He didn’t respond, just set a small radio on the bed and turned it on, back to the talk show that had been playing in the car. Then, almost methodically, as if it were a ritual, he slid the rosary over her head and let it dangle against her breasts, the beads warm from holding them in his hand.

To get the show going, she let him kiss her. And fondle her a little roughly.

As they fell onto the faded quilt on her old mattress, she tried to ramp up the heat, licking him, purring against him, rubbing all those places she knew usually guaranteed an immediate and hard reaction.

Not this time.

Oh, great. She’d really have to work for her money tonight. Wouldn’t you know. But at least the guy was good-looking. She reached up to remove his glasses, and he caught her wrist.

“Don’t touch them!”

“Oh, wow. Okay.”

“I mean it.” His voice was rough, and for the first time she felt his cock twitch.

“I said okay.”

Wow, this was getting a little weird. Better get him off and fast, then kick him the hell out. She began kissing him again, working her magic, but he pulled back and stared down at her through the shaded lenses. “You’re a whore,” he said.

She played along. Whatever fantasy turned him on. “And you like whores, don’t you, Father?”

“I detest them.” His dick was actually coming to life.

“So you want to punish me?” she asked. God, was the guy into spanking? Well, she could handle a little of that. She rolled over, pushing her ass into the air; then she looked over her shoulder coquettishly, through a veil of wild red curls. “Have I been bad?” she asked, playing into his fantasy. “Have I sinned? Do I need a spanking?” She let her lips roll into a pout.

His mouth curved into a wicked smile. He slapped her hard, right on the ass.

She yelped.

“A spanking is just the start,” he said, pulling the rosary tight, the beads sharper than she’d expected as they cut into her throat.

“Hey!” she tried to scream, but her voice was silent. Only little gurgling noises erupted, and he was pinning her down, his weight pushing her into the mattress, her face forced into the pillows.

Panic tore through her.

She struggled. Kicking upward. Trying to push him off. Feeling his erection grow stiffer, harder, fatter the more she fought.

Oh, God, he was a freak, a murderous freak!

Her lungs were on fire, her strength fading, his breathing rough against her ear, the radio whispering into the room that grew darker by the instant.

NO! NO! NO!

Gracie thought of her brother in Minnesota, the last time she’d seen her mother, and then wondered why she’d trusted this sick priest.

God help me, she thought.

And then there was nothing.

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 27