Page 3 of Daddy's Sinner

“It didn’t have to be this way—you chose this,” I snap, reminding him of the pain he caused me. Not that it bothers me anymore. It’s been years since that day, the day etched into my memory like a scar. But I remember, and I’ll always remind him.

Gabriel's eyes shimmer with an emotion I can’t quite place. Is it regret? Understanding, maybe? But as quickly as it appears, it vanishes, and he’s back to being the same asshole I’ve come to know and loathe.

“Let’s go. I can’t play with you today,” he says as he walks past me. I follow behind him as he storms out of the house and gets into his truck.Climbing into the passenger seat, I keep my gaze on the road. Thankfully, Gabriel doesn’t say anything or even bother to look my way.

It doesn’t take long before we arrive at the compound. As usual, a flurry of movement surrounds me as they rush to dress me for the mass. They slip a long, stiff, white gown over my head. It covers every inch of me—my arms, my neck. It trails so long I might trip over it. Next comes the white silk veil. It is placed to obscure my face, to keep the illusion of purity.

I can hear him; the Prophet’s voice is echoing through the compound.

“Blasphemy! We rid this town of one false prophet, and they deliver another devil, another sinner. But fear not—God has spoken and delivered judgment. Matthew 24:24 says, "For false Christs and prophets will rise and show great signs and wonders to deceive, if possible, even the elect." But we are the chosen, the elect! We will not be swayed by the deceivers of this world!” The Prophet’s voice echoes through the room. Once I’m covered from head to toe, I’m allowed to head over to the altar where he waits for me.

“This is a trying time for us,” the Prophet continues, his voice a booming authority. “All these false prophets coming into our home, our town, defiling it with their city words. But fear not! In the verse of Corinthians 11:13-14, God says, ‘For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for Satan himself disguises as an angel of light. But we will not be swayed. God has given us the strength to stand against these deceivers.”

As I reach the altar, through the thin veil I can see Gabriel standing beside the Prophet. I bow my head, not daring to stare at them directly, as it is considered blasphemous in our church.

“Daughter of Eden,” the Prophet’s voice softens as he addresses me, “do you believe in His word, in His guidance?”

“Yes, Prophet,” I reply, my voice trembling slightly. “I believe.”

“The Bible says in Psalms 27:1, "Then you shall not fear the trials ahead, for The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?" The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?’” The Prophet preaches on.

I nod, fighting to keep the growing dread inside me at bay as the Prophet places his hand on my head and whispers a prayer. His words envelop me, and I can feel Gabriel's piercing gaze, a silent reminder of the life I've been forced into. One of obedience, submission, and endless devotion to a cause that's lost its certainty for me.

But doubt is a sin, and in this place, sinners face swift and merciless judgment.

Sinner

Macon, Georgia.

Standing over my desk, I pick up the folder and glance over its contents. Inside lies the information that seals the fate of my next target: Victor Morales, or "The Prophet," as most call him.

Another sinner. Another devil.

Dead either way. The file confirms everything I need to know—where he lives, his habits, even down to what he likes to eat. But what catches my attention most is the girl with the sad smile. The devil's daughter and the woman who has stolen my little black heart. And all it took was a single picture.

Dove, birth name Marisol Morales. According to the file, she’s considered by the Church of Eden to be Lilith reincarnated, destined to become the Prophet’s wife. I study the photograph, trying to imagine the sound of her voice, the way she moves, and what she’s like beyond the surface of her sad, enigmatic smile. Her eyes, brown and mysterious, hint at a depth of sorrow and strength.

But in the end, it wouldn’t matter if she’s anything like her father. She will follow the same fate, despite this obsession of mine. The path laid out for her is inescapable, a destiny intertwined with dark, unyielding forces. My fascination won’t change her course, but it only deepens my resolve.If there’s a way to alter her fate or to understand the depths of her sorrow, I’ll find it—even if it means confronting the very darkness that binds us all.

I set the file down and start pacing, my mind drifting to the usual fantasies. Lust, need, hunger—I can name those easily. But there's something else this time, something off. Normally, I'm focused, steady, grounded by the certainty of what I have to do. But she’s different. She got to me in a way I didn’t expect. Those sad, innocent eyes and that fake smile that never quite reaches them—it hits harder than I’d like to admit.

I’m supposed to kill him. Maybe her, too. They’re sinners, after all. Justice has to be served.

Everything is set in motion. I’ll be heading to Taos, New Mexico. It’s a small mountain town where one can easily go unnoticed. More importantly, it’s where I can find the devil and his dove: the Prophet and his daughter, Marisol Morales.

“Marisol,” I whisper, her name lingering in my mind like a thorn pricking at my thoughts. I wonder what she’s really like. Does she harbor rot inside her as well? Is it the wickedness that draws me in like a moth to the flame? I’ve faced countless beautiful sinners, but none have unsettled me like her. Not like this.

Love. Romance. Simple words, meaningless to me. What I feel can't be defined so easily. But the little sinner has gotten under my skin. What is it about her? Is it her innocence, the purity her name suggests? Or is it something darker—some latent desire she ignites deep within me? One thing is certain: she's lodged in my mind, a need I’m desperate to understand… and fulfill.

I close my eyes, and her eyes come to mind—just the thought is enough to send blood rushing straight to my cock. Feeling my arousal grow, I can't help but imagine what it would be like to ravage her perfect body.The mere fantasy pushes me to the brink of ecstasy, yet I know I must atone for these sinful desires before I even consider giving in.

Retrieving the leather whip from its place, I begin to recite prayers and verses from the Bible. This is my daily ritual—a penance for the wicked thoughts that consume me. It’s what my father used to do, a purification learned in my youth. As Romans 7:14 says,“For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am carnal, sold under sin.”

There’s no hesitation as my wrist snaps, the cool leather whip cutting across my back. The sting is sharp, burning like fire when it breaks the skin. I hiss as the second and third strikes land. The sound of the whip cracking against my bare flesh echoes the weight of my sins, my demons, my decay. Each welt that rises is a step toward redemption, a reminder of the rot I carry. But the pain… the pain arouses me in ways nothing else ever has. Except, perhaps, one thing—Marisol.

Even as my back burns, my cock grows erect, her image seared into my mind like a brand. I continue the lashes, and only when I finish do I allow myself relief. Bringing my erection out of my pants, I fist the length of my cock and envision all the sinful ways I would take her. My eyes roll back as I let the sinful pleasure wash over me, every nerve ending ablaze with the phantom touch of Marisol. The scent of my own blood invades my senses, a sharp reminder of my self-inflicted punishment, but even that doesn’t dampen the fervor that has overtaken me. I fuck my hand to images of a woman I don’t even know, and somehow, I come harder than I ever have before, my release spraying onto my hands with a primal grunt.

“Marisol… you will be mine… soon enough,” I murmur to myself as I let my body slide down the wall behind me. Fuck. I’ll probably need to clean the blood off the wall before I leave. But right now, I’m too winded to care. I should focus on the task at hand, on the sin that needs to be purged. But I can’t shake the feeling that this time, things won’t be so simple. This time, I might be the one who's tested. That has become as clear as day. Finally, I push myself off the wall and shower. Using every ounce of determination and focus on what I need to do—not what I want. Which is to go to Taos and fuck that woman into oblivion. Claim her. But that would be wrong. She doesn't even know I exist, and rape is where I draw the line.

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