Saint's Salvation: The Seven Deadly Sins (The Saint Series Book 7)

by Tiana Laveen

  Be blessed, Sun of Sons.

  You are a King Angel Child, leader of them all. Never forget that.

  Krishna

  Pam held the red candle in her hand and cursed. There, as clear as day, was a sign on the door about no smoking or lighting a damn thing. If this rule was broken, jail time and fines could result. She had the whole thing planned out, and candles were a must, but now her dreams of fiery passion were extinguished, squashed like June bugs.

  Well hell! I’ll just have to turn the television down and keep it on then so we can get a bit of light up in here!

  With a huff, she walked over to her travel bag and pulled out a bright red lacey negligee. She felt the material in her hands, loving the softness and sexiness of the piece. She’d picked it up the night before from a place called ‘Town Shop’ on Broadway. Placing it over her arm, she marched into the bathroom, freshened up, and slid the damn thing on … or at least tried.

  “Damn it! It’s like gettin’ caught in a web!” Pam’s arm hooked in the wrong opening, and she wasn’t certain any longer what side was up, and what was down. She took a couple of glances at herself in the mirror, her face red with frustration and her carefully combed coif now a mess. “Shit!” Snatching the damn thing off, she tried again; this time, getting it just right. She sighed with relief, then turned on the faucet and splashed some cool water on her face before returning to the bedroom. Digging into her bag once again, she removed a small CD player, a bottle of perfume and lube, three different condoms for various sizes, and some massage lotion. Grinning from ear to ear, she set them out neatly on the nightstand. Just then, her cell phone rang. It was Gasper.

  “Hello.” She smiled as she sank onto the bed and crossed her legs, feeling coy and demure.

  “Hello, my love! I am here in the lobby ready to meet you for lunch. What a nice hotel. The concierge is quite nice, too. Sorry for being a bit late. Traffic was very bad.”

  I plan to be bad, too…

  “That’s just fine. We’re close to Central Park after all, and it’s lunchtime for many folks. Come on up. I ordered room service.”

  “Oh. You’re in a room? I thought we were here to eat at the restaurant, the Majorelle?”

  “Nah.” Pam slicked her tongue over her lower lip. “I thought we’d have something a bit more private, actually. Come on up to room 214. It’s a garden suite.”

  “Garden suite?” She could hear the man actually gulp. “Those uh … those are pretty expensive, aren’t they? This hotel is not exactly cheap.”

  “Don’t worry about none of that … just tell the lady at the counter that your name is David Hasselhoff, I mean, Clint Eastwood.”

  “Clint Eastwood? But my name is not Clint Eastwood. I’m not a movie actor. My name is—”

  “Yo’ name is Clint Eastwood today, so just tell ’em what I told you, Gaspar. Now come on up. I’m waitin’.” Pam quickly disconnected the call, grabbed her strawberry scented lotion, and got to work on greasing down her legs.

  I thought European men were supposed to be sexually liberated! He so damn uptight sometimes, but this should loosen him right up. I’m nervous as a disabled antelope in a starving lion’s den and he wanna argue with me about comin’ up and getting these cookies. He betta come on while they pipin’ hot, ’cause with the way my body is set up, ol’ Mr. Arthur Ritis could come knockin’ and seize up my legs—or worse yet, I could fall fast to sleep before things get good and poppin’. Clint Eastwood and Pam Anderson about to get it in! Front page news!

  Gasper approached the hotel door and stood there…

  From the outside, he could hear music playing. He raised his hand to knock, but then slowly put it back down. Not sure what to do with himself, he turned from side to side, looking down the hall in both directions before sliding out the key he was given at the front desk. Apparently, Pam had checked every box, ensured her plans were followed to the letter. She’d left directions that he was to be supplied with a key upon arrival. He was certain he turned beet red when he’d walked up there and told the nice young lady that he was Clint Eastwood, there to see his friend, Pamela Anderson.

  Placing the key inside the door, he waited until it lit green, then gave it a little shove. When he stepped inside, he took in the beautiful room. It was a boutique hotel, seemingly with all the amenities. A large bed took up a good part of the room and from what he could tell, the view was spectacular. Placing his hands in his pockets, he scanned the space, taking note of the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

  “Pam, I’m here,” he called out, in hopes she could hear him over the tunes and all. A bottle of wine sat in a silver bucket on a small table, with two glasses and a domed tray next to it. He wondered what kind of food they’d be having. Just then, the door opened. One leg, and then another, appeared, oiled and glistening. He gasped. There Pam was, in a sheer red negligee, showing all of her secrets. Some of the biggest breasts he’d ever laid eyes on were nicely pressed and packaged into the delicate fabric, her caramel-colored areolas in stark contrast to the material. His eyes wandered farther down and he took note of her pussy, with barely an inkling of hair, as well as her thick, butterscotch thighs. She stepped closer to him.

  “Um, well…” He offered a smile, but he could feel his temperature rise when she stood in front of him and pushed him over so easily, as though she’d blown on a feather. He landed on the bed, propped up on his elbows. She was so beautiful, with her hair combed to the side and pinned up with a bright red rose. “Uh, this is … this is a surprise.” He grasped the bedding in a tight, nervous grip.

  “I gotta surprise for ya all right.” The woman straddled him, pushed her large breasts against his cheek and, for a moment, he feared he may be suffocated.

  “I thought … we were going to have lunch.”

  “I got your lunch right here.” She suddenly turned around and shook her large, rounded ass, the cheeks flapping and wiggling in ways he’d never seen. Was this what the young kids called twerking? The woman grabbed her knees and all he could see was flesh rotating and bouncing before him, all trapped within the tight confines of the red mesh. On a swallow, he reached out to touch it … to feel the flesh of a woman that had skin entirely too supple for her age.

  His fingertips grazed her ass, but he quickly pulled away, overwhelmed by it all.

  “I used to tear tha floor up in my day, Gaspar! I learned this dance for you! It’s a lap dance, baby.” She quickly turned and faced him, gyrating her large hips back and forth like a boat teeter totting on the rocky waves of an angry ocean. Reaching for the lingerie strap, she teased him by slowly caressing it, pulling at it, threatening to unleash the two massive breasts that made his mouth water.

  His emotions jammed within him, confused as he was. He fought utter shock and horniness all at once. Pam didn’t seem like she’d be this type of girl. A part of him wanted to bolt for the door, pretend none of this was transpiring, while the other portion of him, the part from the waist down, wanted to do things to her … nasty, dirty things in a Clint Eastwood sort of way!

  ‘Now you’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky?’ Hell yes!!!

  The woman wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him in for a kiss. His heart thumped when her plush, warm lips landed upon his mouth. Alexander O’ Neal sang “Sunshine” in that moment, the music inspiring him, sending heat through him. He clutched the sheets tighter. Her sweet perfume and the soft curls that fell against his cheek made his soldier rise during the sensual embrace. No more naughty movies with only him and his hand … no more fantasies. The two times he’d had sex since his wife died had ended up being fruitless, empty sexual encounters that had made him feel wrought with guilt. But this, well… He genuinely liked Pam, and she liked him too…

  Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her down upon him, forcing a burst of giggles from the lady. He slid his hands up and down her back as he landed pecks against her cheek. The softness and pressure of her breasts stirred h
is inner workings, so much so, before he knew it he’d somehow removed his shirt and was sitting there with only his white boxers on. They had Doberman Pincher designs on them—oh how he wished he’d chosen something else. Pam seemed to not pay it a lick of attention as she sauntered away and turned down the music. Grabbing the bottle of wine, she popped it open and poured two glasses. He gratefully accepted the drink; anything to calm his nerves. He glanced over at the condoms and bottle of lube.

  What if… uh… I can’t perform? That would be embarrassing.

  He pushed the thought out of his mind. To be unable to get it up would only be fueled by his swaying anxieties.

  “Pam?”

  “Yes?” She took a sip from her glass and stood before him, her lingerie puddled at her feet.

  “I just want you to know that I’m a little nervous, but it’s not because I don’t want you.”

  “Well, let’s talk.” She sat down beside him.

  He loved how completely comfortable she was in her own skin! Such confidence… He could see in her smile, she’d had plenty of sorrow. Her eyes had shed way too many tears, but the woman smiled anyway, and she laughed, and she celebrated life. She talked about her grandchildren constantly, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her since the first day he’d seen her in the kitchen, when she’d accused him of being a peeping Tom.

  “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “If it’s little Gaspar, then it just is. Ain’t shit you can do about it. Fuckin’ my ex-husband was like trying to ride a jellybean, but I managed.”

  “No! Not that.” He laughed. “I mean, I know you probably wish I were as exciting as you, but I’m a simple man, Pam. I like potatoes and salads, walks in the park. I like to go to the beach and sunbathe, and read the paper. I enjoy books about the sea, and I invest and save my money, just in case there is a dream vacation one day I’d wish to take.”

  The woman placed her hands over his own, her eyes kind and loving.

  “You ain’t gotta be lavish with me, Gaspar. Just be yourself. I don’t expect you to flip over chairs and hang from the chandeliers. I just want you to relax and enjoy yourself. We ain’t spring chickens. Sex can be awkward at any age, but I wanna have fun, and I wanna have fun with you.” She leaned in close and kissed him ever so softly.

  He reciprocated and sighed as he felt her hand run up and down his chest until she went lower, gently massaging his genitals. He breathed heavier, swallowing between pecks, and then she pushed him down against the bed. Quickly grabbing a pillow, he propped it behind his head and eagerly awaited her next move.

  “I want to make love to you!” The words rolled off his tongue as he practically roughed himself up shoving his boxers down his legs and tossing them to the floor. The woman’s dark brown eyes immediately landed on his cock.

  “Well, goddamn! Xenia was right. Not all white men eat shrimp!” Pam reached over to the nightstand and looked at the condoms as if playing a game of Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe, then snatched the gold wrapped Magnum from the stack. “Mmmm! Mmmm! Mmmm! Didn’t nobody tell me they made Portuguese sausages this size!” She tore the thing open with her teeth and spit the wrapper across the room. “You sure you ain’t got an African Great-Grand-Daddy? Zulu Nation?”

  “Uh, I don’t believe so.”

  He watched as she sheathed him, eagerly awaiting her touch. The heat from her body was all he craved.

  “Now this is some meat Mama can sink her teeth into!” He shuddered when she dropped between his legs, disappearing out of sight with the exception of her head bobbing up and down on his cock. Loud, slurping sounds echoed in the room as she took him in, deep throating like nothing he’d ever experienced!

  “Oh, Pamela Anderson! I adore the hell out of you. Go ahead and make my day!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  He strained against the tight wrist binds, struggling in the chair to no avail. Every bone in his body felt fractured, yet his adrenaline was on ten. The restraints around his body cut into his flesh, and he uttered shit he could not control…

  The last strands of a serpentine poison were coming out. He could no longer govern his tongue, but within, he was fighting for his life.

  Thick, ropey strands of saliva dangled from his lower lip and dribbled down his chin as his heart bruised his chest, beating as though vying for a TKO. Saint’s eyes turned blood red and remained so for what felt like an eternity. He recognized the burn that pulsated inside his skull.

  “FUCK YOU!” he yelled at the priest, who ignored his countless obscenities.

  “Dr. Saint Aknaten, fight this! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!”

  “Fr. Opphellius, you were such a baaaad little boy.” Saint’s inner demon taunted, his eyes bleeding down his cheeks. He cocked his head towards Jagger, who looked downright confused, or perhaps ‘frightened’ was a more fitting word. He hated how much he enjoyed extracting that sort of a dread from a man he thought impenetrable.

  Cruz stood expressionless, his skin pallid, his long hair draped over the sharp angles of his broad shoulders like a flaxen robe. Perhaps he, too, was having second thoughts about Saint’s insistence that he be purified; but if he were, he hid it well. Lawrence sat on the floor with his legs crisscrossed and his eyes closed. The man had his palms face up, and prayed as he waved incense in the room.

  “Fr. Opphellius, did your mommy spank you?” the demon within taunted. “Did she beat your little hide and then beat you again for stealing the neighbor’s berries from her tree? You hated that woman! No wonder you became a priest … tryin’ to hide your desire for dick, ’cause women are bitches, right?! She knew you wanted a big, bulging cock stuffed deep down your throat!”

  “Ahhhh!” Saint screamed when the priest flung holy water on him with a stern expression. And the old man kept on chanting and praying, disregarding his nauseating gibes and hostile diatribes. The priest had done this too many times before to be easily swayed or tossed off his axis.

  “Why is he getting worse?!” Jagger blurted.

  “He’s not. He’s getting better,” Cruz explained, his stare at Saint intense. The two men were speaking telepathically to one another, but Saint could hear their entire conversation as if it were in stereo.

  “Doesn’t seem like it.” Jagger’s jaw tensed.

  “What you are seeing is desperation from the demon. Saint is fighting with everything in him, and he’s winning, but it is taking its toll. He is the one who urged us to bring him here, after all, to get this taken care of. But this prince of darkness wants to remain inside of his head and haunt him. It’s a sore loser.”

  “He didn’t lose though, he still has him. Look!” Jagger pointed at Saint and shook his head with pity in his eyes.

  “Don’t let your eyes deceive you, soldier. Asmodeus was banished by Saint the night our brother killed his host and helped free the lady and his next prey—that gas station clerk. Asmodeus didn’t even get to claim the host because the kill was stolen from him by Saint, and that man’s soul was set free, his path unobstructed.”

  “Jaaaagger! You’re a punk son of a bitch,” Saint sneered. “A big, overgrown, country-fed faggot!” Jagger stared daggers at him, but did not say a word in retaliation. “You know what?” He laughed loudly as drool dripped down his shirt. “I hate your wife. Traci’s so fuckin’ stupid, almost as dumb as you!”

  “It’s the demon. Saint would never say those things, so don’t respond,” Cruz warned.

  “Jagger, you should have never been born! Your father didn’t want you. Your father should have cum in your mother’s eye so you could see the truth!”

  “It’s not Saint speaking, Jagger. Just continue to ignore his outbursts,” Cruz warned once again as the anger surging in Jagger became palpable.

  “I know…”

  “Shut the fuck up, Cruz, you half breed turncoat!!! TRAITOR!!! I know where your mommy is. I fucked her dead body!” The demon cackled. “Stiff ’nd cold, just how I like my corpse brides!” Cruz
didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move, which angered the demon even further. “You were weak before I saved you, cowering in your father’s basement, waiting to be killed. A big, stinking pussy you are! I want to taste your rotten blood!” Saint’s head reared back and he spit streams of black bile towards the man, barely missing.

  “…The Lord has entrusted the souls of the redeemed…” the priest continued.

  “Cruz! I command you! You make him stop right now!” Saint’s neck whipped in strange, fast contortions, cracking and bending. He was being torn up from the inside out, and those horrible sounds echoed within him.

  “I will not. Saint wants this to continue until it is finished. I answer to him, not to you, demon,” Cruz stated calmly.

  “I am in charge now! Saint’s not here. Saint is a bitch!” His eyes rolled in the back of his head, his mouth gaped open, and his muscles twisted and turned. Every part of him seemed to have a will of its own. “Poor, pathetic Saint! His father hated him, too … boo fuckin’ hoo! His daddy is going to Hell. I can’t wait to pork him,” the demon mocked. “His weak mother died in the middle of the street like the pathetic whore that she was, silly Korean bitch! They made a piece of shit for a child. Saint fucks his pain away, but he can’t screw me out of his life. I’m here to stay!”

  “Cruz was right,” Jagger yelled as he fisted and unfisted his palms. “You can’t defeat him easily, Asmodeus, and it scares you! You’re losing and desperate. You thought he was a sure bet!” Jagger screamed out, his voice trembling. “Try all of us, I dare you!”

  “Ahhh!” Saint screamed out. Hot pain rushed through his body, setting every nerve ending on fire.

  “Don’t taunt the demon, Jagger,” Lawrence warned, still waving the incense. “It knows it can’t take us all on in this environment, but it will take its anger out on Saint’s body.” Cruz shifted his weight and crept closer until he stood before Saint. The priest walked slowly over to one of the windows and propped it open, allowing streams of blinding light inside. Cruz kept inching closer while he had the chance, and the half Demon, half Angel Child’s eyes glowed as he looked down at him, angering the demon within. Cruz spoke in some strange language telepathically to the monster; some shit Saint couldn’t understand.