** WARNING! If you are offended by strong language and/or imagery do not read further. Sin Full is a violent and graphic novel befitting this Halloween season. But I have warned you. **
!!! I apologize in advance. When I uploaded the document it shifted the formatting and would not allow me to fix it. I am aware of the lack of indentation as the document advances. Sorry. !!!
A circle of salt.
A crust of bread.
A coin of silver to
release your dead.
He comes to you in your final hours when fear from your actions weigh heavily on your soul. He consumes your darkness and whispers words of solace…
Prologue
Grigori clutched the worn wood of the chair beneath him. The bitter taste of mold dusted bread and two-dollar wine coated his mouth and tongue as a reminder of why he hated to do this. Beads of sweat sprang upon his skin as his vibrant green eyes slammed shut. His eyes darted behind the cover of his eyelids as the visions began to scream across his line of darkened sight. Grigori’s tense body shook as picture after picture of violent and heartless acts committed by another stomped on his soul. The eyes of victims stared him down as Grigori’s grip slackened, allowing his body to slip from the chair and curl up on the crusty hall carpet. He tucked himself tightly into his own protection, but he could not stop the onslaught of screams for help and mercy from hissing in his ears as the horror story began to unfold. It was the story of the man dying only a few feet away, the tale of evil that he starred in, that he created. It was the history that Grigori was taking upon himself and purging from the dying man’s soul. And so, it began…
1
His alarm clock screamed for him to get up, but Grigori’s body begged him to ignore the f**king thing and stay in bed. Ignore it. Go back to sleep, he told himself, but the movement beside him woke him instantly. S**t! Who did I do this time? F**k! He silenced the alarm and then slowly turned to view the form that claimed the space beside him on his bed. She was as white as milk against the black sheets, and her red hair spilled across her shoulders like watered down blood. Two things were evident: one, she was a true redhead, and two, he knew her.
“Like what you see?” she cooed, as she stretched her naked body and rubbed it up against his.
“Amy.”
“Well, good morning to you too, Professor,” she joked while running her hand under the sheet in the direction of his shaft. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? You could roll over here and rectify that.”
“Don’t,” Grigori caught her hand before it reached her intended target.
“A**hole,” Amy grumbled as she yanked her hand back then scurried from the bed to hunt for her clothes. “It’s not like I haven’t been here before.”
Grigori swung his legs over the side of the bed. He tugged the sheet tightly around his waist as he sat on the edge of the bed. Scraping his hands over his morning stubble Grigori wondered how the hell he got in this predicament, again. The clock read 7:10; he had class in less than two hours and really didn’t need to deal with Amy’s shit that early in the morning. Seeing her at nine a.m. three days a week was tedious enough. “I’ve told you that this is a bad idea, Amy.”
Amy stepped into his line of sight wearing a hint of a thong and a sneer, “You weren’t complaining last night while your cock was pounding away at me. You didn’t seem to mind while I was swallowing your load, now did ya!”
Grigori looked into the eyes of the barely legal girl in front of him, “Can’t complain when I don’t remember shit.”
Amy pulled on the rest of her clothes in a huff. She bent down and got eye to eye with Grigori, “I guess it’s a good thing I took pictures this time.”
Grigori’s speed could make lightning jealous. He had her pinned to the wall with her hands held tightly in one of his, held high above her head, “What pictures? Where are they?”
“Wha…you’re hurting me!”
“No, Amy, this isn’t hurting, but I can, and I will hurt you. Where are the pictures?” Grigori growled.
Amy tried to pull free of his grasp, “They’re on my phone,” she squeaked.
He tossed her to the side like the annoyance she was, “Show me.”
Amy rooted around on the floor looking for her phone, “Here,” she barked as she held out her cell phone to Grigori expecting him to take it.
“I said, show me.”
Amy clambered to her feet, “Fine.” She opened the photo gallery on her phone and showed him the pictures that she had taken of him just hours before. There were a few from the club he frequented after…well, after. There were a few pictures of him passed out in bed at some point after he had f**ked her senseless, or maybe she was already senseless. “Delete them. Now.”
Amy tapped a few keys and made the evidence of their evening together disappear. After a moment Grigori’s mind did the math. That was too easy. He took hold of the hand that Amy still held the phone in, “Show me your messages.”
“What? Why?”
“And your emails.”
“No.”
“No? Do it or I crush your phone with your own hand.” He tightened his grip.
“F**k! Stop!”
“Show me,” he demanded through gritted teeth. “Now.”
He was right. She had sent the pictures to her email account. He watched her delete each one then demanded that she clear the trash on her email so she couldn’t go back later and retrieve them. “Let me make myself clear, Amy,” he snarled as he stepped close enough to attack her with horrible morning breath, “We will not do this again. I will put a restraining order out on you’re a**, and I will make something up to you get kicked out of school. F**k with me and I will destroy you. Got it?”
Amy wrapped herself tightly in her arms and dropped her head, “Yeah, I got it.”
“Good, now, get the f**k out,” he spat and pointed to the door. “Oh, and Amy…”
“What!” she snarled.
“Don’t be late for class. That shit’s getting old.”
Amy stormed from the room and made her way across Grigori’s apartment, “F**k you, Professor!” she screamed as the door slammed shut.
“I have got to stop getting myself into this shit,” he grumbled to the air around him. It was time to get ready for work and pray the day got better. It could very easily get worse if he wasn’t careful.
Grigori stood in front of his bathroom mirror with just a towel wrapped around his wet hips. He leaned into his reflection and wondered for the thousandth time where he got his bronze skin, and his moss green eyes. Where did the curl in his licorice black hair originate? These were questions he asked himself often, as did others like him. When you don’t know your origin, your origin tends to dig at you. It pokes at you but offers no target to lash back at.
Grigori could be a bastard. A delicious creature with mocha skin, hair that any sane woman would want to run her fingers through. Hell, even a few men have wanted and begged for the honor. His eyes were the green of a wet apple. All atop a body that God designed for sin, sins of the flesh to be more specific. The kind of sins anyone would be fully willing to take part in and beg forgiveness at some later time in confession or be thankful to have been included at all. But he could be a bastard all the same. His bed lay empty only when he declared it to be. He was never deprived in that aspect of his life. He lacked in comfort. Not the physical kind, but the kind that held your heart and mind at ease. The kind that allowed peace filled nights of nightmare-free sleep. The kind he didn’t have. The kind of comfort he desired most of all.
Grigori tightened his tie, grabbed his impeccably tailored suit jacket and briefcase then made his way down to the garage to his guilty pleasure, his cherry red mustang. The leather of the seats welcomed him with its willowy caress. The growl of the engine revved his blood. It was an audible jolt of caffeine to an already volatile morning. The vibrations that radiated through Grigori’s body caused him to relax. That unbridled energy was what it felt like to be alive in his skin. He sat for a moment running his fingers around the steering wheel allowing him the opportunity to enjoy his toy. Grigori liked his toys. He earned them, all of them. No one could take them from him, and he didn’t have to share them with anyone. He had to share everything growing up in a group home. He couldn’t even claim a pair, let alone a single sock as his own. At times it felt like every boy in the group home took turns wearing a single pair of shoes… Grigori can wear them on Tuesday, Luke on Wednesday… Now, what was his was his, and he had no plans of sharing. Period.
Grigori had a little time to spare so he stopped off for a cup of coffee on his way to campus. The lick-able woman behind the counter was a pleasure to look at, and she could start any morning off right. Why couldn’t I find her naked in my bed? he wondered to himself as he stepped up to place his order.
“Good morning, professor. The usual?” she asked.
He gave her a smile filled with hints and wants, but not for coffee, “Yes, please.”
“Can I tempt you with a Danish or croissant this morning?”
His smile deepened, Oh, she could tempt me with a lot of things. He shook off the image, “Hmmm, do you have anything as sweet as you?”
“Maybe, but I’m not always sweet. So, how sweet do you want me…er…I mean it. How sweet do you want it?” she gasped. Her face grew so red it took everything in him not to laugh. “Do you want it to make your teeth ache or just a hint of sugar at the end?”
Was she flirting with him or actually talking about a f**king donut? “Why don’t you surprise me…I’m sorry, what is your name?” He already knew but wanted to keep her attention a bit longer.
“Eden, my name is Eden.”
“Hello, Eden. My name is Grigori,” he informed as he reached for her hand. He gave it a gentle shake and a light squeeze, “Just call me Grigori. No professor, please.”
Eden gently removed her hand from his grasp and made her way down the counter to make his sweet treat. Her eyes drifted to him more than once as she worked on his order. She wrapped her eatable choice in a napkin then placed it into a white paper sack. She gave him the bag and his coffee, “Here you are, breakfast and a hot cup of coffee. Can I get you anything else, Grigori?” she asked and was unable to contain the smile that spread across her lips as she formed his name. His name on her tongue sounded amazing as it slipped from her glossed lips. He wondered what it would sound like coming out in heated gasps beneath his sweat covered body.
“Thank you, Eden. I better get to class. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the teacher,” he winked, “See you next time…Eden.” He flashed his best panty-dropping smile then pushed open the door leaving her sweetness behind. Grigori sat in his car and watched her for a few minutes. Eden was her namesake. She was a garden of pure pleasure. She wasn’t gaudy in her look; she was simply beautiful. Her eyes were the color of a cool Caribbean pool. The shade of blue you just wanted to dive into and never come back. Her lips were suck-ably full, not thin, but lush and moist. The kind of lips you wanted to feel on you, everywhere. He watched as she readjusted her auburn hair back into a messy knot on top of her head. He wanted to see it spilling down around her bare shoulders, better yet, fanned out across his black silk sheets or even a matted mess the morning after he f**ked her in every possible way. Grigori regrettably caught sight of the time display on his dashboard and knew his fantasizing was over for now. He adjusted his erection then pulled his car out of the parking lot pointing it in the direction of campus.
Grigori Obasi Dumah was a tenured professor at Saint Louis University. He taught multiple courses in history but favored his Religions of the World class and that was where he was currently headed. This also meant he was on a collision course with Amy as well, that took a bit of wind out of his sails. Grigori pulled into his parking space, gathered up his things, including the breakfast that Eden prepared and went to his office. He dropped everything on his desk except the little white bag. Inside he found a croissant holding fluffy scrambled eggs and melted cheese wrapped in a tight napkin that had, what appeared to be, a phone number jotted across it. Yes! She included her number. He was considering when to call her when he was interrupted by an intense vibration coming from his pants. Grigori pulled his cell from his slacks pocket and looked at the number with disdain. He shoved the croissant in his mouth taking a large bite.
“Hello,” he mumbled through a mouth full of dough and cheesy eggs.
“I ‘ave a job fer ye.”
Grigori swallowed and took a few sips of his coffee, “I did a job last night.”
“Is tha’ so. An’ where does it say tha’ cha can’t do another? Quit actin’ da arse. I’ll text you da address shortly. I gave them yer instructions and said ye would be there before eleven tanight.”
“Fine.”
“Don’tcha be a shit to these people. There’s a lot of money comin’ our way with this one.”
“I understand, Hayes. I have a class waiting. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“’e seemed ta be a simple man. Don’t know what ‘e coulda done ta need the likes of ye.”
Grigori let out a sigh of annoyance, “They all seem to be good men, Hayes. They hide who they really are. Is that all?”
“Watch fer da text,” grunted Adler Hayes and then silence fell.
“Prick.” Grigori scribbled down a few notes, checked his text messages to see if the address had arrived yet. It had not. Adler was new to the whole cell phone thing so it could take a few minutes for him to get it typed out. Grigori picked up the stack of papers for his class and his cooling coffee; he made his way to the classroom a few doors from his office.
“Good morning, class,” he bellowed over the dull roar of conversation swirling around the room. “I have your research papers,” he said as he held up the monstrous stack of paper in his hand. He set his coffee and curricula on the podium then began moving about the room handing back their works. “I will not comment, in class, about any of your papers. If you have any questions about the grades you have received, please see me during my office hours or email me to set an appointment.” A grumbled agreement escaped the crowd followed by gasps and a few groans as pages were quickly flipped to find grades emblazoned on the last page of each assignment. Grigori dropped Amy’s paper on her desk and sensed the pissy attitude that radiated from her. Still, she wore a top that barely contained her milky breasts and a skirt that left little to the imagination. As good as she looked, she was dumb as a rock and that was an insult to a rock. She snatched up the paper and flipped to the graded page and let out an audible huff. Her hand shot up into the air. “As I said, Miss Walt, I will not comment or answer questions about your papers during class.” Her hand slammed down onto her desk leaving everyone aware that she got a less than stellar grade. A few chuckles emanated from the crowd as Grigori made it back to the front of the room.
“That’s enough,” he scolded. “Now, I want to remind you that you will have a test the next time we meet. It will cover the chapters on Daoism and Shinto,” a deep groan came out of nowhere. “I know, I know,” Grigori tried to soothe the disgruntled group of hormones, “That is why I want to review some sections that past students found confusing. Feel free to ask questions and please take notes.” He slapped his hands together to get his class’ full attention, “Let’s do this.” For the next fifty minutes, Grigori answered and asked questions in hopes that his class would do better on their tests than they did on their papers. Shouts of “Professor Dumah,” rang out as class ended. Meetings were set to discuss grades along with one attempt by Amy to get a private session, which was denied.
“But I just want to ask about my paper,” she whined as she tipped her hip seductively and pouted her lips.
“Your paper? I doubt it. If you cared about your paper, Miss Walt, you would have turned in eight pages instead of five.” She straightened with a jerk. Her lips fell open in astonishment at his words. “If you wanted a better grade you would have actually done the research. Now, I have another class coming in,” with that he effectively shooed her from the room.
Grigori flopped down in his classroom desk chair with his cold coffee in hand. He chugged it down with no discomfort at all and allowed his imagination to strip Eden naked and then lay her out on his office desk like a buffet, but before he could run his fingers through her wet curls, his World History students started pouring into the room. I will have her in my bed, he promised himself before letting the image drift away and be replaced with the horrors of the First Crusade to recapture Jerusalem in 1096. Nothing like wars and kings to ruin a good fantasy.
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