Raphael headed for the back door and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway that led out into the alley. Once outside unseen, he threw the bitch in his trunk. He was on the road and heading back to the manor in minutes. But his blood was too fast and too hot as it rushed through his veins. Lava was all he was made of. He made a fist and sent it plunging into his dick. His jaw clenched, but there was no reaction. No hardening. Slamming his hand on the steering wheel, Raphael released a deafening growl. His foot pressed on the gas, and he soared out of the downtown streets. In the back of his mind he told himself to calm down. Gabriel would kill him himself for going too fast and potentially drawing the attention of the cops. But Raphael didn’t give a fuck. Right now he was nothing but fire and frustration, motherfucking flames. He tried to picture the bitch struggling for breath, her eyes when he’d told her to die. He should have been rock hard. Should have been able to sink his dick into her overused pussy and come perfectly in time with her very last breath.
But he hadn’t. All he could think of was Maria. Maria with her long blond hair and innocent gasps of pleasure. Her tears. Her fucking tears that he didn’t understand.
“Bitch!” he snarled. “Little rose BITCH!” Raphael’s car skidded as he pulled to an abrupt stop outside of the manor. He flew out of the car, grabbing his camera from the glove compartment. Yanking open the trunk, he aimed the camera at the dead bitch and took the picture that would be joining his wall. He tossed the camera into the back seat, pocketed the Polaroid, and raced up the stone steps. The minute he was through the door, he made for the stairs.
“Raphe, your order has arrived.” Sela was smiling at him. Raphael ignored him. “It’s fucking beautiful, brother.” Sela frowned, then looked down at Raphael’s clothes. But Raphael didn’t stop. He had made it only a few steps when he met Gabriel walking down. For the first time in years, the sight of Gabriel’s priest’s shirt fucking offended him. Raphael tried to brush past him, but Gabriel got directly in his path. His brother’s blue eyes drank him in. Gabriel studied Raphael’s open shirt, his clawed arms and chest and cheeks. Blood. The bitch had drawn blood all over his skin.
“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice stern.
Raphael smiled coldly, his cheeks aching with the forced pleasantry. “The bitch is dead.”
“You killed her already? Then why didn’t we celebrate?” Bara was at the bottom of the stairs. All of his brothers were there, looking up at him with confused faces. Apart from Michael, who just regarded him plainly, as usual.
Turning back to Gabriel, Raphael said, “The trafficking bitch is dead.”
Gabriel’s jaw clenched. “You went back to the club? I told you not to go back. The Brethren?”
“I don’t care what you said. The cunt is dead. Contract fulfilled.” Raphael held up his car keys. “She’s in the trunk of my car.”
“Give me the keys,” Sela said, his face hard and voice deep. “I want her before she goes to the crematorium.”
Raphael threw the keys at his brother. He could have her. Cut her up and do with her what the hell he wanted with her ugly parts.
“I wanna see too,” Uriel said, and he, Bara, Sela, Michael, and Diel all raced out of the front door.
“You were forbidden to return to the club,” Gabriel said. “They could have seen you. They could have captured you—”
“They didn’t,” Raphael said through gritted teeth.
“That’s not the point—”
Raphael went to push past Gabriel to get to his room, but his brother grabbed his arm. Raphael set the anger that was firing his every move free and slammed Gabriel against the wall. Hs hand slipped to his brother’s neck. Gabriel’s shocked eyes met his.
“Leave me the fuck alone, brother, and don’t touch me without my permission. I killed the bitch. And now I’m going to my room to get back to Maria. Don’t get in my way ever again.” Raphael threw Gabriel aside, feeling his brother’s shocked eyes on his back as he climbed the stairs and rushed to his room.
The second he was in his suite, he locked the doors and moved to the secret door that faded into the wall. He pushed through, shutting the door behind him and flicking on the lights. He moved to the printer, scanned the Polaroid, and printed out a larger copy. He pinned it on his wall. With the pen that sat beside the printer, he wrote the words “bitch” and “kid trafficker” beside the picture of her dead face, eyes wide open for eternity. Throwing the pen down, Raphael was about to leave the room when he stared at the shrine. At the gilded frame that awaited Maria’s picture.