Priest Detective Books Novels & Stories

Part of me—the part that was still sore and satisfied from last night—wondered if he’d be anywhere near as dangerous as Father Chris. All day the thoughts chased each other. At my desk I kept replaying the way Father Chris had licked my taste off his fingers, the way he’d promised his tongue next. Then the image of some faceless new priest standing beside him ruined it. I wanted the repentance book to be endless. I wanted chapters and chapters of kneeling, reading, aching, coming. I wanted Father Chris to keep breaking me open night after night. I didn’t touch myself once. Not even when the temptation hit hard in the office bathroom after lunch—door locked, panties already damp just from rem

Handmade figures of saints that were regarded as gods even though they are not. “Padre, please pray for me and pray for my sins,” It was Pietro who spoke, holding a signed bank check on his hand. The priest nodded his head so eagerly that it reminded me of the animal figurines in the taxi with a bobbing head. “Of course, of course, I never stopped praying for you.” Before Pietro could give the check to him, his hand is already reaching towards it. “The church is thankful for the donation.” I gritted my teeth, even the priests had turned corrupted because of the mafias.

the private detective said the moment he spotted Anthony, stepping forward to meet him. “Are all the documents ready?” Anthony asked as they walked inside together. “I want to know every detail.” “You can rest assured, sir,” the man replied confidently. As soon as they entered the building, a reverend sister in her late fifties, wearing thick glasses, noticed them. Her gaze landed directly on Anthony. “She’s the one in charge here,” the detective murmured. “Good evening, Sister,” Anthony said, his tone stern and businesslike. “I want to see the boy.”

“A priest was found dead in a convent and you thought it wise to come here? You should be going after the real culprits, not sitting in a club.” “I'm not here for jokes or sly remarks. I know what you're doing, trying to dissuade my suspicions from you but trust me—they're strong and would never change.” I take a sip from the glass of scotch, twirling my fingers around the glass. “I recently found out you've been quite invested in the convent just weeks after the priest's death. Are you trying to rectify your sins?” “I don't rectify my sins… I sin more.” She scoffed at my unbothered attitude. “It’s funny you think you'll escape the law this time around.”

I wondered what the fuck her mind would be doing right now if she knew what I was doing. My brain halted in its tracks as I took in the well-dress black suit presence of Critsy walking in with two guards by his side in matching suits. His long red hair that went just passed his ears had to be taking all of the other guests by surprise but still there he stood. We made eye contact and I waited for him to look away in anger as he’d been for so long knowing I’d killed his companions but instead today he gave me a nod and smile then shook his head like he couldn’t believe it himself. My entire body exploded into goosebumps and I knew, the Crimson Priestess had struck again. This was why he was h

the detective's voice was muffled by the reporters' voices, eagerly wanting to get a scoop for the crime scene. "But Detective Inspector, how was the priest killed? Was that a crime made by a man or it's the spirits? Was he possessed by the devil?" said the other reporter as he spoke simultaneously with the Detective. "But what about the mass killings? All of the people who went to the mass were killed, and the suspect runs free. Are the people safe, Detective Inspector?" "We don't know yet." Detective Inspector Michael Fox gave an exasperated sigh. There were no traces of the killer so the police were stressed out. "There's no suspect we have found yet, but we're looking for him...or her--

Not just that, but a Priest too. Taking off my hat, I swipe up the yellow tape and walk through the doors. Dried blood, oak smell, and mixed perfumes. I stand in the center of the carnage, trying not to vomit. “An domhan olc seo.” (Irish for wicked world) Ten years chasing criminals in this shithole town, and I’d never seen a church turned into a butcher shop. Seven bodies. All stabbed. The priest’s throat slit while he clutched his bible.

For now. I knew I’d pushed too hard. The rift between us had just cracked wider, and part of me—the part that still remembered the quiet kid who used to pray at dinner that drove me nuts like I was fighting the demons. But the rest of me, the part that kept Haloshul’s blood off the cathedral steps, knew it was necessary. I stepped outside and found Rico leaning against the black SUV. “New detail,” I told him. “The priest.” Rico narrowed his eyes. “Boss, do you want the one you left just now or…?”

A driver in a grey suit steps out, rounds the hood, and opens the rear passenger door. The cheerful noise reaches a crescendo—then cuts off abruptly, leaving behind complete, breathless silence. A tall, broad-shouldered Black priest steps onto the gravel, holding a thick leather Bible and an exorcist's crucifix. His gaze moves over the crowd, then settles on the church doors. He studies them a moment too long. Then his eyes return to us. He’s striking. Piercing, narrow eyes sweep over the crowd as if they can read every sin carved into our bones. His short, wavy hair is styled like the rappers whose music we secretly pass around at school.

“Sneaking.” “More like blending with the shadows. I read something interesting yesterday; do you want to hear it?” he nodded, expecting. Fredden lounged on the sofa, his arms on the backrest casually resting there. “We talked about the world shadows, right? The thing you said about the world has a shadow… I know you were joking but you hit the nail on the head. There was someone who wrote a big book about his theory and it was a priest. Do you remember that priest who got executed for trying to save the redcursed? I got a book from him from the black market. It stated that the world indeed has a shadow. The difference between both sides is that the roles are reversed. The shadows walked with