THREE
ISABEL
Standing in front of the mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door, I stare at my body.
Light scar lines haphazardly spatter my arms, chest, shoulders, stomach, and thighs.
With more on my back. And I wonder what Pace sees when he looks at me.
I didn’t learn of the things he said and did to me yesterday from any of my teachings, but I’ve overheard some of the parishioners in the church speak before.
I even eavesdropped on a confession from a woman who was addicted to sex.
From what I’ve been taught, sex is for making babies.
That’s not what Pace’s goal was, though, and that’s certainly not how I felt.
Although it could happen. I know when I look at him, my stomach flutters, my heart races, and I feel hot.
Like I’m standing in the pits of hell and the only thing that can touch me is him.
Jumping back as the door pushes inward so that I don’t get hit with it, the man in question stands naked before me. He’s casual about his nudity, while I want to cover myself up. “What are you doing?”
His intense gaze moves up and down my body. From my now erect nipples to the curls between my legs and everywhere in between. I feel myself growing needy again.
“What do you see?”
“Perfection.” He doesn’t hesitate, and it warms me, but I expected more.
“Is that all?”
“Yes.” Pace moves around to stand behind me, shutting the door so he can see what I’m looking at. “What do you see?”
His hands move to my hips as I contemplate my answer. “Shattered pieces of a broken girl.”
“Broken.” He frowns as he repeats the word. “Broken, how?” He’s genuinely confused, and I think this is the moment I fall in love with him. Pace doesn’t see the scars. He doesn’t see the agony I suffered. He sees me. The me that has no idea who she is, and he wants her anyways.
“The scars.” I use the tip of one finger to trace one that expands down my chest and around to my side. The worst one. “I have so many.”
“Tell me why.” His jaw ticks as his eyes roam across each one, even the tiny ones, like he’s seeing them for the first time.
Tapping the one I just traced, I say, “I live in a dreary room with no color and a single window high on the wall for light. Sometimes, I do things without thought. I love color. Red, pink, purple, blue, they’re all beautiful.
I just want a world of color.” Lowering my eyes, I dread the next part.
“I clipped a bunch of wildflowers that grow on the church grounds by the graveyard and snuck them into my room. I placed them in a glass of water on the floor next to my bed.”
Swallowing hurts as Pace’s arms wrap firmly around me, and he kisses the side of my neck.
“Sister Jeanne found them one day while I was in confession. I was stripped of my clothes, chained to the bed, and whipped sixteen times. Once for each flower I had in my possession.” Gazing down at my wrists, I still bear the scars from those chains and my attempt at escaping discipline.
“I had to sleep on a blanket on the floor for a month afterwards. Father Cassio’s punishments are extreme, and they work.
With everyone it seems, except me. I never learned my lessons.
I always pushed harder, for more, trying to find some semblance of beauty in the lackluster world I was living in. ”
Wordlessly, Pace turns me in his arms, brushing rough fingers through my hair and clasping my head in both of his hands.
He searches my eyes, and what I see in his is terrifying.
Or it should be. I should be running, screaming from this man.
His eyes are so black, it’s like peering into the gates of hell and watching the devil torture the lost souls.
His body vibrates with a controlled rage I didn’t think anyone could harness.
There’s a coldness in his voice when he speaks. “They’ll never touch you again. Not while there’s breath in my body.”
With my hands on his chest, I feel his steady heartbeat. A steadiness I wish I knew how to obtain. Our bodies are pressed tightly together, and I begin to feel a now familiar tingle between my legs where he’s concerned.
Desire.
Need.
Want.
A craving I can’t control.
One I’ve been told is a sin. And after all the beatings I’ve taken over the years, I should know better. My body should. Frankly, I should be terrified of the way Pace makes me feel, but I’m not.
“Why are you here?” I never questioned him before because he saved me. My life. My soul. I can never repay what he’s done for me, but I’m going to try.
Stepping back, Pace balls his hands into fists at his sides. Frustration eats at him, and I’m uncertain why. “I just am,” he finally grinds out between clenched teeth.
“Did you know about me? Did someone from the church call you?” A thought occurs. “Did Daia?” I need to get her out too. She doesn’t belong there.
“Nobody called me. Right place, right time. Nothing more.” He doesn’t sound convinced of that.
“Yeah, but why? You knew far more than any other man did about what happens in that church. You saw things when others have remained oblivious. Why are you here, Pace?” The more I think about it, the more I need to know.
Walking out of the bathroom, he slips into his clothes in a far more restrained fashion than I would expect. He’s so big, his movements should be more unwieldy, but he’s almost graceful in his actions. Always thoughtful, too. Pace doesn’t do anything without extreme care.
“Pace?”
Finally, he glances up at me after securing his watch on his wrist. “I have to go out, and I need you to stay here.”
“Go out where?” My persistent need to question everything is annoying him, but I have this feeling that I need to know. That he’s hiding something from me.
Sighing, he picks up a bag I never noticed from the corner by the door before opening the wood panel and glancing back over his shoulder at me. “I’m going to kill the priest.” The door closes behind him softer than I would have imagined, and he leaves me in stunned silence
Kill a priest? Who kills a priest?
Pace does, I guess.
And I couldn’t imagine a more deserving man of death.
Pace
I never wanted her to know.
She was too stunned and terrorized to understand what was happening yesterday, but now that Isabel has found her footing, she has questions.
Ones that deserve answers. Answers she shouldn’t have to deal with.
I never wanted her to know that I was sent here to murder a man of faith.
Let alone the women who helped the evil bastard.
Despite the fact that I confirmed I was going to kill them before I took her on that bench—fuck, her body was sweet—I’m not sure she believed me at that point.
Or perhaps she forgot. Either way, I want this over with today.
I already know Father Cassio is going to be sending out Brothers Ephrem and Judas to find the girl in my room.
I need to get to them before they can even think of discovering her location.
Losing Isabel now that I’ve found her isn’t an option. I finally understand why Domino and Santi are willing to die for Nicola and Amalia. In spite of my own love for my sisters-in-law, I wouldn’t die for them. There’s not many I would, aside from the Morellos and my own parents.
Isabel, though…I’ll do anything for her.
Including lay down my life.
She’s the purest soul I’ve ever met. Even more clueless about the ways of lust and desire than I was.
What we did yesterday, the carnal act of fucking the way we did, shook me to my core.
I had no idea I wanted those things with a woman.
I thought I was fucked up. That there was something wrong with me that I didn’t have an interest in sex.
Turns out, I was just waiting for the right woman. At least my body was. And after the way she accepted everything I demanded from her without question, and even begged for some of it, I know I can never let her go.
Except I might have to once she discovers who I truly am. What it is that I do. Isabel is an accepting woman, but even this, loving a monster, is pushing a line I don’t think I have any right to ask of her.
But how do I let her go?
Approaching the church from the side entrance, gloves on, bag slung over my chest, and a mask covering my face, I quietly enter the sacred building.
Already knowing I’m going to hell when I die only spurs me on.
Santi was able to send me a list of parents these assholes stole babies from, and I don’t believe for a second that it was complete.
Hundreds of children’s lives forever changed, including that of the sister of our friend Dante Lupo.
The amount of mother’s who killed themselves after losing their children is what was truly staggering.
Yes, some of them were struggling financially, possibly mentally, and maybe some didn’t belong having children to begin with, but they didn’t deserve what happened to them afterwards.
Eighteen women committed suicide after their infants were stolen from them.
Twenty-seven were institutionalized by the church.
Seven died from overdoses—it’s unclear if they were intentional or not.
Many others never had more children. Some were so depressed they lost what little they had.
Isabel’s own mother was one of the few who crawled out of whatever hole she’d sunk into for years after her disappearance and became a functioning member of her community again. Those success stories were few and far between.
Voices from the priest’s office stop me as I’m about to turn the corner into the hallway leading to the room where I first realized Isabel was being held.
Glancing around the wall, I see it’s clear and stealthily move along, listening for any other sounds as I go.
Stopping outside Cassio’s door, it’s opened a crack, and I listen to him speaking.
“We must get her back. She was going to make me millions. That Saudi prince was willing to pay top dollar for a virgin like her. She has no idea about the ways of the bedroom. He’s been waiting for years,” Cassio bitches, and my anger continues to grow.
They have no idea about the horrors that would have awaited her if the prince I believe they’re talking about got ahold of her.
He’s a sadistic asshole that has disposed of many women over the years.
There’s a long pause before I hear him clench out, “I don’t care what it takes, get her back. Kill him if you must but leave the girl untouched.” A phone slams down, and I see his shadow pacing back and forth across the floor as he mutters to himself.
Footsteps echoing down the hall have me backing up and entering the empty room across the hall. Leaving it open a crack, I wait to see who’s coming. “Father?” It’s a woman’s voice.
“Sister Anne, is the cleansing ready for Sister Daia? It’s finally her turn, and I can’t wait to be rid of her.” Frowning at the name, because that’s Isabel’s friend, I know I need to get her out too. Fuck. This just became more complicated.
“She’s being examined now, and Sister Maura has the supplies ready. They’ll begin just as soon as you’re ready.” She sounds as maniacal as the priest. These people are fucking nuts.
Hearing the door close and the woman sigh, I open my door a crack, wrap a hand around her mouth and drag her inside with me.
She tries to fight, to cry out, but my blade at her neck simmers her down enough that she stills, staring widely up at me.
What I see in her eyes is an antipathy even I don’t possess.
I don’t know where Cassio found these nuns, but each one is as cold and callous as the next.
They’re all going to burn in hell when I’m done with them.
“What’s a cleanse?” I need to know how urgent it is that I get to Daia before I take out the priest. She glares at me. Shaking her body, the knife digs into her neck, and she tries to struggle, but her smaller stature is no match for my bulky frame. “What are they going to do to Daia?”
Lifting my hand slightly, her lips thin into a straight line. I know she’s not going to give anything away.
“Sister, this can go one of two ways. You tell me what I want to know, and I snap your neck. Quick death. You don’t, and I knock your ass out, and you’ll suffer every bit as much as Cassio is going to, and you’ll be begging for the devil to collect your soul.”
Whatever else she’s done in her life, she’s clearly a believer in the afterlife because even as she pales, her head nods, and she explains, “The cleansing is a bleach bath in scorching water, and then Father Cassio takes her.”
“Takes her,” I repeat. “You mean rapes her.” She nods stiffly.
“He must cleanse each of her holes with his seed before she’s given to Benito Torres.” I know the name.
“How much did he sell her for?” There’s always a fucking price.
Swallowing, the lump digs into the knife as it passes, and she winces. “Mr. Torres has been paying half a million euros since he met Daia two years ago. Father Cassio wouldn’t give him to her until she reached eighteen.”
“How fucking noble of him.”
“She isn’t eighteen for another three weeks.”
“Your precious Father is a fucking pedophile?”
She nods before frowning. “Isabel didn’t tell you?” There’s more. Much more.
“Tell me what.” Fighting my rage is becoming difficult.
“He’s been spilling his seed on her to prepare her since she was a child.
There’s a reason she’s stayed here as long as she has.
We normally don’t keep children more than six months, but he refused to let her leave.
If not for the sum the prince had planned to give for her, she would have been gone when she was an infant. ” I feel sick. Worse than sick.
Murderous.
“See you in hell, Sister Anne.” Gripping her chin and the back of her head, I twist until I hear the snap, and she falls from my grip. I should feel remorse. She was a woman. A nun. A believer in the Almighty.
But she stood by and profited off this sick organization while my Isabel was being tormented her entire life. Everyone is dying here today, and I’m burning this place to the fucking ground.