In that moment, she knew that both she and her daughter were doomed.

God help me. Help us.

She had to do something. Try anything. To save her daughter and her own black soul.

Gathering all her strength, Charity let out a scream of fury and rage, of hate and defiance; then, closing her eyes, she forced her knees to go slack, to unhinge.

She collapsed.

And a startled Devota tumbled with her to the floor.

“Valerie!” Slade yelled out her name, and it came echoing back to him, tumbling through the tunnels, over a heart-stopping shriek that bounced off the walls.

“Hell!” He ran toward the sound, frantic with fear, certain that the maniac had Val in his clutches.

Goddamn it, why had he left her alone while he retrieved the damned picks for the lock? He knew she wouldn’t stay put, not if given the chance. He’d been a fool. And now Val was paying the price.

Dread thundering through his skull, he blundered through the darkness, not caring if anyone knew he was in the tombs.

It didn’t matter.

Let the killer be distracted from his heinous act.

Let the son of a bitch focus on Slade.

Bring it on, you bastard!

He only prayed that he could get to Valerie in time. If he didn’t . . . if Val was already dying at the hands of that maniac, then Slade would personally send the son of a bitch’s soul straight to hell.

No!

Val saw the reverend mother, her mother, sink to the floor. Blood slid down skin that was bared, the flesh of Sister Charity’s back scarred and covered in welts, as if she’d been whipped over and over again.

As Charity fell, she clutched the killer’s skirts and dragged Devota downward.

Valerie threw herself at them, lunging, ready to push the nose of her pistol against the monster’s head and pull the damned trigger. She’d blow the psycho’s brains out and to hell with the consequences. “You bitch!”

Devota was ready, wouldn’t give up easily.

She kicked out with her good leg, her heel connecting with Val’s shin.

Craack!

Pain splintered up Val’s leg.

Another sharp thrust of Devota’s good foot.

Bam! The heel of Devota’s shoe struck hard.

Ricocheting pain as sharp as a serpent’s bite screamed through her bones, sending her reeling.

The gun spun out of her hands. She scrambled for it, juggling it, sucking in her breath, the agony ripping up her leg, causing a blackness to pull at the edges of her eyes.

She couldn’t pass out! Not now!

She lost control of the pistol. It spun into the dark.

Clang!

Steel hit the hard rock floor, then skidded away.

No! No! No!

Desperately, Val flung herself at the .38. Her toe snagged on the outstretched, bony legs of Sister Lea’s corpse.

Val fell forward.

Bam!

Her chin bounced on the stone floor.