Poor Devil Saloon Novels & Stories

After he left I found out he was Natalie's older brother Santino, but everyone calls him Saint. He was obviously not a Saint like his name suggested. He has killed more people than I could count and he has ruined the lives of many more. He was the devil himself. Well, that's what Natalie said, not that I cared about that, I need to stay as far away from him as i possibly could, until i run away from here. But where do I go after I run?

We need to talk about the man who owns you now. Victoria deleted the message, but she knew she would go. The devil had shown her his scars. And she was still choosing to stay in hell with him, anyways.

He must realize it because he steps back and resumes his guard duties with the sour expression now painted on his face. "Jax's," Kara shouts and pumps her fist in the air. This receives cheers from the crew. Jax's is an underground bar that serves the worst hooch in the Federation. We get paid in credits and Jax's place charges fewer than most out of the disreputable establishments and it's where you go to get seriously drunk. If no one dies of alcohol poisoning tonight, I'll consider this visit a success.

He seemed truly happy for her. They ended up at a place called The Cowboy Saloon. It was a large building with a few windows out front. The parking lot wasn’t paved, just dust and dirt. There were loads of trucks and SUVs in the parking lot. Ava counted only eight cars. Once inside, Ava nearly turned her nose up. It didn’t seem like her type of place. There were nut shells on the floor where the diners sat. The bar was large and long, displaying beer mugs above the overhang. Liquor bottles were on display on the back wall. The stools were just plain wooden stools with round seats. Country music blared from a small stage where a DJ was set up. The dance floor, that was miraculously free of nu

Not yet anyway. We pulled into Club Diablo and I put the car in park. I look at her and can tell she has heard of the place. The most exclusive club in Dallas, mainly only demons and other supernatural beings visit. The few humans allowed in either never leave or leave knowing all their dreams are about to come true having sold their soul for one thing or another. Humans souls aren’t hard to get anymore, everyone is desperate for something, fame, fortune, love. All we have to do is promise it will be theirs. We never lie when making a deal though, it’s against the rules. When we promise to give them everything they ever wanted we always follow through. The problem humans don't consider is wh

“Did I say beer?” Silas spat, clicking the hammer of his pistol back and letting it carelessly aim at the poor bartender; the short, fat, and bald man sweating profusely as he stuttered an apology and Cassidy held back her grimace. The saloon had open doors, probably to let the storm from last night be aired out from the vicinity, and people made them scarce when Silas showed his scarred face; no one wanted to end up dead like the three innocents from just three days ago and Cassidy had made sure to pay her price in self inflicted pain for their souls though nothing could compare to the hurt those innocents families - her wrists and thighs spelled out ‘sorry’ like spilled etches of needle sh

Even a towel I had to wrap around my body at a sluggish tempo, not even caring to adjust the knot enough for it to be secured and not go loose and fall at the slightest of falters. Trying to sleep it off had failed, the cold shower had only made matters worse, erotic literature was not going to save me now and there was only one other option; physical indulgence. I have never drank spirits, but in that moment I had the strongest craving for the Devil's spirit which undoubtedly is made from tears of his victims or is demon blood distilled with the fires of Hell. I needed the strength of that Hell brew to knock me straight into oblivion and if I am lucky enough, to give me a high I will never

“Oh, your stepbrother.” He nods. “But we are closer than stepbrother, and he accepts me as I am.” I nod slowly. Brad places down our drinks at the counter. I sip. “It’s good. I’m not good at drinks, but this is really good,” I tell him honestly. “That’s my specialty. Thanks, Sam.” Brad replies. “I like mine too. Thanks!” Sandy says. “You’re welcome! For you, Sandy, it’s called Devil’s blood because of its color—deep red, vodka, dry vermouth, crush olives juice, and raspberry juice. And for Sam is Phoenix’s Princess,” Brad explains.

That is what a man does who understands that the person he has just robbed is the most dangerous creature alive. He laughed at me. Worse. He looked at me with that new suspicion he's carried since the valley, since Stiles opened his filthy mouth and let my past spill into the snow, and he said, "Maybe you really are just his whore. Still so frightened of your Lord Riven. Is that it, Selena? Still scared of the King?"

The vision that the woman he so deeply loved had been touched, violated, and brutally claimed by Arthur Sterling kept looping in his brain, triggering a sense of worthlessness as a man. That night, for the first time in his life, Devon, who was known as a good man and rarely ever touched alcohol, stepped inside a noisy and dimly lit nightclub in a corner of Manhattan. "Give me the strongest one!" Devon ranted to the bartender. The bartender nodded silently, then slid a glass filled with dense amber alcohol in front of Devon. The completely frustrated Devon immediately snatched the glass and downed its contents in a single gulp. The first glass, the second, up to the third glass moved quickly