Sin City Graphic Novels & Stories

Lyn was walking casually through the boutique when a strong hand gripped her arm. She half shrieked and stared angrily at the gripper of her arm, Brian, who was standing by her. “Get off of me, Brian, you are so rude.” Lyn smiled trying to appear calm. Brian gave Lyn a long stare, then finally let go of his grip. Lyn sarcastically rubbed her arm, which had turned red from Brian's grip. “It will be bruised. What made you come to me and suddenly act this rude?” her gaze turned seductive. “Do you want to continue the one that was delayed at that time?”

The air around her is always very happy. They talk with each other and they smile together. Sitting in the car, Nina Morrison's eyes is full of wonder when she looks at the street view outside. "Sunny, C City has changed so much, I can hardly recognize it!" While driving, Sunny points the roadside scenery to Nina Morrison, "How about that? It's not worse than New York, isn't it? Well, that is the CBD core, and Peter Johnson's Middle Course Entertainment is there. The tall white building next to it is the building of Gray..." After finishing this word, Sunny suddenly bites her lips, and then she peeps at Nina Morrison.

It was a smiling emoticon with hearty eyes. I replied with an angry emoticon and turned off the phone. Redd drained all my energy with less effort. Damn him. A glass of drink was suddenly on my table, and when I looked up, it was a human. “I saw you alone. Mind if I join—” “No, thank you. I have someone with me,” I replied politely, cutting off his words. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” Disappointment crossed his face. “Oh, I see. Still, please accept my drinks. It’s not spiked.”

The city skyline glittered beyond the tinted windows like distant stars, indifferent to the storm inside me. I needed something to distract me. I needed noise. Smoke. Bodies. Something to drown the echo of her voice calling me a controlling bastard, telling me to fuck myself while she drank my vodka like it was water. I grabbed my phone from the table and I thumbed open the secure chat with Salvado, my manager at Eclipse, the flagship club I owned downtown. Me: VIP section. Full lockdown. Ready in fifteen. The reply came instantly. Salvado: Understood, boss. Section cleared. Your usual bottle waiting. Security doubled.

Mrs Selina on her knees in my kitchen, looking up at me with those eyes while she swallowed my cum. I know it’s going to blow up someday. I know I should stop. But every time I try to pull back, Lina sends me something, a voice note moaning my name, a photo of her tits in the mirror with “Wish you were here” written in lipstick and shit, I’m right back in her bed. Some sins are just too good to quit. And honestly? I’m not even pretending to be sick anymore.

“Can you not smile? Those squinty eyes of yours are off-putting.” “Gavin,” Evadne scolded her boyfriend. “What’s your issue with us squinty-eyed people, Gavin? Are we too handsome for you when we smile?” Evander Fox deliberately smiled when Gavin looked at him. “Is it a guy or a girl?” “I’m sure it’s a guy,” Arturo answered Evander Fox’s question. “Gavin, if I’m more handsome than that person, you should exempt yourself from annoyance. Have some respect.” “Respect my handsomeness too,” Evander Fox added.

Luckily for me, they’re usually trading from evening to night shift around this time. Slugging my hefty bag over my back, I tip-toe towards the windows to take a look outside. No one in sight right now except a dark forest with trees and bush to no end. It’s time. I’ve thought ahead this time and already left the door handle unlocked from the guards using a bobby pin. With a book, I’ve kept it slightly closed so I don’t have to cause any alarm when I turn the handle to ultimately escape hell- I mean Nitraville.

Roxanne Flair. The smooth glide of the limousine came to a final, elegant halt. Through the tinted glass, I could see the towering glass facade of the venue, swarming with high-society guests and security details. Before I could even attempt to process the painful, throbbing ache between my thighs, the heavy car door was snapped open from the outside by a gala guard in a pristine white-gloved uniform. The crisp night air rushed into the luxurious backseat, chilling the bare, exposed skin of my lower body.

The sounds of the building, the light changing through the windows, the city waking up below. Meanwhile, Scarlett had posted a video. Not her usual style—no voiceover, no fan compilation, no dramatic musical underscore. Just twelve seconds of her at her desk, looking at the camera, pointing at a graph on the screen behind her showing the Graysler hashtag trending across the past week. She raised both eyebrows. She said nothing, she let the graph speak. Three hundred thousand views in two hours. Damien saw it on Roman's phone when Roman came by the office that afternoon. He watched the twelve seconds without expression. He handed the phone back.