“I agree,” Sela said. Sela would always agree with Diel. He and Sela were best friends. Just like Bara and Uriel were, Raphael and Michael the same. It was only Gabriel who sat on the fringes of their group. He was their older brother. But he kept to himself or in the company of John Miller, the lawyer who used to work for Gabriel’s grandfather. The grandfather who was a killer too.
“We’re stronger than them now. We can fight them and win. If they’ve found us or at least are looking again after all this time, maybe it’s a sign we finally need to face them,” Diel argued. His neck tensed under his collar. His head twitched as the collar hummed, reacting to his quickening pulse.
“It could be a sign from your beloved God, Angel,” Bara added, smirking at Gabriel. “Maybe he’s returned to his Old Testament wrathful self and craves a bit of good old-fashioned violence.” Bara gestured around the table. “We’d all be his willing soldiers if it meant bringing down those Brethren cunts.”
Gabriel got to his feet, ignoring Bara. “I’m getting surveillance on that club. I want to know who exactly is looking for us. Once we know that, we’ll make plans.” Gabriel sighed and faced Raphael. He looked tired. He always looked tired. “Raphael, the kill is off. For now, at least.” Gabriel braced himself, body tense, clearly waiting for Raphael’s wrath. But Raphael just nodded. Gabriel’s eyebrows pulled down in confusion. Then, without another word, he left the room.
Uriel was staring at Raphael like he was looking at a stranger. Even Michael had looked up from his black coffee. “Why aren’t you more pissed? He’s taken away your kill,” Uriel asked.
“I’ll get it back.”
“Are you insane?” Sela asked.
“Or, in our case, have you found your sanity?” Bara laughed darkly at his joke and put his hand on his chest. “Raphael . . . have you found God too?”
His brothers smirked at the redhead.
“The whore was rancid. There was nothing exciting about being inside her overused pussy, even if it meant I got to snap her neck at the same time.” Raphael shrugged. “She held no appeal to me. She was a bad target. Nowhere near my type. When I go back, it’ll be a quick and unsatisfying death for the slut.” Raphael stood up. “I’m going to sleep.” He left the room and walked up the stairs. Michael never turned up to hang out until dark fell and dinner was done. He had time with the woman. Hours where he wouldn’t be disturbed.
Back in his suite, he made sure every lock on his door was bolted and headed straight for the closet. When he walked in and switched on the light, it was to find two huge blue eyes fixed on his.
A slow smile broke out on his face. “Hello, again.”
Chapter Five
Maria breathed heavily as she stared into that unnerving golden gaze. His smile was as devastating as she remembered, as seductive and as charming. But her heart fired like a cannon, warning of trouble, when she remembered how quickly the sinner had lost that fake smile and launched at her, wrapping his hands around her throat. Even now she could feel the bruising grip crushing her windpipe. She no doubt had marks on her skin. It hurt her to swallow.
Maria closed her eyes. Last night, or whenever that was, she had thought he would kill her. When she had lost consciousness, she thought she would die. She didn’t know what he wanted with her alive. Father Quinn and Father Murray had told her he was a murderer. But he had kept her. She blanched at what he might do to her next.
Raphael looked different from the previous night. He was in casual clothing, for one. His messy dark locks were unstyled. Like this, he looked young and kind. But Maria had borne witness to the monster lurking underneath his pretty façade. She wouldn’t be fooled again. For some reason, God had spared her once more. She pulled at the binds tying her hands behind her back. Tried to push her tongue against the gag and tape on her mouth. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t scream. She was mute and immobilized. She tried to stave off the panic that was threatening to disable her. But the lack of freedom was like heavy quicksand that dragged her under. The iron-clad clutch that grabbed her by the ankle and started pulling her down. Down into her past, one she had fought for years to forget . . .
Maria blinked. Her eyes were sore. She tried to move, but something held her hands in place, her legs. Her mind was fogged. She tried to remember where she was, what was happening. Like the first signs of rain, drop after sporadic drop began to seep into her consciousness. Memories of a man walking into their home. Memories of the man shooting her father in the head, his body dropping to the ground, eyes wide open and watching Maria as she screamed on the floor, staring at her father, who had only minutes before brought them popcorn, as the movie they had chosen to watch still played.