Page 60 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

Mercy

Tawny grabs Dom’s left wrist and shoulder. I take the right. If this doesn’t hasten the truth-telling, then I don’t know what will. I doubt he’d be affected by creative verbal maneuvering, which leaves torture. I don’t want to hurt him.

Unease squirms in my belly. Since when did interrogating the enemy get so complicated?

Panic flitters in Dom’s eyes, and he mumbles in Italian something I don’t catch.

“Last chance, Saint,” Raven says in fluent Italian, scraping the tip of her dagger down his hips to tug at the waistband of his boxers. “Tell us what you’re hiding, or we’ll go looking for it.”

His buttocks clench. His head bows in silent resignation.

Raven leans in close, pressing her body against his and whispers in his ear, “Relax, Saint. I promise I’ll be gentle ... unless you want rough.” She sheaths the dagger and then runs her hands down the corded muscle beside his spine, slow and deliberate. She pauses at his waist, fingers hooking into his stretchy waistband. Her voice drops to a husky murmur, “Do you trust me?”

Dominic is barely breathing. “Sì. More than I should.”

I see the moment Raven almost changes her mind and gives up the charade, but then she yanks his boxers down to his ankles. I can’t look. For me to say that means this definitely feels wrong.

Still, Dominic endures.

And when she widens his stance, he allows it. I have the sense he’ll allow anything as long as she’s the one doing it … which means this isn’t going to work.

Raven’s hand hovers over his ass. She grins at us and asks, “Should I check for Vatican decoder rings or just skip to the good part?”

“What the fuck is a decoder ring?” Tawny mouths to me.

I shrug.

Dominic’s fingers ball into fists against the wall, and his muscles tremble with restraint. But he doesn’t resist mine and Tawny’s hold. He just says to Raven, “If this is necessary … do it.”

Her frustration is a living thing. She starts pacing behind us, eyes wild.

“Does he even have a soul?” she blurts out, chopping her hand in his direction. “Any sane person would be shitting bricks right now, but he’s just—grr.”

I ease off him. Tawny does too.

“Pull your pants up,” I tell him.

“Is over?”

“It never really began, buddy.”

He’s still frowning, unsure when Tawny drops to a crouch and yanks his boxers up, cheeks going bright red when he bends down and takes over.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “You’re genuinely nice. Sorry.”

“No. Fuck that.” Raven whirls on Dom, all steel and teeth. He barely has his boxers up when she’s pushing him spine to the wall, blade to his carotid. “You’re not a Saint,” she spits. “You’re a weapon. And you hate it. Admit it.” She presses harder until a thin sliver of blood oozes from the wound. “When I tripped you, you fell like a pro. Your hands went out like springs. You’re just like us. Admit it. You’re the one they send to massacre innocents. You don’t save them.”

His fingers graze her hips, gently. They stare into each other’s eyes for so long and so deeply that I almost excuse myself and Tawny.

“Blink twice, Dom,” I whisper, “If you want us to stop her.”

He never breaks eye contact with Raven. It’s like we don’t exist.

“Tell me about the brand,” she demands.

“Is mark of my voto,” he answers. “My promise to Most High. It is … sacrificio.”

“But what does it mean?” she presses. “What is your sacrifice?”