It was true. Everything Gabriel said was true.
“No . . .” Maria whispered, her voice breaking and eyes flooding with tears. Meeting Gabriel’s eyes, she confessed, “They told me I was to take on a mission before my final vows for the church. To apprehend a powerful and dangerous killer so they could take him off the streets and away from harming others. I did so . . . because of my past.” Maria explained her parents’ murder, her kidnapping, to Gabriel. He listened intently. When she was finished, Gabriel rubbed his tired eyes.
“They used you, Maria. They used you. They knew of your past and exploited it for their own ends. They think little of women. It’s in their creed, that women are daughters of Eve and temptresses prone to sin. You were a tool.”
Maria’s hands shook. She kept them in her lap for fear of being consumed by rage. When she had calmed some, she asked, “They must kill? Your brothers? They are all murderers?”
Gabriel laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. “It was my idea. I am able to find people who enjoy the less savory things in life, people who do evil things. I send my brothers out to kill people who deserve it before they kill innocents—because they would. They kill other killers, those worse than they are.” He gazed at the flames of the lit fire beside them. “I believed it was because of their start in life. I believed, with all my heart, that they could be cured.” Gabriel met Maria’s eyes, and she could feel the pain emanating from his body. “I was wrong.” He sucked in a breath. “I think they were born that way, after all. I think there is a darkness that lives inside them all. A darkness that can’t be defeated. I can no longer pretend it isn’t true.” Gabriel’s face paled. “You being here is proof of it. You should never have been brought here. Raphael defied orders when he saw you. But . . .” Gabriel pointed at Maria’s hair. “You are Raphael’s greatest fantasy, Maria. Father Quinn used you because he knew Raphael and what would draw him in.”
“What was that?”
Gabriel pointed at her hair again. “That.”
Maria thought of all the ways Raphael had stroked her hair, combed it, dried it, humming “Ring a-round the Roses.” Her hair was always in his hands. She didn’t want to know how he wanted to kill her. Some things were better left alone.
“It was more Father Murray,” Maria said.
Gabriel froze. “What?” Gabriel’s face paled. “Father Francis Murray? Young, dark hair and eyes?” he said quickly. Maria nodded. Gabriel closed his eyes. Her heart missed a beat at his strange reaction.
“Gabriel—”
“Raphael,” was all he said, before closing his eyes and dropping his head.
Gabriel’s reaction caused dread to seep into Maria’s bones. “What? Please tell me.”
Gabriel shook his head. “It’s not for me to tell.” He got to his feet and gazed into the fire. “They beat me. They tortured me.” Gabriel’s hand fisted and his eyes squeezed shut. “They . . . they raped me.” A choked sob ripped from Maria’s tight throat. “Over and over for years.” Gabriel turned to Maria, but he had nothing left in his eyes but emptiness. As if the memories he was sharing had drained the life from his very soul. “It was Father Quinn. I was Father Quinn’s charge.”
Maria’s eyes closed and she tried to breathe. She no longer doubted Gabriel’s word. She saw in his eyes, posture, and broken voice that it was all true. And if it had happened to Gabriel . . . Maria’s eyes snapped open. “Raphael,” she murmured. “It happened to him too, didn’t it? To all your brothers.” She held her breath, praying she was wrong.
“That’s his story to tell, Maria. I won’t betray his trust that way.”
But Maria knew it was true. Realization hit. Father Murray . . . Gabriel’s reaction to Father Murray’s name. Had he been the one to hurt Raphael? Had he forced himself on him?
Maria got to her feet, unable to stay seated. “You hurt yourself because you feel guilt.” It wasn’t a question. Gabriel’s very soul pulsed with self-disgust and shame.
He laughed sadly. “I pledged myself to God as a teen, only to do the devil’s work instead. I deserve to be punished. I deserve to burn in hell.”
Maria went to leave the room, her spirit defeated and exhausted. She was unsure how to offer comfort to a man who was so far gone with self-hatred. And if she was being honest with herself, she wanted—no, needed—to get back to Raphael. Some magnetic force was drawing her back to his side. She felt raw, and she knew only Raphael could make her feel whole.
But just as Maria was about to leave, she glanced over at the table in the corner. She froze. The vials she had seen from her seat were filled with blood. Crumbs of blood-soaked bread lay beside them. She ran her fingers over her inner arm where Gabriel had drawn her blood.