Forbidden by Leanna Ellis Read Free Book Online Page A

child.
    For Roc, the Virgin Mother had always seemed full of accusation, but this rendition of Mary’s face was soft and delicate as she tended her baby, and he wondered if his own soul could ever be cleansed of his sins.
    Then a hand pressed against his shoulder. Roc dodged sideways and swung around while pulling his Glock free of its shoulder holster.
    â€œIt is all right, Roc.” Father Hellman spoke calmly, saying Roc’s name with the guttural articulation at the end, the way St. Roch was often pronounced. “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d already be a goner.”
    Roc had let down his guard. One lapse of judgment was all it had taken. In a way, Roc wished for that sort of release. Yet, he drew a steadying breath and replaced the Glock in the leather holster again. “That’s comforting.”
    The priest wore a button-down blue chambray shirt with his priestly collar beneath, as well as a pair of worn jeans. He didn’t appear to have been awakened by Roc’s phone calls or knock. “You seemed far away just now. Are you all right?” His gaze dropped to Roc’s chest and Roc glanced downward. Even though his T-shirt was black, it was stained, some places wet, others dry. The coppery scent made it clear it was blood. “You were in a fight?”
    Roc nodded.
    â€œAre you hurt?”
    â€œIt’s not my blood.”
    Roberto motioned for him to follow. “Come. You can clean up and tell me about your adventure. And—”
    â€œDo you have a drink?” A tremor rippled through Roc’s hand.
    Roberto eyed him carefully. “We will see.”
    They walked the few steps back to the rectory in silence. Roc waited, glancing over his shoulder, while Roberto unlocked the wooden side door and led the way down the steep, narrow stairwell to the tiny room he occupied. It held only a small wooden desk, rickety chair, and cot where Roberto slept and studied. A musty smell filled the space, but Roc wasn’t sure if it was from the man, the room, or the many books filling the bookshelves. Even more books were piled on the desk.
    Roc sat on the rickety chair, a place he’d occupied many times in the past months. From underneath the cot peeked a forty-pound barbell Roc had used in his effort to get battle ready. Effort he now considered wasted. Often this tiny room had been a place where he had learned about a world he’d never wanted to discover, but tonight it was his confessional.
    Usually, Roberto sat on the cot or paced along its long side as he taught and educated both Roc and Ferris. But tonight, he knelt at the end and pulled a wooden crate from beneath. The hinges of the lid creaked as he lifted it and pulled out a dusty bottle. The dark container had no label. The liquid inside sloshed about invitingly as Roberto uncorked the top. He poured the whiskey-colored liquid into two glasses and handed one to Roc.
    With a slight shrug, Roberto said, “Sometimes one needs to numb oneself. This is not an easy task, what we have been given.”
    Roc’s hands shook as he stared into the amber liquor, which could bring temporary peace. He sniffed its aroma. Scotch. Aged at least twenty years if Roc had to guess. The good stuff. Or at least better than the rotgut he’d grown accustomed to. He almost wished for the harsher drink to punish himself. His soul longed for oblivion, where he could forget all he knew, all he’d done, his mistakes, guilt, and foolhardiness. His eyes filled, and the Scotch wavered before him like a golden sea of serenity. But there was no peace for Roc, no comfort, no redemption.
    â€œWhat happened, Roc?” The priest’s kind voice seemed to come from far away.
    It took every ounce of control not to toss back the Scotch and let it slide through his veins. Instead, Roc set the glass on the desk with an awkward thump and stood. He walked around the room wanting to avoid why he’d come here. But he