Mister Devil Novels & Stories

"Hi, welcome to Cris Cafe what can I get for you?" "I'll like a cup of cappuccino and an apple pie," the lady said with an attitude, I wasn't in the mood to say anything so I just made her coffee and handed her pie to you. "Hey bitch" Mario my best friend said to me "Have you heard the news?" he continued "What news?" "That Walker enterprise is open for submission of applications as a personal assistant, I think you should submit one, I have the hope that you'll be called for an interview "

But instead, my throat locked, the storm inside me swirling too violently to form anything but silence. He braced his hands against the counter, his shoulders hunched in a way I had never seen before, like the great Lawrence Devereaux, the man who commanded fear with just his name, was suddenly nothing more than a man cornered by his own mistakes. "You don't get to say that," I forced out, each word cutting against the tremor in my chest. "You don't get to mourn ghosts you created." His head lifted, eyes flashing with something I couldn't name—anger at himself, or maybe desperation that bordered on pleading. "Then tell me how to make this right."

Richie being emotional fool , will agree because of guilt. Before I try to execute my plan , my past caught up with me. Devon Ferrer, Father of some boy who took to drugs because of me . I don't even remember him as there are many boys .Devon Ferrer is running a criminal Mafia in Spain. His gang members caught me and took me to face him.

" He replied, now crying as well. "You should just ignore him because you know it wasn't true. What are we going to do now? You're going to prison because we don't have money to pay for them." I cried and slumped on the floor, bawling. "Don't worry. I already fixed it." Mr. Devil said. At this moment, I saw him not a devil but an angel, but it returned to a devil again when the next word left his lips.

He said it like it was the absolute truth. One side of my mouth pulled up in a nervous scoff. I don’t know what personality I was expecting for the devil to have but it was not this. I sort of imagined a monster who randomly kills people and takes their soul to hell because he is a lonely piece of shit but boy was I wrong. He is an entertainment deprived asshole with the mental age of a 5 year old if we’re not counting IQ. He doesn’t seem dumb. He manages to avoid every single question I ask with some bullshit that seems relevant but actually isn’t.

The man smiles, pulling out a key from under and placing it on the table. Sebastian smiles at him, retrieving the key as from underneath his palm as he places fifty bucks on the counter. He turns to scrutinize the place again. It is not worth the fifty bucks. It is not worth a damn payment at all and the bull head hanging just a few inches off the top feels more like for fetish shit than a real motel. “Welcome, enjoy your stay.” The man flashes a set of decayed brown teeth. Sebastian forces a chuckle in return as he heads towards the stairs.

She was simply too shocked to do anything. The man was astounded by the sight before him. Seeing the half naked girl made blood rush into his head and his blood boiled. His clenched his fist and let out a low deep growl which escaped from his throat. His seemingly was resisting the immoral pictures that were messing with his head. The girl before him, although with lack of adequate maturity, her body was slightly rounded and perfect.

"Our lead singer, Miles, talked us into trying to sell our souls to the devil at the crossroad. I thought it was all a bunch of nonsense. Afterward, the song 'Mistress' hit big and Miles got killed onstage one night. His mic shorted out and electrocuted him. That should never have happened. I realized it wasn't an accident. The devil's contract said that he would collect when we peaked in fame, so I quit after Miles died. Walked away, bought this place with my earnings and the money from the lawsuit we won against the microphone maker." She was unsure what to make of his answer. Was he speaking metaphorically? Slowly she formed words through her confusion. "Devil? So — mafia devil?" He chuck

The van door slid shut behind him. None of us moved, through the window, I watched him stand alone beneath the empty sky. A man feared by the underworld...Standing completely by himself. In that moment, Luis Renz didn't look like the Devil. He looked like a man who had lost Everything.

Subject line: “You Asked for the Devil” The file was massive. Raphael stood behind me, watching as I clicked open layer after layer. Lucian Damian Devlin. Born in Austria. Raised in Switzerland. Fluent in five languages. Educated in private institutions under aliases. Trained in weapons, finance, manipulation. Current occupation: CEO of Devlin Global Holdings. Unofficially: Heir and now head of the Devlin Cartel — a billion-dollar empire of drugs, trafficking, and global political influence. I scrolled, the blood draining from my face.