Sam Devil Novels & Stories

The man scrambled away, stammering apologies, and practically fled to the other side of the club. Sam's gaze returned to me, a daring eyebrow raised. "Is that..?" Dante asked me, leaning close to my ear. "Yes." I replied quietly, noticing the dangerous glint in Sam's eyes as he looked at Dante. "Adrian told us that Satan was banished from the human realm." Dante said, his hand still on my shoulder. "Sam doesn’t care about rules or bans. He makes his own." I explained, feeling my lips go dry. Sam lifted his glass, a crystal tumbler filled with a dark liquid, and took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. There were bloodstains on his hands and clothes, and the mad look in his eyes told me

Tessa sighs, like this whole drama is the worst inconvenience in the world. “Fine. Dead. Buried. He doesn’t exist. He probably has a small dick anyway.” Delilah narrows her eyes at us, her gaze landing squarely on Sam. “That includes you.” Sam raises his hands in surrender. “The man is dead to me,” he says solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitches. Delilah finally exhales, visibly relaxing. “I can still look, though,” Sam adds mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows. His giggle soon escalates into full-blown laughter as Delilah lunges at him with a warning smack.

She giggled again, "Both please, Mr. Boss." I poured a glass of white for myself and sat down. I said, "I want you to know that right now you are my good luck charm. I'm a salesman and today I made more sales than I've made in the last three weeks, which means one fat commission check a few weeks from now. So we're celebrating with good wine and steaks. "My name is Sam. I'm twenty-four; never married, but close twice before I got smart; I'm six-feet tall and tend to get fat when I don't work out in the gym. I barely got through college because I never saw a party I didn't like.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Luna lowered her head, paying attention to wiping the dust off her table as she raised her lips in a smile. “Samson Matthews. From the day you interviewed for this position I knew Samson Matthews was a fake name. Your real name is Mo Sam. The man who bought it grew up abroad and bought my design draft with a high price, then paraded around as a genius designer.” Samson paused, then laughed, “So you know everything. Why didn’t you expose me earlier?”

Samira smiles, “Your turn, dear.” I stood up and headed to her desk. There, I was greeted by a tall, blonde-haired man. This must be Samuel Danes, I thought to myself. The girls in the elevators were right; he was incredibly handsome. He looked like a California surfer dude meets Wall Street: chiseled features and the most striking blue eyes I’ve ever seen. “Ms. Cavanaugh,” he reached out his hand, “I’m Samuel Danes. Please call me Samuel.” “Pleasure to meet you, Mr.…. I mean, Samuel,” I shook his hand.

She cried out. "What are you whining about, pumpkin?" Sam asked. Sam is a 6 foot 2, 45-year-old thick woman with short greasy jet black hair and poor hygiene. You could smell her bad odor from a mile away. She's been in prison for two decades. She's a hardened criminal serving three life sentences for murdering three men in cold blood.

"I've not heard of this famous company.." "I doubt you watch TV," Sam said and giggled. "Davis Hurley.. Got a picture of him?" "Yea.. I took one with me yesterday," Sam said and brought out his phone from his jacket pocket and showed me the picture. "Is this him?" I asked with my eyes wide and he nodded. This is the green eyed guy. I knew he was just not an ordinary guy. He's been lying to Helena all this while. The fool thought he was an ordinary citizen. I got to tell her this.

"Because I brought the caffeine and the moral superiority." But she wasn't alone. From the passenger side, a tall, lanky figure emerged. He wore a faded swimming hoodie and carried a duffel bag that looked like it had seen three different decades. He had a messy shock of hair and a grin that was entirely too wide for the current state of pack politics. Dalton. Samuel’s rival from the early days. The man who had been the only one to push Samuel in the water before the world went gray. The one who had vanished into the professional circuits but had apparently never forgotten the guy in Lane 4.

Sam was the heir and only son to the Levine fortune and the law firm where he practised. "I can not just help it; I think I need to go closer to her and know why she did it. Maybe that is some kind of closure I need to move on." Sam let out a dry chuckle. "You must think that I am a fool," he said, knowing that Damien was not interested in sopping whatever plan he already had in motion. "Ahh, you seem to know me too well," Damien said, finally sticking his hand back in and rolling up the window. "She would have stopped the car to dance in the rain," he said randomly as he remembered her.

Zoe had told me that Ethan hadn’t even bothered going to see the dummy body I’d left behind, so surely he wouldn’t suspect a thing. “And who’s this?” Zoe cooed, leaning into the back seat to greet my son. “My name is Samuel Black,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake. “But most people call me Sammy.” “Oh. My. God!” Zoe cried. “You are just too cute.” He blushed and ducked his dead. “Thank you. Mummy’s told me a lot about you.” She laughed. “Only bad things, I hope.” “Oh, no! All good things.”