Danger Force Stories Novels & Stories

Kim pulled out a chair and sat facing me, ready to hear my story. But which story? What am I going to say? Can I tell Kim that I killed someone? Damn, that feeling of dread came up again when I remembered the accident I had made. For some reason I wanted to cry again, scream as much as I could so that the tightness in my chest could collapse.

Maybe I should delete it then I'd tell Avani this was insane and I wasn't doing it. Should— My phone rang, it was sienna. "Hey," I answered. "Diego. Listen. I need to tell you something about Felton D'Angelo." "What about him?" "Be careful. He's not—he's not what he seems." "What does that mean?" "It means he's dangerous. It means people who get close to him tend to disappear. It means—" She stopped. "Just be careful. Okay?" "Sienna, what are you talking about?"

"Then we let her keep spending her money to create waves we will never sail in. If it's Richard, then we'll do the same. But..." "We have to prepare for if it's neither." "We do. I have seen things like this on television, you know? Crazies that construct stories of people in their heads and form these unhealthy obsessions. Then, they stalk and even kill the people they obsess over. This looks like that." Kali picked up the card and read it before saying, "I hate everything about this." "As you should. If it's someone we know, like my mom there won't be much malice past trying to get us to turn against each other. If it's a stranger, then we are going to have problems."

Jennifer: Shrug emoji. I decided to take a different tack. This time, rather than pick safe, general stories, I chose a bunch of different categories and sent my favorites from each. One was romantic, about a couple falling in love. The next was about a wife who sleeps with another man. Another had a husband bringing in his best friend for a threesome. I chose one that had some bondage (not my thing, but I picked a story that was highly rated). I sent a Lesbian story and a Gay male one (again, I relied on the ratings). I linked a story about watching two people have sex in the woods, and one about a girl riding a sybian for the first time. I skipped two categories: nonconsent and incest. As

Like the teenager I remembered—coming home from long days of pretending to be strong, only letting down his guard when he was with us. “Everyone knows you can’t hurt Dante Gallo,” Jeremy stated, looking directly at me with a seriousness that chilled the air between us. “It’s simply impossible. He’s been beaten. He’s been stabbed. He’s been fucking shot, Lil—and he just keeps getting back up like it’s nothing.”

“I'm sorry. I feel guilty for everything. I feel bad. I need safety from that man—” Something Dark flickered through Dane’s eyes, and Lisa froze. He was indirectly telling her to shut up. I understood, but now, what man? I thought she said Dane was the supposed danger? There was another man? Could it be the reason why she was beaten up? It clearly wasn't Dane that hit her like that. Being so desperate for answers won't get me anywhere. The siblings were stubborn as hell, and they knew how to shut up. “You'll be just fine. Eat your food?” He ordered.

I took a step back toward the door. That’s when I saw the glint. A small, pearl-handled letter opener, snatched from the desk. It looked absurd in her manicured hand. Until she lunged. It wasn’t graceful. It was a frantic, angry stab. I caught her wrist, the bone thin and brittle in my grip. We struggled, a twisted dance. Her perfume, something floral and expensive, choked the air. She was stronger than she looked, fueled by a lifetime of entitlement being denied. The point of the opener wavered, aiming for my throat, my face.

“How comforting.” His expression didn't change. “It isn't supposed to be.” The honesty of that landed harder than reassurance would've. I looked back toward the windows again as rain blurred the city into gray streaks beyond the glass. “What are the actual dangers?” I asked quietly. This time Dante took slightly longer to answer. “Victor is dangerous when cornered,” he said. “Adrian is dangerous when underestimated.” “And Hannah?” At that, something colder entered his expression. “Hannah is desperate.”

The impact snaps his bones, almost cracking his teeth. “Roy!” Sheryl cries at the top of her voice. She watches in horror as Roy brutally assaults Clyde. “Wanna fuck what’s mine, huh?” His fist rams into Clyde’s ribs, the other smacks against the side of his head, caring less if it causes internal damage. “Yours?” Clyde cackles, the side of his busted lips bleeding. He pulls backward, arms folded upward to protect his face. “You clearly suck at your job because your darling wife prefers my cock—”

For the first time in weeks, he does not know whether the truth belongs on the page. Online, the narrative divides itself with brutal speed. Some people blame him. Julian Hart’s profile ruined an engagement. A journalist got too close to the subject. This is why access journalism is dangerous. Others romanticize it until the pain becomes unrecognizable. Imagine writing someone out of a fake life. He looked at Julian when he said yes, and I screamed. This is secretly the love story of the year.