Criminal Minds To Hell And Back Novels & Stories

She did her best. “People who’ve never done this think truckers and lone travelers who pick up hitchhikers are all bad, scary monsters,” my mother says. “They watch these murder shows on TV and they think of big ugly men with junk food guts and rusty knives stuck through their belts. They hear about maimed hookers and shallow graves. Most people like to believe the worst, especially if it’s about something they’ve never seen up close.”

Forcing her to witness the killing of all her friends in this heinous and savage way, drowning in a wave of guilt every time the siren enters them and chooses one of them, so she is forced to listen to their cries and wails until they finish them once and for all, and the shame with which this demon drive will defile her. She opened her eyes, staring at the depth of his empty eyes that were attracting her to their decision without any effort, losing herself in their darkness. She felt her mouth float with a viscous, disgusting liquid that tasted like gall running down her throat, which was stubbornly resisting not swallowing, urging her to vomit, and only then did she regain consciousness an

Dakota nonchalantly shrugged as she took out her lighter. That made the woman in chains fire up as she started to scream curses at the gang boss. “All of you deserve to fucking burn in hell! You will never get happiness, motherfuckers!” “I know that we’re going to burn in hell for what we’ve done, but I’ll let you have that experience first,” the gang boss simply responded.

The answer, though unspoken, seemed to materialize before me, casting a shadow of terror upon my already shattered world. There was only one man capable of orchestrating such a heinous act - Clyde Butch, a notorious and ruthless mafia boss whose name sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest souls. My mind raced with memories of my time in Clyde's clutches, a period of my life I desperately sought to forget. I had been held captive against my will, subjected to his cruel and sadistic whims. The scars, both physical and emotional, were a constant reminder of the torment I endured. The realization of Clyde's involvement sent a chilling shiver down my spine. The walls of my apartment, on

So using the computer, I opened the list of criminals going down to K and found his name. He was listed for over fifteen offenses in a span of five years which was relatively little to what I expected. They ranged from drug selling to possession of unlicensed firearms and for the least serious - Traffic rule violations. But of course those were from just five years ago. The system erased the crimes from before five years if they didn't fall under more serious categories. Those were rape, murder, manslaughter or armed robbery. Despite all the others, it shocked me that he hadn't gone down for armed robbery. He seemed like the king. As I stared at the whiter and rougher version of younger Emin

"You know, I could kill you myself. But I don't kill people whose lives are worthless to me. Maybe if you were the heir to some important family or the president, I would." I stood up and walked over him. "Put him in the nest," I told the guy closest to me. "The nest?" he asked, and screamed as he knew what was about happening to him. I didn't care to watch, but I did listen to his screams. All through the years, in my line of work, the screams of men had gone from torment to melody for me. They gladdened my ears. I walked out of the warehouse, closing the door behind me. My men knew what to do afterwards.

It had a couple pictures from the CCTV footage, I had already seen the footage he sent me through the email, however this report was just an elaborate and labeled version of it. “They’ve got the scorpion tattoo on their arms.” Leonas pointed with his chin towards the men. The scorpion tattoos were an indication of Albanians in Chicago. As far as I was concerned we had nothing going on with them, we weren’t enemies but we stayed off each other's ways. But for this to happen it seemed something was going on. Leonas had found them on the security footage of the dead men’s apartment, the footage that was deleted but Leonas had people on tech who brought it back.

Whether that be through Nuel’s watchful eyes or the tracker in my phone or the ones I was certain he had on all his vehicles. I just needed space to think, to process. To determine whether any of this bullshit could be true. And if it was, I knew I could never trust him again. If it was true, even some of it, he would not only be a mobster but a serial killer as well. A psychopath! I hadn’t spent the last several weeks with a psychotic serial killer, maybe a mafia leader, but surely not a murderer. How could such tender and gentle hands be capable of such horrible sins? He had his rough edges, but who didn’t?

He'd even spread rumors that I was mentally unstable, delusional, and maliciously framing an innocent person. In the end, he'd also been the one to send me to the family's private psychiatric hospital. It was a "sanctuary" the mafia family kept completely off the radar. I'd been locked away there for seven whole years. My mother hadn't had anyone to look after her or pay her treatment bills. Not long after I'd been admitted, she'd died with resentment still in her heart. By the time I finally made it out of the psychiatric hospital and learned the news of her death, I'd jumped from a high-rise building.

I growled, the gun was the most accurate evidence of my crime where it could go? I was getting angrier and more worried by each passing second trying to force my mind for an answer but then soon the answer came to me on its own when I heard a noise from behind me. BOOM