Dan Simmons Novels Novels & Stories

I giggle while lifting my Strawberry Daiquiri to my lips, thinking about how no one liked Reid at the office. “Well, if it’s about the Simons case, I know the feeling. Michael’s a saint, but lately, he’s become snappy as shit with me about this case.” I tell her, and she nods, so I know it must be about the same thing. “Anyway, tell me more about this book that got rejected by your editor.” She says, finishing her drink in record time and ordering another one.

They don’t realize otherwise—until I’m standing over them with a stake. Of course, I don’t have orders to kill Santiago. Just question him. He might live if Simmon likes his answers. Simmon hates killing his sired because, according to him, it’s difficult to make new ones. The house is cool, clean, and scented like lemon. I search the rooms, but they’re unused. Perfectly decorated but they smell empty. I open the fridge—a few decanters of blood, and a half drunk bottle of wine, but nothing else.

He just smiled and said, “I didn’t waste my opportunities.” While Simeon thrived, Daniel faced challenges. He had secretly opened a casino, and one night, a gambler won a fortune. The loss threatened to ruin Daniel’s reputation. Desperate to help him, I sold my car and some personal belongings to cover the debt. I believed in us, in our future, and I was willing to sacrifice for it. But as Daniel struggled, Simeon’s success only grew. He became a powerful figure in New York, buying failing companies and turning them into profitable ventures. He was now a competitor to Trenton Corp, and his rise made Daniel’s failures even harder to bear.

"Dan had died. Exactly like me. "I think the door hit us." I blink, and I'm back in the attic, watching Dan scramble for the rifle as a wolf rushes at him. "I thought I was going to watch Darius rip out his throat like—" I swallow my words. Nathan did the same thing to Simon Trevor. Simon was one of those rare treasures that a girl couldn't believe existed. A truly kind person. Someone who refused to assist me because he desired something in return. But he did it because he could. He did exactly that. And he paid with his life.

Simon — What His Brothers Were On the third day he pulled the files. Not the Reeves files — those he had read enough times to have memorized the shape of them, the preliminary report through the Carol Simmons finding through the toxicology question that Reeves had been sitting on for three days before Simon had said stop, hold, do nothing. Not those files. The Brown Corporation files. The real ones — the ones he had always had access to and had always, on some level, known contained things he had not wanted to find.

"Terry Simmons is a sick bastard and has a disgusting habit of recording all his encounters with women. "His parents brought this recording device over to me. You'll know the truth of what happened after you listen to this."

I knew instantly who'd done it. Before long, the Internet was piling on. "Ten years is more than enough to leave someone in the dust. Mark seriously thinks he can beat Jerome? The same guy he personally shipped overseas to study? What a joke." Then one comment caught my attention. "Is it just me, or is he actually the guy who used to simp for the Burkes' long-lost daughter they just found?" "Nah, you've got it wrong. That's the Swain heir. Why would he be simping for her?"

"What is the title?" "One night stand with her billionaire CEO." "It should be on the internet then. Let's talk about this when we come back from the meeting." He packed the car in front of the council building. Simon put a bookmark in the novel before setting it down. As he got down from the car, he moved towards the door. Without knocking, he opened the door wide enough for them to notice that someone important is now amidst them.

Simmons, leaving only Zac in the room with the scattered books on the ground. He closed his eyes, slowly thinking, ‘Liv, what you saw wasn’t real. ‘It isn’t…’

"He's fishing. He's got blood in the water. The sex scandal, with a dash of professional arrogance. It's a good mix." "The numbers are sound," Davidson insisted, a knot of outrage forming in his chest. "I know they are," Brian answered. "But war is perception, and Simmons just tossed a grenade. He's old school. He doesn't like change. He doesn't like you. And he's not alone."