Carl Gallagher Novels & Stories

“That’s not a plan, settling down with one woman anytime soon. Samara and…. What’s the other one with the blue eyes and ginger hair?” “Katya,” he offered with a knowing smirk. I always forgot her name. “Yes, her. They’re good enough for the time being. Tell me, what’s the news?” He wasn’t convinced, but he scratched the scruff on his jaw and gave me a curt nod. “Right, the crazy news. It’s the Irish. Sean Gallagher passed away last night. Turned out he’dbeen battling health issues for a while now, but they kept it to a minimum.”

“Yeah, that’s Logan Carter.” There was a round of Oh's and ahs from the group at the window. I heard my phone buzz on the table with a notification. I closed my laptop down and grabbed my things. A lot of the office stayed at the window watching as I exited. I must admit they were correct; he looked exceptional. He was wearing dark jeans, a crisp white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. He was leaning against the bonnet of a car I didn’t recognise.

I'll forever be thankful. Thank you all for waiting patiently for updates, no matter how slow. I'm so grateful. Wanna know who was in the body bag and why? Check out my other story Torn within on my Wattpad profile (Caupcayke). https://www.wattpad.com/story/230535920?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=Caupcayke&wp_originator=o6abAKlxASMRKvPqU5y8hFbTL5JEB%2B1mSit2cezx911yZ8IBeinxWqt4VO0uVHeC5TREKe2u5nEvb96z5fnRQAEDxjajU6GOA2pShAhqGRqvADgDnlA2%2FxbuHC0CIm%2Fl

“You wouldn’t know him.” “A new one? Who?” Henry pulled at his now reddened ear. “No, I have Dr. Gallagher. He’s from Ireland and he was just hired.” I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, like Lochlann was a sixty-five-year-old professor with a love for tweed and hot cups of tea when his joints ached. But then again, Lochlann would probably look smoking hot in a tweed jacket with elbow patches. “Oh, you know what,” said Henry, “I heard Jamie talking to Marianne about him. She said she’d ‘hit it like the fist of an angry god.’ Which I’m assuming means he’s hot. Is he hot?”

"What are you shaking for, Carl?" I stood my ground, my pulse a rhythmic thrum against my collarbone. "If I’m just a 'blank' without a soul, why do you look like you’re staring at a loaded gun?" Carl’s fingers whitened as he gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. The mask of the grieving, injured heir was slipping, revealing the jagged edge of the predator underneath. Behind him, the opulent foyer of the Hale estate felt like a mausoleum, smelling of expensive floor wax and old blood.

I need you to read this. We looked at each other. He kept reading. Out loud, after the first two lines, so I could hear it in real time. Cara Hale was forty-one. She had spent the last fifteen years watching her brother make bad decisions and take no responsibility for them. She had not been in contact with Patrick for three years. She had seen the Priya Nair profile and she had seen Alex's name and she had looked up the Hargreave case. She had done research. Then she had found something.

I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. "But it was okay—Gallagher had a plan. He said he was going to kill you. So I held off on killing you and your daughter, let him take care of it himself. He said once you were gone, he’d go back to Carmilla and take your daughter with him." He clicked his tongue again, pressing the gun harder against my head. I closed my eyes as tears streamed down my cheeks. "But that damned Gallagher! He said he never planned to kill you! He left Carmilla for you! Said he loves you! You—a gold-digging bitch!"

But the door didn't just open; it slammed. "You're avoiding me, Liam. I don't like being avoided." A heavy, expensive looking shopping bag dropped onto the table, sliding right over my notebook. I looked up. Carl was standing there, a wide, jagged smirk on his face. He wasn't in his team tracksuit. He was wearing a brand new, charcoal grey wool coat. It was thick, stylish, and clearly expensive. "Nice, right?" Carl asked, smoothing the lapel of the jacket. He spun around slowly, making sure I saw every stitch.

"If you're too shaken up, I know I would be." "No way." I shake my head and smile widely at her, hoping it looks natural. "This has been the most exciting week of my life so far. I've seen the Dartmoor beast, been almost kidnapped and now it seems like I've got my own personal stalker that Gale is encouraging." "He's not a stalker." Gale rolls her eyes and sits down in the empty chair opposite us. "I'm not usually one to label people, but I'm with Leila, the guy is weirdly intense with her." Gale shakes her head at Ollie and they start to argue until Damien literally steps between them.

There—just beyond the lantern poles—stood Karl. He wasn’t smiling this time. He was simply watching. Intently. His eyes locked with hers, and though his expression was unreadable, Serena felt a shiver run down her spine. It wasn’t fear—not exactly—but it wasn’t comfort either. There was something too focused in his gaze, something that felt like he knew more than he was saying. She turned quickly, pretending not to have seen him, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alexandro’s jaw clench.