by Tillie Cole
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.