Crime Novel Gregg Novels & Stories

I wanted revenge on Miller so badly that I didn't even care what I was getting myself into. "I watched you from the moment you crossed the railway and walked into this part of the street," he finally offered a response. "In fact, I followed you from beyond the mansion you lived in." Gregg was really mysterious. He knew more about me than I had recognized of myself–at least in the past seven years we had been together. It was vividly possible to witness every bit of it. "This part of the streets used to be my safe place–somewhere I go to enjoy privacy,"

Clean, simple, exactly what Gregory had crafted from the bloody chaos I’d left behind. No mention of kidnapping. No reference to extortion attempts or legal documents scattered in the wind. Nothing about the man who’d fought for his life and won by putting three bullets where they mattered most. I deleted the voicemails without listening past the first few seconds. A sharp knock broke the morning quiet. Gregory entered without invitation, balancing fresh clothes over one arm and carrying coffee that smelled like liquid awakening. Dark roast, no sugar, the way I’d been drinking it since I was fifteen and trying to prove I was grown enough for adult problems.

“If you don’t come with me, I promise I’ll take care of Nathan.” “Wha…what do you mean?” Brooke asked, feeling her throat dry up suddenly. “Well, you know we do have a very high rate of accidents and Nathan does try to travel by car mostly so it wouldn’t be so suspicious if a truck with a drunk driver was to collide with his car…you know what I mean?” Greg trailed off. Nathan slumped backward trying to process what Greg had just revealed. Greg was out for blood. He looked like a psycho too, dark eyes, almost evil and she questioned how she saw anything good in this man in the first place.

The mavericks got out quicker, jumped around shouting curses and trying to shake off the scalds and burns while waiting for themselves to heal as the unaffected ones went to the hunters, shifted and burned their hands to lift the parts just to get them out. Greg’s onyx eyes scanned his surroundings, and when he looked toward the sixth floor window, he locked eyes with a very displeased Traffic Cone watching with crossed arms, whose hair morbidly matched the flames of the crime scene. As Greg reminded himself to reward Desmond for telling him ten times over to never get a keyless car, he swore to Goddess and Satan that he was going to make the Traffic Cone’s death his most legendary kill yet.

Chapter 13 Work, home, weekend. I dreaded the coming Monday, when I would face Greg as Cornelia Bentwhistle, née Connie Grimshaw. Abe had plenty to say about our barmy plan. He posed the obvious and necessary question. ‘What will you do, next Monday morning, when Greg sees Connie Grimshaw – the author of his woes? Mave says he has been chucked out of his cushy Baltimore life because his wife wants a divorce and the old man won’t pay for his perves. The police spent a week taking forensic evidence from his apartment and made press statements every day. Imagine the moment they announced the blood and tissue came from an Argentinian steer. He will not be a happy rabbit and will want your entrai

Wilson cursed as she moved towards Megan, but her feet immediately stuck to the ground when Alex's deadly gaze fell on her. “What evidence do you have against her?” Alex asked Greg as he moved closer to him. “I got a call from someone at the restaurant, he reported everything to me” Greg answered, he was shaking at this point as Alex's expression had changed from calm to cold. “That is not evidence enough for you to abuse a woman Mr. Greg, you should know better” Alex said in a calm and collected order. “She deserved it,” Greg argued. “Oh did she?” Alex replied, he shot out his muscular hands grabbing Greg by the collar of his neck, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

But wealth had led him to the jail-- the place he was damned to rot in. Along the record of Dmitri Croft was a first-degree murder for the death of . . . Mr. Gregor Mayhem. I gasped, and I couldn’t get my mind wrapped around it. If Gregor was dead, then that meant Daniel and I had both lost our fathers. My heart sank at the thought of it, realizing how horrible it must have felt like in Daniel’s position. There wasn’t an exact date on when the murder had occurred, but I was certain it was after my father’s loss. I thought this would be over, now what was I supposed to do with this?

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to convey my appreciation. Your help—your protection—has meant a lot to me, Greg. As you and Richard have both said, Natasha is—” “You work with murderers and rapists. You’ll be fine.” He turned my words against me. I followed from a distance, allowing him space. Once the road and car couldn’t be seen any more, I asked, “Greg, where are you going? Would you please stop and talk to me?” He spun on his heel. The set in his jaw and his narrowed gaze scared me. “If you don’t see it, then you’re blind.” “See what?” He ran a hand through his chin-length blond hair. “You’ve fucking ruined him.”

The kind of smile you give when a chess game finally ends, and your opponent has walked straight into the trap you've set from the very first move. "Detective Bell." My voice was calm, almost gentle. "That recording… Doesn't it prove the killer poisoned those four, and then drank his own poison? Doesn't that sound like a guilty man taking himself out? "I don't understand why you all keep looking at me. From start to finish, I never did a thing. Just because Sharon suffered, just because I hated them for it, that makes me guilty? "I told you before. Yes, I hated them. But I'm just one woman. What could I really do?"