Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 102901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
She closed her eyes and breathed to steady the anger that was striking like a match within her. What horrors had the Brethren put these men, these seven very disturbed men, through? Tears fell down her cheeks—from a mixture of rage and deep sorrow.
Raphael’s hands scrambled along the floor as if he were fighting to be freed. As he moved, Maria reached out and threaded her fingers through his. She squeezed and whispered, “I’m here, Raphael. I’m here.”
His harrowing scream made her blood run cold. Raphael’s head snapped back, and so did his eyes. But Maria could see in his gaze that he wasn’t awake. He was still trapped in his nightmare. He pulled her down, his free hand covering her neck. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me anymore,” he snarled, and she knew he was replacing her face with that of his abuser.
Father Murray.
“Shh,” Maria soothed, praying to God that He would help her break through Raphael’s pain and give him some peace. Raphael’s lips pulled back from his teeth and he snarled. “Stop touching me. Stop hurting me!” The anger in his voice faded to a little boy’s plea for mercy. “Please, Father . . . please . . . it hurts . . .”
Maria sobbed. Even with Raphael’s hand on her neck, she broke at the echoed voice of innocence that was buried within him somewhere deep, somewhere it was trapped and couldn’t break free.
She felt his erection leaking against her thigh. What had they done to him? The confusion he must feel. Only finding pleasure through pain. Raphael’s eyes closed again and his hips began to buck. He tried to find friction against her leg, but he grew frustrated, growling and . . . Maria gasped when she saw tears falling down his cheeks. “I can’t,” he whispered.
“You will, demon.”
Maria froze at the sound of a odd, deeper voice spoken from Raphael’s own throat. A voice she knew mimicked Father Murray.
Demon.
He’d made Raphael believe he was a demon.
How could they? They were children. Children in need of help, not exorcism and punishment. Their fragile minds had been destroyed, purged of anything good and pure.
“Come, demon. Release your sinful seed.”
Raphael tried. He tried and tried to come, his hand no longer tight around her throat, as if he couldn’t even muster any strength to try. Unable to watch it anymore, Maria reached down Raphael’s soaking chest and took hold of his length. It throbbed in her hand, so desperately trying to find release and break the hell Raphael was in. He hissed as she worked her hand up and down, faster and faster, until his mouth parted and he bellowed out his release, coming onto Maria’s naked body. Raphael collapsed against her. He struggled to catch his breath. Maria cradled him to her, holding him close so he would know he was safe.
Minutes passed, and Raphael didn’t move. Then he stirred. Hs legs moved, his chest lifted off hers, and he slowly lifted his head. Maria braced for his anger. But when weary and sorrowful golden eyes met hers, she felt as if she had taken a spear to the chest. Raphael stared at her. His lips parted. His eyes dropped, and Maria understood. He was embarrassed.
In her heart, she knew he wouldn’t talk about Father Murray or the Brethren, or tell her about his dream. Maria was sure he wasn’t capable of expressing feelings. He never had done; he didn’t know it was something other people shared.
Maria placed her hands on his face. “Raphael,” she whispered, her soft words like a crash of thunder in the room. He didn’t lift his head. “Raphael,” she tried again. “Look at me.” Raphael squeezed his eyes shut, then let her guide his gaze to hers. Fighting to smile, his semen still running down her thighs, Maria kissed his lips.
They were quivering.
In that moment, Raphael wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t a nun. They were just healing balms to one another’s open wounds. “Let’s get you clean.” Raphael struggled to his feet. He never let go of Maria’s hand the entire time. Maria followed him to stand, then when he didn’t move, his body seeping tiredness and sadness, she led him into the bathroom. She sat him on the chair beside the bath and turned the faucet. Raphael still kept hold of her hand. Maria glanced back at him. He was crouching forward, his glazed eyes on the floor. Shivers racked his body. His hair was wet with sweat.
Maria fought back her anger at Father Murray and went to Raphael. She got to her knees. He reluctantly met her eyes. “Let’s get you in the bath, my lord,” she said softly. His eyes flared some at the use of that name. But he didn’t move until Maria got to her feet and led him to the large bath.