Novel & Cerita Sinners Of Saint Series

What have I done to all these people? He was more terrifying than all the people that had ever tried to kill me. Way more terrifying. He smiled again, and his handsome face looked like a reflection of Satan. “Oh, pardon me. I have not introduced myself. My name is Saint. Due to a woman’s generosity, I just got out of jail, and I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun together.” His horrifying words kept echoing in my mind… until I surrendered to the drug, and my eyes slid shut.

"You'd rather go for a saint, huh? A 'saint.' Until you discover there was only ever one difference—they sin differently. I frowned, though I let her voice keep the floor. "Nobody's a saint. We've had blood on our hands from the moment we passed through that birth hole. What, you'd pick a man who cheats on his woman because he doesn't kill? You'd pick a man who tells bedtime lies to his kids while neglecting the wife who bore them? Or maybe you'd go for the sweetheart at home who's a devil on the streets." She raised her brow, savoring the way my silence folded like a losing hand.

Allistair took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of the task ahead settle across his shoulders like a living thing. “Caius, Lust, Greed, Sloth. Surround us,” he said, his voice low but firm. The four Sins moved instinctively, forming a circle around him and Lucifer, their bodies poised to shield, steady, and anchor the magic about to be unleashed and to link their bond with each other.

Why does the gentleness in his tone make my pulse stutter? Marco next. His confession is halting, full of stammers about a girl in the village, promises broken. Father Rossi interrupts once, softly. “Take your time. There is no rush before God.” I hand Marco a prayer card as he leaves Our Lady of Sorrows, eyes downcast. His fingers shake. Mine do too, just a little. The farmer is the last of the outsiders. His grief is quieter, a steady murmur about loneliness, about nights too empty. Father Rossi’s replies are brief, firm. “The Lord sees your sorrow. He weeps with you.”

His thumb teased the sensitive head of my cock, smearing precum everywhere. “Such a dirty little secret,” he breathed, biting down on my shoulder to muffle his own groan. “Hiding under the bed after being stretched open while your sister was right here… and now you’re fucking yourself on me again like a desperate slut.” The risk of fucking my sister's boyfriend while she was I the next room, the wrongness of it and the way his cock stretched and filled me so perfectly, Christ! I didn't want it to end. But not long after I was already cumming, spilling over his fist and across his abs with a muffled cry.

“Do it, or I call security right now and have you escorted out wearing exactly what you have on. Forty-seven dollars won’t get you far in February.” Her knees hit the cold marble with a crack that shot pain up her thighs. Saint set the tumbler on the console table. With deliberate calm he untied the silk belt. The robe parted. He was naked underneath, and already half-hard. His cock was thick, long, brutally elegant like the rest of him, the head flushed dark, a single bead of pre-cum pearling at the slit. A thin scar traced the underside, rumors said a Sicilian rival’s blade.

“It's a good thing you know you're a big sinner. There's no redemption for you.” Now it's my turn to laugh. But I laughed only for a few seconds. “Seriously, can't you speed up the process?” “I wish I could. But they fucking have themselves erased. You'll have to hunt down these people with your mere brain and critical thinking. I mean… ask yourself—what would a crime ring of people who have serpent shaped tattoos and are called ‘the Serpents’ want with you? They followed you straight up to the meeting with Father Philip and they shot at you. Does any of it make any sense to you?”

Soon the Road Saints, the Red Wolves, and the Ghost Riders pulled in, circling them. No one spoke. No one smiled. Ashley stepped forward alone to the center. The Road Saints VP, Fernandez—a tall man with a heavy beard and dark eyes—killed his engine first. Behind him came Hale from the Red Wolves and Cutter from the Ghost Riders, a thin man with a snake tattoo on his neck. They looked at her like they were deciding whether to hear her out—or end it right there. Fernandez’s gaze lingered longer than the others. He hadn’t forgotten the last time he came here and saw that damn detective.

I became someone I no longer recognized, a man burdened with sins too heavy for anyone else to carry. In time, my life spiraled out of control. The betrayal of my own conscience led me down a path I hadn’t anticipated. I left the military, lost to my own demons, and found myself entangled in the very world I once fought against. The mafia became my refuge, a dark sanctuary where I tried to drown my guilt, my anger, and my sorrow. I became a sinner—willingly committing sins, crossing lines I never would have imagined as a soldier. I justified it then, telling myself it was all I deserved, that I was beyond redemption. But deep down, I was trapped in a web I couldn't escape.

“God won’t be angry, Naomi. You think He cares about one sip of alcohol? That’s just your parents filling your head with sermons to make your life miserable.” The words stabbed sharper than the music. She twisted her fingers together under the table, staring at the drink. One sip. Just one. Was it really such a sin? “Tell me,” Nick continued, his voice softer now, coaxing. “Do you want to spend your whole life trapped? Your freedom twisted by your parents until you’re nothing but a puppet? Or…” He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “Do you trust me—the one who will marry you at the end?”