What Is The Word Count Of On The Sidewalk Bleeding Short Story?

The woman standing there was nobody that Scars had ever laid eyes on before, but holy God, he knew her. He knew her on a cellular level. In his blood. In his bones. In his heart and in his cock. He’d dreamed about her and he’d waited for her. He’d been looking for her forever, and now here she was. ** Six years ago, Zoe Parish fled Denver after a brutal encounter with a motorcycle club man, swearing never to trust one again. Now a mother and desperate to help her oldest friend, she returns when Wolf Connor promises his club is out of the life and she’ll be safe. Back in Denver, Zoe keeps her guard up, especially around Scars, whose effect on her is far more unsettling than she wants to admit. Vic “Scars” Innis has spent twenty-two years loyal to the Road Devils, earning his place as Vice-President. He thought he was content, until he meets Zoe. From the first look, he knows she’s the missing piece, even if she despises everything he represents. As danger closes in and an enemy threatens to destroy their fragile peace – and take Zoe’s child – Scars and Zoe are forced to confront their pasts and each other. The question is whether their bond will make them stronger… or finally tear them apart for good.

Mom said I needed to toughen up, so she made me walk home alone. "You're ten. Everyone else can do it. Why can't you? If you were even half as capable as your cousin, I wouldn't have to worry so much." I shook my head and signed, [I can't hear. Crossing streets isn't safe.] She gave me that look. Total disappointment. Then she walked off with my cousin, Sadie. What Mom didn't know was that before school let out, Sadie had stopped me. Said she was helping Mom make me independent. Then she snatched my hearing aid. Now the whole world was silent. I followed the crowd down the sidewalk. At a small intersection, a car spun out, horn blaring. Everyone scattered. Everyone but me. I couldn't hear it. My spirit rose above the street. Below, my body lay in a pool of blood. Mom... Sorry. I couldn't do this independence thing.

Step into a collection of intense short stories where desire, tension, and emotional risk collide in unexpected ways. Each narrative opens a door into moments where restraint falters, boundaries blur, and long-simmering attraction finally breaks through. Strangers are drawn together by instant chemistry, lovers confront unresolved history, and long-time enemies face feelings they can no longer ignore. These are stories driven by urgency, emotional heat, and complicated connections. The characters are bold, conflicted, and unafraid to act on what they want—even when it leads to messy, irreversible consequences. Every encounter pushes relationships to the edge, where control slips and honesty becomes unavoidable. If you’re looking for stories that are gripping, emotionally charged, and unapologetically intense, this collection delivers raw connection, high stakes, and no easy resolutions.

She is so scared of life itself, people call her a weirdo, she’s sick; she’s epileptic, she doesn’t even have a friend as everybody seem to be against her. The only place she finds solace is in a story she writes, she loves it because that is where she finds control, the only thing that obeys her command anytime, any day. Then out of the blues, her story begins to haunt her. She could be hallucinating, but it seemed so real. The worst part is that every of the characters in her story want her to themselves, they are powerful, mysterious, wealthy, strong, connected and blood thirsty. Lurking in the darkness was her fears, and out of it came the most hideous of all her characters. Looking her straight in the eye he said, ”welcome to our world, BLOOD LIVES HERE!”... You don’t wanna miss this action/crime thriller… Silence, Suspense, Love, Guilt, Betrayal, BLOOD….

I had always been obedient and compliant. I never dared to disobey others' instructions. The day my wealthy biological parents brought me home, my adoptive brother leaned close to my ear and sneered arrogantly, "The position of the Spencer family's heir belongs to me. If you know what's good for you, get lost on your own." I nodded obediently. Then I turned around and threw myself straight into rush-hour traffic on the highway. My parents nearly lost their minds. Panicked and trembling, they dragged me back into the car, their faces drained white with terror. My sister's expression darkened as she warned me coldly in my ear, "If you pull another stunt for attention, believe me, I'll throw you right back into the doghouse you came from." I obediently listened. That very night, I locked myself inside a dog crate. My sister froze in complete shock. Gritting her teeth, she yanked me out, staring at me like she'd seen a ghost. Later, when my adoptive brother pretended to be sick, my sister forced me to donate blood for him. I obediently took the knife. Without the slightest hesitation, I slashed straight through the artery in my wrist. By the time my parents rushed over, blood had just begun spraying out. They screamed in horror and lunged forward to press against my wound. "Somebody call 911! Now!!!" My sister had gone just as pale. After a long moment of stunned silence, she finally stammered, "Mom, Dad… I only told him to donate a little blood to Eric. I never told him to slit his wrist…" I blinked. My sister wasn't lying. She really hadn't taught me that. It was something the traffickers taught me during the five years my family personally handed me over to them—to "learn obedience."

I was the most renowned OB-GYN in the state, with ten consecutive years of deliveries and not a single complication to my name. That changed the day I was accused of a surgical error that killed a mother and her unborn child. However, by the time I arrived, the patient was already dead. With witnesses, physical evidence and surveillance footage all stacked against me, I had no way to defend myself. Overnight, my name was ruined and I was sentenced to death. The harassment drove my parents to throw themselves off a building. Then I opened my eyes and found myself back behind the wheel, driving toward the hospital. Up ahead, a traffic officer was directing cars away from the intersection. I gritted my teeth and slammed my arm into the steering wheel. A sharp crack echoed through the car. I felt it in my right arm immediately. It was broken. I would rather break my own bones than wait around to die. One hand was a small price to pay for a chance at survival.