Raphael pressed a whisper of a kiss on her fair skin. Even the knowledge that he was an evil man couldn’t stop the shiver of pleasure that shot up Maria’s arm at his soft kiss. “Shall we?” He gestured toward a private room.
Maria let him lead. She had left the ticket for her purse on the bar, but she didn’t expect to ever return to collect it. Maria kept her head lowered as they were swallowed by the crowd, scenes of depravity everywhere the eye could see. As they walked, Maria made a silent prayer. Protect me, Lord. Make this quick. Let me feel no pain.
Raphael opened a door and pulled Maria inside. Towering over her, he reached over her head and shut the door. Maria’s back was pressed against the wood, and Raphael’s hand trailed down her arm until it reached the lock.
It clicked into place with a quick turn of his hand.
In the privacy of the room, the music from the main floor was muted. Only a hum of background drum beats penetrated the space. The room was dark due to each wall being covered in padded studded leather. The spotlights in the ceiling were low and tinged with red. Handcuffs and shackles hung from a black padded wall. What appeared to be medieval-looking wooden stocks stood to the right. Rubber and metal swings hung from the ceiling, chains and cuffs and leather straps hanging off each piece of apparatus. Paddles and whips were showcased on a wall to the left. A large leather-coated bed sat in the center. Its four metal posts offered a variety of restraints—chains, leather binds, rope . . . the list was endless.
Maria’s heart pounded so hard she heard the heavy beat in her ears. What was this place? How did people enjoy this kind of sexual exploration? Maria was chaste. Had never been touched. What she understood of sex she learned from gossip at high school and TV as a teen. This . . . this was like nothing she could have ever imagined.
Two other doors stood on the opposite side of the room. She had no idea what they were. The room smelled of leather and a deep sort of musk that she guessed was filtering into the room from the vent in the ceiling.
Raphael’s hand that had been on the lock was suddenly traveling up Maria’s arm, until it wrapped around a section of her hair. Maria noticed string wrapped around his right index finger, his fingertip turning blue through lack of blood. Her hands automatically clasped around Raphael’s back. Her feet were unsteady, and she feared her legs would buckle as fear threatened to take control. Maria had no idea how to seduce this man in return. But the minute her palms pressed against the fine material of his black shirt, her fingers feeling the hard, pronounced muscles that flexed underneath, Raphael hissed in her ear. His hands fisted tighter in her thick hair, pulling at the scalp. “You’re perfect,” he said slowly. “So goddamn perfect.” Maria could almost fool herself that he meant every word. He was staring at her the way Catholic congregations marveled at the Sistine Chapel, the way Mother Superior admired the statue of Mary in the chapel. But it was a ruse. It had to be. Seduction was part of his plan.
Maria met Raphael’s eyes and tried to read what malevolence lay underneath. But she knew it was pointless. She would never understand evil. Never understand the desire to hurt another soul. She wanted to take his hands in hers and beg him to stop, to repent and leave this way of life.
But she trusted Father Quinn. He had told her the church would see that Raphael was brought to the law via the proper channels. They would help him, save him. Fathers Quinn and Murray were good and honest men.
Raphael’s hands were gentle, the softest of touches. Bringing his hands to her face, he ran a finger down her cheek. He guided her head to the left and pushed her hair aside. He was baring her neck. Maria’s heart raced. “How do you like to play?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the finger that now traveled down her neck and to the collar of her dress. “What are your preferences?” Father Murray had warned her about this question. A contract had been forged for her to get the exclusive membership card. In it, she had given consent to anything that occurred in the club. This wasn’t a tame place, and Father Quinn had warned her that she must do whatever it took to bring Raphael into the arms of the church once more. She had no idea what sexual practices would appeal to Raphael. She had to let him take the lead.
“Whatever you want . . . sir,” she whispered back, not daring to move.
Raphael stepped back and hissed, scanning Maria’s face. “A submissive?” His smile widened, and she saw excitement light up his face. “My lucky night.” His teeth raked over his full bottom lip. Maria didn’t really understand what a submissive was. But she could guess from the word—compliant, completely obedient. “I like control. I like to watch and touch and have you writhing under my hands.” His mouth went to her ear. “Before I fuck you and break you.” Maria listened to his slow, shuddering inhale. “I love to watch the break.”
The blood drained from Maria’s face. I love to watch the break.
The softness that Raphael had been exhibiting disappeared in a second. A mask of superiority possessed his face. “Take off your dress.”
Maria’s eyes widened, and she became breathless at such a sternly given order. Raphael folded his arms over his chest, waiting, his golden eyes frosting over with authority. Maria felt light-headed at being spoken to in such a way.
“I’m waiting. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Maria jumped at Raphael’s harsh tone. She began to nervously pull the arms of her dress down. Raphael just watched, unmoving, eyes so focused he barely blinked. He kept his expression neutral. She had no idea what he was thinking.
Maria glanced at the floor. “Look up.” Maria did immediately. “Don’t take your eyes off mine. You’ll always look at me.” Raphael let a ghost of a smirk tug on his upper lip. “Or you’ll be punished.”
Maria swallowed, and she felt heat wash over her skin. Confusion took her in its hold. Maria wasn’t sure if the warmth on her skin was from fear, or worse . . . pleasure.
No, she thought. It was just the reaction of her innate obedience. She didn’t like to displease anyone. She didn’t ever rebel. She found comfort in following orders, in not having to make decisions. She found comfort in numbness.
Maria was good at following orders. It was all she had ever done. She had given her free will over to the church. The church and, right now, Raphael.
She would see this moment like that. In this moment, Raphael was her church.
Taking a steadying breath, Maria wondered what Raphael’s take on punishment would be. As she freed her right arm from the long sleeve, she wondered if she could draw this out long enough for Fathers Quinn and Murray to come looking for her. As she refocused on Raphael’s intense, hungry gaze, she doubted whether they could take him if they did. Raphael was in perfect condition. He was strong, domineering, and Maria was convinced he would handle himself just fine if attacked. Fathers Murray and Quinn were gentle and kind, men of God. They would be no match for Raphael.
“Stop stalling. And pull down the other arm.” Chills scuttered down her spine at his harsh command. It wasn’t from pleasure, she reminded herself. She had told Raphael she would do whatever he wanted. This instinct to obey him was purely survival.
Compared to the hedonistic sights in the main floor of the club, this seemed tame. At least it was right now. Maria knew it would get worse. Much worse. Raphael held that promise in his golden gaze. The frighteningly obscure devices and contraptions in the room only cemented that truth.
Raphael edged closer. “I won’t tell you again. Sleeves off. That’s your last chance.” Maria rushed to pull down the arm of her dress, revealing her black bra. Raphael was close to her. So close she could see the light stubble on his cheeks and jaw, and the scar that ran through his left eyebrow. He wore a cross in his left ear. She swallowed, yet grew intrigued when she saw that cross was upturned. “I don’t like to be disobeyed, and you are testing my tolerance,” he said in warning. He reached out and, in direct contrast to his harsh tone, gently rolled down the right bra strap. He leaned in and his mouth met Maria’s ear. “I expect whatever I say to be done. Immediately. Do you understand, or do you need to be taught? Do you need my expert instruction? I promise, I’ll only have to show you once.” But Maria’s voice had been stolen by the carnal act of baring herself to this stunning sinner. “I said,” Raphael continued, moving his full lips to her left ear. He took hold of the left bra strap and began to pull it down too. The material scraped against the skin on her upper arm, making her suck in a sharp inhale. Raphael smirked, clearly seeing her reaction. “Do. You. Understand?” Raphael yanked the strap down so hard Maria’s breasts were suddenly bared, the dress falling to her waist. But just as a shocked moan escaped her mouth, her hands reaching to her chest to maintain her modesty, a clatter echoed around the room. Maria didn’t even have to time to think about what had fallen. She simply watched in horror as Raphael bent down and retrieved the fallen item from the floor. Raphael stood, the rosary in his hand, the red beads threading through his fingers. As if the religious artifact were a naked flame, Raphael flinched, and his olive skin quickly paled as if the rosary were offensive.
Then, he brought the rosary closer to his face, eyes scanning the crucifix in detail. Maria saw when something within him changed. His body tensed, and the cords in his neck stood out prominently with how tightly he was gritting his teeth. His face reddened with what looked like unadulterated rage.
Maria quickly pulled up the straps of her bra, then the sleeves of her dress. As she moved to right her collar, Raphael’s head snapped up. But Maria didn’t see the beautiful smile or hungry expression she had previously been on the receiving end of. Raphael’s face vowed to inflict pain on her.
Before she had time to move from the door and try to put some space between her and him, Raphael thrust out his arm and wrapped his hand around Maria’s neck. The back of her head slammed against the wood, her shoulder blades taking the brunt of the impact as she was thrust backward. Breath spilled from her mouth as she was lifted off the floor and to the very tip of her toes. Maria tried to claw at Raphael’s strong arms, but his touch was too strong. Golden eyes filled with rage as he glared at her terrified face. “Who are you?” he snarled, voice savage. His full lips tightened as his teeth were bared. “How did you know where to find me? Did they send you?” Maria began kicking her legs, trying to break from his hold. Raphael paid her protests no mind. Instead he dangled the crucifix in her face. “I know these rosaries. The ‘B’ on His chest. I know who it belongs to. The filth who wear it.” Raphael tucked the beads into his pocket, and Maria’s eyes widened, fear becoming the only sensation her heart could feel. Fear and confusion. Raphael pushed her long hair aside and wrapped a second hand around her neck, adjusting the grip to completely stop her breathing. Maria pleaded with her eyes for Raphael to spare her, but her vision began to darken as he watched her gasp and fight to survive. And then she saw it, the hungry smile gracing his beautiful face. Smiling as she began to lose consciousness. Maria never stopped clawing at his arms, his hands. She would fight to the last second.
But as her body weakened and the darkness in her eyes deepened, Maria kept her gaze fixed on the beautiful man before her. The man who would send her soul to reside in heaven among the angels and saints.
This man they called Raphael.
Her beautiful killer.