“You good?” Gabriel whispered to Raphael.
When they’d first left Purgatory, Gabriel had told them that Raphael, Bara, Uriel, Michael, Sela, and Diel didn’t see the world the way everyone else did. The six of them felt things differently—or, most of the time, not at all.
But Raphael was feeling things now. When he thought of Maria’s smile, of her touching him, warmth spread in his chest. And when he thought of her being hurt, a wave of such evil came over him he felt like the devil himself.
Raphael nodded at Gabriel. Gabriel sighed, then said to his brothers, “We won’t know how many are in there until we get inside.” Gabriel was dressed in black. They all were. But Raphael found it strange not to see his older brother in his usual dog collar and slacks. “From what I remember, there could be up to thirty, thirty-five members in the different rooms.” Raphael’s mind took him back to the candle room. The one where they were lined up and forced to suck Brethren cock, where they were pinned down and raped over and over until it became part of their everyday life. His lip curled in disgust, and the thick black tar of revenge clogged his every cell.
“I’ll go for the dorms,” Gabriel said. “If there are any boys in there, we need to get them out. Miller will have men waiting for them at the entrance once we’re inside. We’ll need to get them far away from this place.” The Fallen all nodded. Gabriel’s stare was steel as he met each of his brothers’ eyes. “No one goes anywhere alone. We don’t know what we’ll face, and we’ll need numbers. Understand? We’re not losing anyone tonight. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” the brothers answered.
One of Miller’s contacts moved across the lawn and to the door of Purgatory. Raphael’s muscles twitched as the ex-military guy Gabriel had paid off silently opened the door. The Brethren wouldn’t even see them coming. Tonight, the Fallen would become the demons they had accused them of being.
“I’ve been waiting for this for years.” Bara got to his feet. He arranged his gun and flame thrower over his chest and shoulder. One by one the Fallen got to their feet, following suit.
Diel cricked his neck slowly from side to side. He turned to Gabriel. “Turn the collar off.” Gabriel hesitated, but he reached into his pocket and switched the power down to zero. Diel closed his eyes and took a deep breath at the sudden freedom. “Don’t turn it back on until it’s finished.” Diel smirked, and his eyes opened, lit with uncontained excitement for the kills he was about to make. He hissed in ecstasy as he shed his control. “Mmm . . . that feels fucking good.”
Gabriel stepped forward, still under the cover of the trees, and faced his brothers. “We don’t leave anyone alive. If we do, the repercussions could be dire.”
“No one will survive.” Michael spoke from beside Raphael. His brother was laden with knives and a belt of spare vials for the collection of his victims’ blood. These kills would award him a feast.
“No one lives,” Raphael echoed his best friend. Michael looked at Raphael, and in a rare occurrence he smiled, showing his pristine, sharp white fangs.
Fangs that wouldn’t stay white for long.
Miller’s contact moved away from the door and signaled to Gabriel and the others that the door was unlocked.
Raphael took in a long inhale and forced his breathing to calm. His heart was spurring him on, the beat fast and erratic with the promise of death.
“Ready?” Gabriel said. Raphael clutched the guns in his hands, knives ready in the waist of his pants.
Following Gabriel, they cut over the grass as one unit. Gabriel paused at the door, his eyes closed and his head bowed. Raphael knew he’d be saying a prayer to his God who never gave a fuck about them. Raphael’s eyes landed on that familiar metal door. Even with the heat of fury consuming his body, he felt as though he were being plunged into a vat of ice-cold water, knowing what was beyond it. The scars on his back pulsed, and he felt Father Murray’s phantom hands rubbing over his skin. Pinning him down and crowding his back. He shook. He shook with such a need for revenge that it was all he became.
Open the door. Open the motherfucking door!
When Gabriel’s head lifted, he opened the door. The burning smell of Purgatory, one that Raphael smelled each night in his sleep, assaulted him. Vomit crawled up his throat, but Raphael pushed it down and kept Maria’s face in his head. The bulbs flickered, and Raphael used the distraction to remind himself that death awaited them inside. Not their own, but that of their tormentors. The burning smell quickly changed from an offense to his fuel.