Sinners Saints Novels & Stories

44. Sinful I don’t know when I slept but I woke up by 3:00am; I was exhausted and hungry, I felt weak to my bones like I was about to faint. I struggled to push myself out of bed and when I did, I saw a tray of covered dishes on the bedside table, and a note that read: Just rest A

Zayn felt rather touched in his heart. He looked at Lysithea and said, “As a member of Sicut In Caelo, aren’t you afraid that you’ll be punished by The Saint for doing this?” Lysithea shifted her gaze and said, “I grew up in the organization, so The Saint won’t kill me. However, you’re different. You’re the son of the previous Saintess, and you’re considered a disgrace to The Saint in a certain sense. He was planning on killing you from the start. You’d better run now!”

It's like stepping into the heart of another world. Saint, unlike the name, it's the opposite. It's a dangerous club in the heart of the city for criminals and whores. It's a place where women slut themselves to get laid, and men dip their dicks in any available holes. Businessmen come to nurse their deals for all illegal shit. This place only attracts fucked up people, who are too busy trying to forget some dark shit going on in their miserable lives. Than to give a shit about anyone else. It makes fat bucks goes directly into my pocket.

CAGED TO THE MOON KING CHAPTER 42 HEAVEN Shadow Saint Pack was more like Shadow sin pack, it was clustered with eyesore activities that made me cringe in irritation. My innocent eyes could barely see anything pure aside from blood, naked women flapping bodies shamefully with the opposite gender in public, and slaves who worked endlessly to atone for a sin that they didn't commit. The place reeked of blood stench that I vomited at every Intervals I was being dragged to this Vampire Prince chambers.

PREMISE Lana has always followed the rules. She’s the good girl, the shy virgin who’s never been touched—until her best friend dares her to step into a tattoo parlor and finally explore something beyond her comfort zone. She’s not sure what she’s looking for… until she meets Silas. Silas Reign doesn’t do sweet. He does dark ink, dirty mouths, and women who know what they want. But when Lana walks into his studio wide-eyed and trembling, he’s caught off guard. There’s something about her. Something sacred. Innocent. Off-limits.

--- THE FIRST DREAM — BLOOD AND PROMISES I’m kneeling. Not weak — never weak — but controlled. Intentional. There’s blood on the floor, streaked in dark arcs like spilled ink. Someone groans behind me. Someone else is praying. I don’t turn. I already know who matters. He stands in front of me. Nicholas. Younger. Sharper. Colder in a way that feels cleaner, less fractured. His suit is immaculate, but his eyes are ruined — dark and burning, locked onto me like I’m the axis the world spins on.

Something passed between them. "A man was taken," she said. "Yesterday. Stranger. Nobody knew him — but people saw it. Dark hair. Walked like someone who'd never worried about being followed." She held my eyes. "The Rabid Saints." The room went still. "Who are they," I said. Bram's jaw moved. "Three men and a woman. Been operating here for years. They don't kill — they leverage. People, information, things of value." He looked at the table. "Smart. That's the problem."

"All of it. The moon. The stars. The kingdom. Everything I gave her, I give to you. Everything I am." The video ended. Blackness. I sat in the darkening room, the phone still warm in my palm, and felt nothing. I saved the file. I titled it: The Oath of Betrayal. Then I rose, dressed in a coat of midnight wool, and drove to the financial district, to the offices of Castellano & Stern, the law firm that had served the Marconi family since Prohibition.

He didn’t even know it was me as I guided him gently through the crowd. Our bodies were so close together with his arm heavy on my shoulders. It was as if he couldn’t quite steady himself. That led me to suspect that there might be drugs running around in his system. It was a common occurrence here, spiking the drinks of unsuspecting men. He had fallen victim. Better to be a victim with me than with a stranger he knew nothing about. A smirk curved my lips. I liked this side of him, harsher, more desperate, but not in any way weak.

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