Novel & Cerita Crime Stories

The girl chuckled before calling the other girl, who was still in the cubicle. "I think your drink was spiked. I'm glad I saw you, Alyssa! What if I didn't? Your mommy will kill me," she said. The woman also came out of the cubicle and sat on the side, "I feel like I'm paralyzed. Damn that drink!" "You two could've been in someone's hands. Someone's bad." The woman with red hair commented as she handed me the lipstick she borrowed. "You shouldn't accept drinks from strangers," I added. The four of us have fixed ourselves. It looks like the two are feeling better since, according to them, they don't feel numb anymore.

He moves so fast I cannot even remember the faces of people I speak to. “Please,” I ask him “Slow down.” My feet ache and my muscles are sore. I have long since dropped the flowers on some random table, hoping silently they would burn and take the building and everyone in it. My fingers grasp onto a glass and I gulp down water quickly, my throat parched from flimsy small talk. The wedding will be in the papers. I can see the headline now- Two Crime Families Put Aside Differences; I knew the papers would sell quickly. Crime sold. I would know. My name had been in the papers since the day I was born thanks to my father. New York would tremble underneath me if I wanted it to. I dripped in cashm

“Every major paper, every news clip. They all parrot the same police report. It’s like they were reading from a script written by Raymond himself.” Clinton, sitting on the floor with a final stack of independent tabloids, didn’t answer. He was staring at a yellowed, thin-set paper titled The People’s Watch. Unlike the others, the headline wasn’t a summary, it was a question: “The Blind Eye: Why Did the Camera Fail on 4th Street?” and it went on analysing the possible incidence surrounding Edward Lawson’s death and the random ‘claimed’ gang fight nearby, involving the death of only a member, who they suspected as “Possible Truck Driver”

Sara Layla almost caught us. Again. That makes it the second time now. And I swear, the way she looked at me—wide-eyed, like something wasn't adding up—it's only a matter of time before she pieces things together. I've tried to act normal around her. Smile at her stories, laugh when I'm supposed to, nod along like my insides aren't tangled up in guilt and heat. But deep down, I know I'm slipping. We're slipping.

, a notorious crime boss, who is now the father of my child, and my husband to be. A criminal he is, and being associated with him should also make me one. Crime has never really been a hobby for me, but this one was way too good of an offer for me to pass. Falling for Marcelo Del Ponte, was my first criminal act. It is my only crime, and one I'd love to commit all over again. "Mrs. Emilia Del Ponte." Jennie whispered gleefully, emerging from behind me. I smiled at her through the mirror, as some ladies were still busy plastering my face with make-up.

Well, I can't fuck myself, someone has to do the fucking" I replied. He chuckled. I returned to his cock, sucking like a slut in heat. I made sexual sounds to excite him; years of watching p**n and reading erotic stories had taught me that men love hearing erotic moans from women, even if they are just for effect, not because my pussy is actually getting stimulated. The New York best selling romantic novels were my best companions during my college days.

Death awaits you, your darkest pleasures hitchhiked on the highway. On a rainy night at the police station between highways, reservations, between the mountains, following a highway, amidst the crimes of the dawn, among the nights of stars, among the crimes, the policemen death asked for a ride; Being that it's a collection of vampire/werewolf stories, investigation. Several horror tales, among several characters that pass through the city of Lovecraft County. So, follow the supernatural world, between changes, attacks of beasts and supernatural worlds, lives of terror and nightmares.

I desperately wanted to know but from the looks of it, Eric wasn't planning on telling me. Could he have committed a crime of some sort? That had to be it. But what? Murder? Theft? A heist? Maybe he was involved in some shady business deals or something that was so bad, it couldn't be spoken about. My mind was flooded with all these crazy scenarios, making up stories that I had only really seen in crime thriller movies and read about in books. That's what James Hadley Chase and Agatha Christie do to you.

Reaper. I stared at the blood splattered across my white shirt in disgust. I'll probably throw it out. It's ruined now. I turned to face my victim with a sigh, ''Did I not...warn you not to make a mess?'' ''You fucking bastard!'' He yelled, blood flying out of his bloodied mouth. The blood landed on my pants this time. ''I hope you rot in hell. Fuck you! Fuck y-'' I yanked his head back by the hair and slowly raised a knife up to his eyeball. Trying to calm my breathing, I started to draw circles across his left eyelid with the knife. ''I told you...don't. Make. A. Mess.''

Charlie Brown looked up at the wall clock and saw that the time was thirty minutes past one.she sighed. Sometimes, life at this old place seemed to drag on for hours. She looked around her office and was once again hit with the knowledge that this place told a story of it’s own. There were tales of secrets and lies, hidden crimes and deaths. Innocent victims put through suffering at the hands of the perpetuators who were currently free men and a menace to the city because of the numerous unsolved cases that were now piled up.