Sinners Ink Novels & Stories

But the world she tried so desperately to ignore had finally reached out and dragged her into its jaws. The underground ballroom beneath the ruined opera house thrummed with dark elegance. Massive chandeliers dripped crystals like frozen tears over tables draped in black velvet. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey, expensive cigars, and the metallic tang of barely concealed violence. This was the Syndicate Auction — an annual gathering where the criminal elite settled scores, forged alliances, and traded lives as casually as stocks. Politicians, mob bosses, arms dealers, and tech overlords mingled here under a fragile truce. One wrong word could spark a war. One high bid could c

I saw how much he had feared hurting me, and how much he had hungered for this. He pulled back just an inch, his thumb tracing my lower lip. His breath was ragged. "Elara... if we do this, if we fully bridge the gap, there’s no turning back. You’ll be linked to the Syndicate’s darkness forever. My enemies will become your shadows." "They already are," I whispered. "I’m an 'Ink' by birth, but I think I’m a Vane by choice." A sudden, sharp thud echoed from the roof of the cabin.

Late in the afternoon, while their mother was upstairs sorting through clothes, the girls cornered him in the hallway. “We will drug Mom again,” Sara whispered. She pressed close to him so her breasts brushed against his arm. “She’ll pass out after dinner tonight.” Clara smiled seductively. "We will do something crazier than yesterday." Vincent’s lips stretched into a smile. "I'm ready." That evening, Lena drank her spiked wine without suspicion. As expected, within minutes her eyelids grew heavy. She yawned, slumped onto the living room couch, and fell into a deep sleep.

Wasn’t Sinners’ lead guitarist named Brian Sinclair? One of the men seated in the booth turned his head to scratch his chin with his shoulder. Despite his mirrored sunglasses, she instantly recognized vocalist Sedric Lionheart. Her heart rate kicked up a couple notches. It was Sinners. “I am so fucking drunk!” Brian yelled. He rolled off the table, knocking over several empty beer glasses, and landed on the laps of two of his companions. They dumped him unceremoniously on the floor.

"Yeah, yeah, how many Eliot Lakes could there be? And besides, you could have just gone home. Nobody put a gun to your head and forced you to come with me." "And let you get the entire payday? Not bloody likely!" Rhys snorted. A bell jingled as Rusty pushed open the door and the pair entered the shop. The petite, black-haired woman behind the counter smiled. "Welcome to Kink Ink, gentlemen. What kind of ink did you have in mind?" "We're not actually in the market for a tattoo today, we were just looking for a little information," Rusty said, as a tall First Nation man pushed through the curtain leading to the back of the shop and stood beside the counter.

My throat went dry as I asked, "What does it want to do?" Gus pointed at the cave entrance. "Look at that constantly flickering red light. The beast has injected its poison into its core. It aims to harness its remaining power to shatter the core into powder, utilizing the forest's toxic mist to refine it into red clouds that ascend into the sky, only to fall as rain. "The entire village will be thoroughly saturated with the enchantment. All the villagers will die from uncontrolled lust, turning into blood that seeps into the soil. This will become nourishment for the Temptress to prepare for its next reincarnation."

We will find out the story of how Ink met Tina, and how he became the president of The Titan Kings MC. Thank you all for your love and support in this book. I hope you enjoy it, please comment to tell me what you think. RL Dickinson xx

Paralyzed, he falls to the ground drooling from his mouth which spills between the cracks of the floor. Salavanta gets up from the old, ragged bed and stretches her naked body with the gun still in hand. The way she is built is that of a goddess covered in ink like a black and white canvas masterly painted to resemble the portrait of divinity, rage, and absolution. Her back is a full ink carving itched within her skin. The image of such depicts a silhouette of a reaper but instead of bones and a skull, the shadow embraces a trunk from a squid with dark looming eyes. The tentacles from the sea creature wrap around a rotting, wooden scythe. Down at the base of the ink and along her ridged lowe

"I'm coming anyway." We took the elevator to the lobby, and the courier package was a sealed white envelope at the front desk; Lara signed for it and held it in both hands and looked at the Crawford Holdings return address for three full seconds before opening it. Inside was a single sheet of paper. I read it over her shoulder. It was not a legal document; it was not a threat — it was a list of names; eight names, to be precise — four of them the victims of the 2002 fire, four of them living family members, with addresses and contact details listed beside each.

I looked down at the dark patches spreading across my chest and felt a low, filthy pulse between my legs. I wanted him to walk through that door and find me like this—half-dressed, already wet, and waiting for him. Then the low rumble of an engine reached the driveway. I set the bottle down on the counter, lips curving into a slow, hungry smile. He was home.