I Sold My Soul To The Devil Novels & Stories

That surprised me. I could feel her watching me, trying to piece together who—or what—I was. But I didn’t give her answers. I didn’t give her comfort. I’m not a savior. I’m the man you meet when the angels already gave up on you. --- Halfway through the drive, her voice cracked through the silence. “I didn’t apply for that.” I didn’t respond. “They told me it was a bar job,” she said, like that explained everything. Like I needed her to justify being tricked into selling herself.

Now, his pulse beat steadily against my wrist, a rhythm I knew better than my own. I shaved his jaw, his neck, the tricky spot under his nose. Our eyes met in the mirror. The fever had burned away some of the arrogance in his gray eyes, leaving something harder, cleaner underneath. "Why are you doing this, Vivian?" he asked quietly. "You could take the Ledger to the FBI. You could disappear. Why walk back into the fire with me?" I rinsed the razor. I dried his face with a paper towel. "Because I sold my soul to the Devil," I whispered, leaning down until our foreheads touched. "And I don't break my contracts."

“You’re a clever one, Natalie. I’ll give you that. You couldn't just trust me! No! it'd cost you too much. It would mean you'd have to believe me, it would mean the life you know has always been a lie. It would mean bringing you out of your comfort zone and that isn't what you'd want is it? It would be too much for you to handle that's why making me to be the devil was so so much easier than accepting the truth. You play the innocent, the victim, all while sharpening your knives in the dark. “I am a victim!” she cried, her voice rising, desperation lacing her tone. “You bought me! You keep me here against my will! What do you expect me to do, just sit back and be grateful?”

I stiffened, my mind screaming at me to resist, but my body betrayed me, melting into his touch. And just like that, I knew—I wasn’t just signing a contract. I had sold my soul to the devil himself.

My hands were shaking so hard I couldn't get the key in the ignition. I pulled out my phone. I unblocked a number. Not Evans’s. I typed a message to Atlas Thorpe. Me: I’ll be ready at 7. I hit send before I could vomit. I had saved Evans. I had saved my scholarship. But as I looked at the black screen of my phone, reflecting my own tired, empty eyes, I knew the truth. I had just sold my soul to the devil. And the devil wore a varsity jacket.

Mark asked quietly. “Why not?” Dante replied without looking at him. “She’s beautiful. Spirited. Stubborn. And she was sold to me. I don’t waste things I’ve paid for.” Mark’s stomach turned. “You think that’s all she is? Something to be used?” Dante met his eyes, and in that gaze, Mark saw the terrifying calm of a man who had never known powerlessness. “You think your guilt entitles you to a clean ending, Mark? You sold your soul the moment you let your wife hand that girl over to me. All you can do now is pray you can afford the price of redemption.”