Saints Row Aisha Novels & Stories

Aisha’s smirk falters, “you wouldn’t dare.” “You want to try me?” Isla asks. “Then go ahead. I’d love to watch you explain why you jumped a first year who’s already on the Games list.” For a moment Aisha looks like she might try something. Then her jaw twitches and she snaps her fingers at her group. “Whatever. This isn’t over, human.” She shoves past me harder than necessary and stalks off with the others behind her. Isla exhales, her shoulders dropping. Then she looks at me.

Mama Barakah popularly known as Iya owala (With her tribal marks as she hails from Oyo state), an elderly woman of about 56 years of age speaks in a low voice. "Assalam 'Alaikum to everyone here. Wallahi, this is the saddest news I've heard and witnessed so far. It is indeed so painful and so unfortunate that this happened to our Aisha. Everyone here knows Aisha and everyday, I pray for her kind of Iman (faith) and Barakah (blessing)."

“What did those officers do? Did anyone hurt you?” Aisha raised her hands in mock surrender again, laughing softly. “Easy there, ma’am.” She straightened her jacket and gave Sarah a playful look. “Stronger than John Rambo, ma’am.” The joke landed perfectly. Sarah couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her face. “You and your jokes,” she muttered, shaking her head. But deep down, she was grateful to see that Aisha still had that spark of humor in her. It meant the girl hadn’t allowed the day’s events to crush her spirit.

I also knew that she didn't make idle remarks, especially regarding people's lives. “Who’s the crazy old bat?” Aisha asked Colin, as if it were his fault. Aisha had the strongest personality among the four of us. She’s also the most eye-catching--at six-foot-one, with smooth chocolate skin and doll-like features, her dyed pink hair artfully braided down her back with dark-red flowers the same shade as her skin-tight dress, she embodied the title ‘top model’. No one would mistake her for anything less. Bea stepped forward protectively, "What do you mean by that?" she demanded. "Are you saying Alisa is in danger?"

She hugged him. "Why are you thanking me?" He drew her close and tighten the hug. She closed her eyes and placed her lips on his, he didn't respond at first. She opened her eyes and looked at him, he smiled and crashed his lips on her. They kissed passionately letting their lips move in sync. yay! So, Aisha is Roshan's cousin. I don't like her still though' Do you love this chapter? Comment if you do, Star❤

“I know that she’s out of your reach now. You broke her, humiliated her, and discarded her like she was nothing. And now? Now you want her back because you can’t stand that she’s beyond you. Because she’s stronger without you. Because she’s worth more than you’ll ever be.” Farkas clenched his fists so tightly I thought he might shatter his own bones. But before he could lunge at me, Lysara raised a hand, her cold gaze fixed on me like I was an insect beneath her heel. “Enough,” she said quietly, but with all the weight of iron chains. “Esther, you may think yourself clever, but you see only the surface of things. Ashina is not invincible. Every woman has a breaking point.” I arched a brow, f

Stubborn woman. The whistle sounded, and Ava went into a fighting stance. The picture she painted was so different to the softer version from yesterday, the version that had been gentle with Gideon’s young vampire. She was anxious; he could sense that from where he stood, but she still looked ready. She was going to have to speak to him after this match. If this day went like the last, there was no telling who she would be fighting next. With all the weapons involved, he had a feeling they would end up in the infirmary again. “Alpha Ezekiel.”

The heavy granite blast doors at the top of the spiral staircase ground open with a low, mechanical roar, releasing a gust of cold air that carried the lingering, bitter scent of sulfur and ozone. When we stepped into the cathedral space of the main vault, the light was different. The blinding white searchlights of Viktor's mercenaries had been cut, replaced by the steady, clinical blue of the terminal’s primary security grid. Aisha was waiting for us. She stood near the central stone dais, her tall, lean silhouette framed by the glowing blue pillars. Her charcoal trench coat was slung over her shoulder, her dark cropped hair glistening under the blue light. She was using a clean white cloth

he said with each kick. He burst out laughing as he stopped his assault, to catch his breath because Isabel couldn’t even dodge any of his kicks. How pathetic! Isabel can never and will never let a loser like Ignacio have the last laugh. She mustered some of her strength and turned into a half shift, charging at Ignacio who had his back towards her while he laughed to his heart’s content. She abruptly turned him around and dug her claws deep into his chest, ripping out his heart in an instant. His dead body then dropped to the ground with a loud thud.

I stepped forward, grabbing her arm, my fingers wrapping around it firmly. Her eyelids fluttered, her grip on reality slipping. “Aisha,” I said sharply, but she barely responded. She reached up weakly, her cold, bloodstained fingers grasping mine. Tears streamed down her face as she choked out, “I am sorry, Marco.” Then she turned to Sarah, her voice breaking. “I am so sorry, Sarah.” Sarah didn’t answer. Aisha coughed again, more blood spilling past her lips. “Don’t let Isabella win,” she rasped, her grip tightening for a brief second. “Please. Don’t let her—”