Sinners Ink Novels & Stories

"You petty, controlling prick." I swiped the message, and a poem scrolled onto the screen in a font that looked like dripping ink: "Where the marble meets the mud, a scholar's light shall turn to blood. A pact is inked in secret sighs, beneath the mask of 'Holy' eyes. One shall fall so One may rise, fed by the Saintess' golden lies. A demon waits within the breath, of the lion who's cheated by a death. Save the spark or join the pyre; the Author's ink is made of fire."

It was exactly midnight. Dante was sitting in front of the operation room, pressing his hands together while looking up in the ceiling. “I know I am a terrible person. I have committed a lot of sins and I don’t deserve to be forgiven by you.” He spoked. “But Victoria and the baby inside of her are innocent.” Tears started to gather around the rim of his eyes. “So please God, if you actually exist, please save both of them.” He was holding on to the necklace Victoria was wearing last time. He knew what it was, one of the item that was supposed to be auctioned at Sergio’s auction.

Eventually, Tina was handed a life sentence as the principal offender, while Zach was let off easy with just ten years. Nevertheless, when Zach was finally released ten years later, my daughter was already in grade school. He tried to find us, but we had moved out, and the city where we used to live had also changed drastically. With his parents gone too, he didn't even have a place to stay. He ended up fighting for turf with some homeless bums under a bridge, who eventually mobbed him and beat him to death, while his rotting corpse was only found after putrefaction. As it happened in some quiet far flung corner, there were no cameras, and the perpetrators were never found.

“You don’t. Not really. I didn’t tell you everything about that day. They shouldn’t have let him back into normal people’s lives because that guy, is not normal! Stay away from him, please Cal.” Something about the certainty in his voice makes me shift back instinctively, even though I still haven’t figured out why. “I don’t have a choice. I—” Just then, Brina slides into the space between us, her heels clicking sharply against the tiles. “Ugh! Guess who just tried to hit on me in the parking lot. That psycho freak, Ryder. Can you believe it?” She breathes heavily, rolling her eyes until the irises disappear. “Girl, I hope you carry mace or something sharp with you whenever you are tutoring

I asked retreating my hand. He wasn’t acting out of drunken confidence. He was clearheaded, sober and the agenda on his face was loud and clear. “I dont like drinking”, he said, his voice deep with an accent I wasn’t expecting. Italian. A chill ran down my spine, and it wasn’t because of how good he sounded. He had power radiating off him, unlike anything I’ve felt in before. Scars adorned his knuckles, but covered in black ink. His hands were steady, too steady to be considered mormal. The stranger was trained - in what? I had no clue.

It was quiet and peaceful, opposite from what was going inside me. Kimberly was naked ,laid on her back ,the only thing that was covering her was a thin sheet from the lower back till her feet. Her skin was as white as snow and the only colour left on her body were the marks of strikes, deep red and brown colour lines left a cruel decoration on her back. Each line didn't just left a scar on her back but also her soul.

I backed away, hugging myself, shaking so hard my teeth chattered. “Kyle…” Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Don’t let them take me.” The door burst open with a crack, and I jumped. My parents stormed in, their faces were red with rage. Behind them were Kyle’s parents; their eyes were cold. And then the others: men and women in black robes, collars glinting, rosaries hanging. A group I never expected. Bishop Callahan. Mother Superior. Monsignor Rivera. And two other priests whose faces I knew from years of services. A holy firing squad.

I cut him off. The words came out sharp and direct. I wasn't interested in preambles. I wasn't interested in carefully constructed sentences. I wanted a straight answer and I wanted it now. Eric looked at me for a moment. Then he nodded, like he had expected exactly that. "My name is Eric Carrington," he began, his voice dropping slightly, taking on a different weight entirely. "I run one of the largest criminal syndicates in this country. I control a network of underground operations across the city—the casinos, the clubs, the trafficking of weapons, territories, everything that moves in the dark in this city moves because I allow it to.”

Verity pulled up to the grand Sinclair family home at Marpleton Drive in Bel Air just after sunset. The sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion glowed warmly under landscaped lights, but tonight it felt more like a battlefield than a sanctuary. She sat in the car for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady her breathing. She had barely stepped out when Kingsley appeared from nowhere, near the entrance. He looked disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, hair messy like he had been running his hands through it for hours.

I pumped my fingers in and out of myself, my hips rolling off the hard bench. "It feels so good, Father Edmund," I gasped out, panting as I kept my eyes locked on his shadow through the screen. "I’m fingering myself right in front of you. Come on, tell me I'm going to hell. Tell me I'm a sinner while you listen to me fuck myself like a dirty little whore I am." The booth rattled violently, making me jump. A loud bang echoed through the small space as he slammed his door shut, leaving the confession booth.