Cruel Intentions Journal Novels & Stories

He hadn’t spoken yet, but I could feel his gaze on me steady, unreadable. “They took your journal,” he said finally. “That means they know your thoughts. Not just facts. Intentions.” “Fears,” I whispered. “Yes,” he agreed. “And fear is leverage.” I pushed myself up from the bed, ignoring the dull ache at my side. “Then we stop being predictable.” Elliot’s eyes snapped to me. “You’re injured.” “I’m alive,” I shot back. “And I’m done being reactive.” Marcus straightened, interest flickering across his features. “What are you suggesting?”

Then something caught her eye—a thick leather journal, tucked beneath an old toy car. She opened it. --- May 14th “They don’t know. No one knows. I saw the file. Dad paid them off. The crash was covered. But Damien... he blames himself. He shouldn’t.” May 23rd “Eleanor said if I disappear, Damien can finally become heir. Maybe that’s what they all want. Maybe that’s why no one cares what really happened.” June 3rd “They keep watching me. I think someone’s been reading my journal.” June 5th

He trailed off. None of this made sense anymore. Suddenly, Issac wished he was paired with a normal prince. This was not acceptable! He was walking on eggshells around the cruel prince, afraid to piss him, and met his demise. This was a fate worse than death! Prince Aldric tilted his head and smirked wickedly, "Aren't you going to rescue your prince?" "Huh? But the king… " Issac gulped down a lump in his throat. He could feel it, the cruel prince was up to one of his games again and he was going to drag him into it.

“When you have a read through the books in there you’ll agree with me I’m sure.” Her face fell, taking my heart along with it. The twisting pain under my ribs was agony but I can’t lie to her.. To retain some kind of dignity. My past was all recorded in those journals. Every silly prank, every conquest. It was childish, stupid and ridiculous. That’s who I am. A clown. Freya deserves better and she needs to know that. As her bottom lip quivered with emotion she whispered, “I know you’re a good person.” Whether she meant to or not her words cut me beyond being able to speak. I lifted the trapdoor and prepared to descend. “Make sure you pull the ladder up when I’m gone. You'll hear owl hoots or

She looked fresh and beautiful. "Claim her now!" My wolf growled hungrily. She immediately fell on her knees and joined her hands together. "Please Alpha, reject me. I beg of you" she cried. My heart sunk when I heard that. This was what made me hate girls. I know I'm cruel and ruthless but, I'm not like that towards some girls. Maybe.... Maybe, my mate is an exemption. She's going to be the seventh mate I'm rejecting. "What's your name?" I asked.

Or know the location of Starbucks? I'm his assistant. It only makes sense, but I'm still furious. I finished my coffee and made my way to the bathroom. I also took a cold shower. The cold water always calms my nerves. I got out with my wet curls. Well, I'm screwed. I'd have to go with my untamed curls since I don't have time to curl it. Perks of being Trinidadian.

That journal had probably been handed off like a relay baton at half a dozen stops before arriving in London, just to muddy its trail. As for the book itself, not even Tara’s impressive psychic ability to read the emotional history of an object had proved helpful there. All Gabby’s mate could cull from the journal was the deep madness – the mind-eating bloodlust – of the one who had written on its pages. Hatred and madness.

It’s just stupid. Sienna read and noticed Declan scratched out the rest of the page. She tried to read past the scribbles but could only make out a few phrases. I killed them. I want to die. I hate myself. “What’s that?” Aideen questioned as she walked back into the room. Sienna quickly slammed the journal closed and felt she was caught reading something she wasn’t supposed to. This was Declan’s private journal, and the entries felt extremely personal. Maybe she shouldn’t read it.

But being here makes it hard. Hazel chokes as she speaks and tries to avoid crying. I am about to stand up when Jesus walks up to her and wraps his arms around her. I close my hands into fists. And I can even hear my bones cracking. My jaw is tight and I have never been this uncomfortable and pissed off at the same time. Maybe I killed the wrong person. I am seriously considering putting a bullet into this fuckers head, right here right now, consequences are damned.

I fear commitments, Because I don't trust me. I don't trust this me, The one that hurts people, Irrespective of who they are. This is me little one, I'm the most messed up, Most broken of all. And for all it's worth, I didn't want to do this. I hate myself, Of a truth. Cain McCarthy's Journal before he became The Destroyer Tyler's POV