Martyr Novel Novels & Stories

Could we have stopped this if we had more guards around her? Luciana had become a martyr. Someone who died for the freedom of others. A symbol in history books. The number of new recruits flew through the roof over night as the news spread of her death. All she was to me now was a dull throb in my throat until I gulped down more whisky. Even the liquor came up short a few times, leaving me not as numb as I would have liked.

Good grief. Marty talked big about starving to death before taking a handout—then went and locked the door behind my back. Guess the little snake wasn't as naive as he looked. I turned around, about to tell Marty to open the door for me. Before the words even left my lips, he slammed me back against the door. His palm braced between my back and the door panel, while his other hand swiped away the sunglasses I always kept in my pocket and flung them far across the room.

Was this how little I meant to him? Rage surged through me like a wildfire, turning my eyes bloodshot. Caroline, the culprit behind my death, was sitting right here in my very home while my fiancé erased every piece of evidence that could incriminate her. And me? My corpse was now lying somewhere, cold and blue. The cruelest part was that Jerome didn't even believe I was dead. … After dinner, Jerome stood alone on the balcony with a cigarette pinched between his fingers. His other hand swiped restlessly across his phone screen.

The embers glowed orange. I watched them. I thought about the recording. The way my own voice had filled that room. The way her face had stayed still while mine had cracked. But I still couldn't get the missing document out of my head. The cut-off access. The war had already begun without me. I watched the last ember collapse into ash. A slow smile spread across my face. "Dead women become martyrs." The fire was almost going off. "I want her alive." I crouched in front of the dying flames.

The father lit a cigarette to celebrate their upcoming fortune and sent himself and his entire family to their graves. … On the day of the trial, I attended as a key witness. Gabriel, Jasmine, and Patricia stood at the defense table wearing prison uniforms and shackles. Gabriel's head was shaved, his face still marked with bruises from the beating. Jasmine looked skeletal and hollow-eyed, muttering incoherently to herself. Patricia sat slumped in her chair, pale and lifeless. I took my seat and watched them calmly. When it was my turn to testify, I laid out every detail clearly.

And what is happening in there town? They don't understand at all, and why this horrible act is happening in their town? All of them stood there stretching there head in confusion; trying to figure out why people are dying, and who is responsible for this terrible action, from that day forward they called it BLOODY DAY! To me, this is a big mystery that can't never be solved. ( This Story continued) ATTENTION READERS: This book have different series book 2-9

I remembered my aunt’s words from nights before, the prophecy that bound me: You will be freed only when you marry the one fate chose for you. But fate was cruel. Fate gave me riddles without answers, promises without directions. I didn’t know where to begin looking for this so-called chosen one—and a part of me didn’t care. Because when I thought of Ava, I wondered if she might be the key. But how could I trust that thought? How could I risk dragging her into my bloodline’s darkness? I poured myself a glass of brandy, the amber liquid burning down my throat, a small fire to keep the cold at bay. Yet no amount of drink could silence the whispers of doubt.

In the end, Leigh vomited blood and died glaring at me. Marty’s gaze fixed on Evan. “Is it because of him you won’t return to me?” He tried to kill Evan, but I threw myself between them to protect him. Marty looked wounded. I had once risked everything for him, too. “So you’d give me up for this lowly green snake?” “Marty, show some respect!” the Heavenly Emperor thundered, but Marty paid the rebuke no mind.

Then, she grunted, "Darryl, look at me again and I'll gouge your eyes out!" 'I'm one of the twelve Fiend Martyrs. I'm pure, arrogant, and noble. How could I hold it in when Darryl had seen me naked repeatedly? What a disgrace!' she thought. Darryl remained calm and he even went all out. "Fiend Martyr, don't be so unreasonable. You want to kill me, but you won't even allow me to take a few glances at you? Plus, if it wasn't because you wanted to kill me, you wouldn't be in this situation right now."

"Maybe I'm just tired of crying." "Or maybe," he leaned closer, "you're realizing that martyrdom doesn't suit you as well as you thought it did." The words stung because they were true. I wanted to look away, to retreat back into the safety of silence, but something in me refused. Something that had been slowly building since I watched my habit burn, since Margaret's betrayal, since I realized that six years of suffering had earned me nothing but more suffering. "At least I had a choice in my martyrdom," I said cynically. "You don't even have that luxury."