To Hell With Being A Saint Novels & Stories

His eyelashes cast shadows over his cheeks, but his smile was the real show-stopper. "You're too smart to listen to your father, so I would advise you to form your own opinion of me," Saint said. The intensity of his green stare was frightening. "But I'm not the hero of this story—I'm more of a villain, but for your sake? Maybe I can change." Harper felt unease. "People don't just change, though..." "But I want to change," Saint tried to convince her. "You have made me realize there is more to life than violence. I can honestly see a future with you."

"Nah-ah, you can't say no. If you say no, it means you're really mad at me and I'll be sad." "Yes!" I forced myself to say and he smiled. "I'll wait for that. Bye! Go home." He said and turned his back on me. How do I say goodbye to Saint? Until I got home, all I could think about was how to tell Saint. Because if I say I'm with someone else, he'll definitely come too. It's not that I don't want to be with him, but it's awkward, isn't it? Saint is really overprotective. I know that her Daddy bought me from her, but maybe this is too much right? I will not be destroyed because of my association with Psalm. He is a nice guy. He is harmless.

"You know what he is, Norlan. He's me, if I gave up the last pieces of my soul." "Not happening!" I yelled, running desperate fingers through my hair, "They are lunatics! They can't go a week without sticking their cocks into the same woman! It's like a ritual to them! They are abominable!" I knew I was blabbing nonsense, but, fuck me, anything to keep away from Saint. What an irony of a name for one who is the direct opposite of who a Saint should be!

Zane Saint: Talk to me. Saint: Fallon... Saint: I'm sorry. Saint: We need to talk. Saint: Look, ignore me all you want but I refuse to go away. I'm like a disease. I stared down at my phone. In all my desperation, I was pretty sure I just told the girl I care about that I was like a disease. And I wasn't even drunk. It was a completely sober text. Damn it. Saint: But a good disease.

“I can’t be wrong. This person’s Saint Power is very pure, so they can’t be a partial Saint. Plus, it’s not too strong, so they should be a beginner Pre-Saint.” “Grandmaster, it’ll still be troublesome even if they are a beginner Pre-Saint. TSA banned Saints from fighting. If not, there will be dire consequences.”

Saint’s voice bubbles up in my hazy mind. “YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM FATE, JUSTICE.” Saint’s voice bursts out from my mouth. “If it’s time for a pup, you can’t stop it. Do your fucking job.” “What the fuck, Saint?” Lenora unbuttons my work shirt and pulls my arms out, then puts the t-shirt over my head. “Stand up so I can help you with your pants.” Saint has always had a problem with Justice and I’ve never understood why. He takes verbal jabs at her whenever he gets a chance. Me being drunk makes it easier for him to take control when I can’t.

“And I refuse to be one.” A stunned silence followed my declaration. Then, a low murmur snaked through the HellBound crowd, growing louder, turning into a buzzed discussion. Their "Saints," as they called themselves, the women draped over their bikes, let out a few amused, mocking laughs. One of them, a woman with bright red lipstick that stood out starkly against her pale skin, actually clapped her hands together slowly, a taunting smirk on her face.

After our family went bankrupt under millions of dollars of debt, I risked my life to protect my little sister from the ruthless loan sharks. She, however, floated above the squalor—a saint who treated money like filth. I was beaten half to death trying to guard the last thousands of our savings. Once the money was secured, she handed every last dime to a pitiful distant uncle. I saved us from the goons with a smashed glass bottle, shielding her all the way to the police station. Instead of thanking me, she called me barbaric, insisting I should have sat them down for a civilized conversation. I toiled for months pulling three grueling shifts a day to settle our father’s debts, while she lou

A word chosen specifically because it sounded legal without being legal, chosen to move in mouths and comment sections before anyone had time to examine it. Lila posted nothing. That silence, Mia had learned, was always louder than anything Lila actually said. "Baseless," Sarah read aloud from the couch. "He used it twice." "I heard." "You want me to be angry on your behalf or—" "I want you to order dinner," Mia said. "I've had a long week and I need someone else to make a decision about food."

And for the first time, I understood that finding Cassian might require me to become someone Saint-Mireille would never recognize. If nobody else could get to Cassian, I would. Finding Cassian would require something else. I went upstairs, shut the door, and sat in the dark with Rourke’s apology still in my ears and the town’s eyes still on my back. Saint-Mireille had become a trap with memories for bait. I would walk out of it. I would change what I studied, change what I became, and open a channel of my own toward the man the world was protecting from me.