Author Richard Matheson Novels & Stories

Benson asked as his brows lifted. Alita nodded. Her eyes shimmered with tears as she looked downward, rubbing her hand on her thighs as she whimpered. “Me and Richard, we go way back,” she sniffled. “What?” Benson jerked his head backward. “Yeah, I know right? How is it that I know Richard Brown the notorious leader of the biggest drug mafia in LA,” she scoffed. “Sometimes I ask myself too, and even to me, it is unbelievable that section in time is part of my life,” she shook her head, feeling the many eyes crawling on her skin.

Alexander shouted at him, holding him by the neck, his eyes reading my thoughts on having to see the motherfucker every fucking day here. Richard’s character is the most disgusting thing ever, he keeps hurting me emotionally without even realising it. Tears drop down my cheeks each time he crosses my mind, making me question my sanity. “ Rita, get me a knife,” I screamed to one of the maids who was passing the foyers. Not even sure of her name, but she answered and knew I was referring and talking to her. “ Madam, it’s…” “ I know, just give it to me,” I replied, my eyes cracking, my veins going red, the look of Richard making me want to commit a murder.

"I know about the shipment you diverted to cover your debts. How do you think Giovanni, Pedro, and the rest of the council would feel about that, hmmm?" If anyone ever asked me to describe a human turning into a tomato, Richard would be the best example to us. "You're bluffing." "Am I?" I leaned closer, my eyes boring into his. "Try me." Tick. Tock. For a long moment, the room was silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating. Then, finally, Richard exhaled before slumping back in his chair. Bingo. “You really are your mother’s son.” he muttered.

Michael said that we're not watching movies tonight, I don't know but it makes me feel sad though I understand that Michael is just concerned with my health. After a few minutes, I heard the bathroom door opening and Michael came out with only a white towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is wet and disheveled but it doesn't make him any less handsome, it makes him look so much better. I don't know if Michael even wipes his body because I can see some water dripping on his muscular chest and it makes him even hotter for some inexplicable reason.

"Good morning, Officer. We wish to see Vincent McMahon," Richard informed him and studied his countenance. "Is he a patient or staff?" He asked them and they were incapacitated. Richard looked at Tim, and he came up with the only answer he knew. "He is a taxi driver," he said and focused on him. His eyes widened in astonishment, and he looked at them again. Before he could decide on the appropriate thing to do, Richard asked him, "Can we see him?"

Sonya kept her stillness in her seat, otherwise, her eyes and brain captured every move, every word that Richard made. “Then, I will provide some space for you to get my story!” Richard smirked and leaned his back on the chair, folding his two arms. “I don’t talk about the rest, I will arrange for you to meet, Marrison. He’s one of my business partners.” He paused. Sonya swallowed hard. She rose from her seat. “Thank you, Richard. I’ll take it as it sounds positive.” She offered him a handshake. Richard smirked. He only took a glimpse of Sonya’s hand and put his hands into the pockets of his navy jeans. He took his long breathtaking.

came the response, and Carol's stomach performed that traitorous flip it always did at the sound of his voice. They made their way through the living room, past the leather sofa where Carol had sat countless times pretending to watch movies while secretly cataloging every movement Mr. Rich made when he passed through. The kitchen opened up before them, all granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, and there he was. Mr. Rich stood at the island, still in his work clothes—dark slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was chopping vegetables with practiced efficiency, a cutting board before him and a pan already heating on the stove. He looked up whe

"There is someone who helps me. He is Mr. Fernandes." Diana followed where George pointed, and it turned out to be directed at the man currently driving their ship. "Thank you Mr. Fernandes for your help," George said earnestly. Fernandes, the man who also knew the murderer of Alpha Stevan's father, bowed respectfully when he saw Diana. All the information George had gotten, including everything about Pack Delonix, had come from that man. He was a former Pack Delonix member who had escaped on the day Alpha Stevan's father was shot. He was the only witness who clearly saw the incident.

The kind of place my mom picked when she wanted to impress Richard, which was always, because my mother had been glowing like a woman reborn ever since she started dating him and I didn't have the heart to ruin it. I was seated between Miles and my mother. Across from Richard – tall, silver-templed, the kind of handsome that came with money and good genetics. He was warm in a practiced way. Polished. And next to Richard, directly across from me, was his son. Rhys Maddox. Number seventeen. Scar through the eyebrow. Grey eyes that hadn't left my face since I walked in and realized that God had a sense of humor and it was cruel.

Chapter Eighty Richard Greyson sent for Damien without raising his voice. The message was simple. Come to my study. Damien knew that tone. Calm words always meant trouble. He arrived a few minutes later, jaw tight, shoulders stiff, already irritated before a single word was said. Richard stood by the window with his back turned, hands clasped behind him. He didn’t ask Damien to sit. He didn’t rush. That alone made Damien uneasy. “You bought a Tesla,” Richard said at last, still facing the window.