Crime Novel Covers Novels & Stories

My eyes were half open as I watched him slowly pad into the room, moving deliberately but gently, like he was trying not to wake me. What's he planning now? I watched him approach me slowly. I closed my eyes and feigned a gentle sleep as he finally stopped in front of me. I kept my breathing even, waiting. I could feel him towering over me, and more so, I could smell him. He smelt like the cheap perfume from that bar, but there was a slight hint of his natural scent, the one I was freaking used to. And at that moment, with Jules towering over me in the dark, I felt my cock stiffen, and my heart pounded.

Five men sat around it, all in expensive Armani suits that did little to hide the hard edges of their bodies or the tattoos peeking from their collars and cuffs. Her eyes instantly settled on the man who seemed to have the most commanding presence in that room…a man she recognized immediately from countless scandals on the news and the Internet. Viktor Garfield…the forty-six years old crime lord who controlled more than half of the city’s smuggling routes. Here he was in the flesh, in the last building she would have ever thought to meet him. The images clearly didn't do justice to the man in front of her…Broad-shouldered, heavily tattooed, cropped hair, and a scar that ran through his left

Alfred said while walking towards the coffee maker. “What type of coffee do you prefer, black or creamy?” He asked Melody, clicking the two mugs together. “Creamy, sir,” Melody responded slightly, staring at Alfred, who didn't seem to spare her a glance. “Antonio is not like every other criminal; he has his tricky ways,” Melody insisted, staring at her boss with all inconvenience. “What ways, Melody?” Alfred demanded adamantly, but she wasn't willing to talk. How would she even tell her boss? She was involved with a criminal. How would she even tell her boss that the tricky ways he had were the ways he made her moan in sexual frustration?

I held no loyalty to any family, but I did not think it right that blood be spilled at all over a few roads in a city. Domenico sits on the couch and I drop down next to him, tucking away extra bits of dress fabric. My family has gifted me lavish gowns for wedded bliss, each more annoyingly long than the last. My step-mother had ordered me night gowns made in France to impress my new husband. I would never tell her that he had seen neither her gowns nor my flesh. He is reading a book, his shoulders relaxed and eyes immersed in words. I knew what he was doing. He was escaping. He was crafting worlds from words, living a million lives that were never his own. I did it too sometimes.

Others were modern thrillers and contemporary fiction, their glossy jackets still vibrant. But then she came to a section that felt...different. These books weren’t stacked like the others. They were nestled into the shelves like treasures, rich, cracked leather covers, some with gold foiling so worn it was barely legible. Her hand paused over one that read, The History of the Black Moon Pack. Her brows knit. “Pack?” she murmured under her breath, pulling it from the shelf.

I ran to the romance shelf first and started checking from side to side and I still did not see anything. I sighed in confusion because I had thought that I was going to see the clue in the romance section. I went to the section for fantasy books and I kept checking each side of a book, my eyes caught on a very attractive cover and I smiled before pulling it out. The cover was so beautiful and I read the title, 'Curse Of The Wolves'. It was written by my favorite author in the world, Jane Doe. I had read all of her books and all are a masterpiece and I had no doubt that the one I held in my hands was going to be a great read as well.

She will never forget this, this is one of the men who intercepted her three months ago, one of the ones who traumatized her. "Looks familiar?" the man said in a deep voice. "Look at him carefully, does he look familiar?" Aminah nodded absentmindedly, still looking at the fainting man. Is he going to die? Are we going to die? Why do I have to die with this man? “Then why don't you report it to the police, do you intend to cover up the crime of the criminals? That's against the law and you might go to jail" Aminah looked up in surprise, the man took off his hood and facemask, she then try to cover her eyes so she wouldn't see his face in case he used his face as a reason for killing her. But

I sat beside her, and she immediately stretched her legs back out, her feet landing in my lap. "What are you reading?" She held up the book without looking away from the page. "A mystery novel. A detective in Victorian London." I caught sight of the cover. A woman in a low-cut dress leaned against a man in a top hat, their faces inches apart in the fog. The Scarlet Letter Murders. I grabbed the book from her hands. "Hey!" She sat up, reaching for it. I flipped through a few pages. My eyes landed on a passage. His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset…

Touched and angry at the same time. Touched that he'd cared enough to think about what I'd want. Angry that he'd been planning my imprisonment. I pushed those complicated feelings aside and kept browsing. The fiction section was extensive. Mystery novels. Thrillers. Fantasy. Literary fiction. And romance novels. A whole shelf of them. I pulled one out, curious. The cover showed a shirtless man with tattoos and a woman in a provocative pose. Very dramatic. Very over-the-top. I flipped it over to read the back.