Dead Man Review Novels & Stories

ᯓ★ BREAKING NEWS: 30-year-old Ginger Cadette, the owner of the Bar & Life passed away yesterday due to brain cancer. Her family kept her burial private. With hard work and persistence, she successfully started and ran Bar & Life. But when she discovered that she had brain cancer, the business was passed on to her twin brother, Carter Cadette.

The kindness of this stranger nearly broke her. “I . . . I’m not worth it,” she said, and her face crumbled, and her skin crawled, and her hair was matted and she had just endured some of the worst hours of her life, listening to this mad man grunt and groan and howl as he ripped at her skin and bit at her breast. She was glad Aleta was dead. She was glad of it. Because if she had lived with these memories in her head . . . The hunter’s shine from earlier melted and turned into tears, which ran down her cheeks and dropped onto the freshly polished floor.

I heard two sets of footsteps behind me so I knew Mason had left her too. The man was already sitting in the chair, naked and the smell of burning flesh was thick. We used a silver chair to tie him too so his ass, balls and everything else touching it was burning. Made me smile. “Good morning!” I said with a smile. The man lifted his head up. He looked like he was samoan descent with his long black hair, bulging muscles and tribal tattoos. “Fuck off!” he shouted “Hmm, is that what kind of day we are going to have?” I walked over to the table and looked at all my new knives. So pretty with pure silver blades, black leather handles and all sizes from a small paring knife to a machete.

I was starting to think there wasn’t much left of humanity to save. We had just returned from a mission that had gone horribly wrong. We’d been ambushed by the infected halfway through securing an old supply cache, and though we had made it out alive, it hadn’t been without cost. Two soldiers—men I’d worked with for weeks, men I had shared meals and conversations with—hadn’t made it back. The air in the base was heavy with grief. Everyone moved like ghosts, their shoulders slumped, their eyes dull. Even Ethan seemed quieter than usual, his face drawn tight with the weight of command.

he places his hand on his chest, feigning confidence. "Conceded much?" I ask him boldly, cutting his sentence off and leaving my fear in the dust. He chuckles deeply causing my heart to clench, uncomfortably. My father is dead in front of me, a bullet wound to his head and here I am, laughing with a strange, 7-foot man who shouldn't be in my house. "Well baby, I'm death, nice to meet you," I know it was dumb, but I broke into laughter. "Yeah, and I'm Demeter now get out before I call the cops," I glance back over at my father as he lies in a pool of his blood.

I floated, a ghost in the air, and watched my own rotting body get wheeled into the pack hospital morgue. Three years buried in a marsh. I could barely recognize myself. The corpse stank of decay. Claw marks from the fatal attack were still visible on the wounds. My ghost, three years wandering, wanted to flee this broken shell. The door opened. Killian Reynolds walked in. The Alpha of the strongest pack in North America. My mate. The one who swore to protect me with his life. He stood over my corpse, his face a cold, blank mask.

I ignored her and instructed the servants to escort the old woman to her chambers to rest. I knew perfectly well what she really meant. In seven days, the death-feigning potion would wear off and Stellan would come back to life. When that happened, he would not let me get away with it. However, that was fine. I was not going to give him the chance. In this life, Stellan Montclair was going to stay exactly what he was—a dead man in a crypt. "Mother." Ansel tilted his head up to look at me, reaching out with a small hand to tug at my sleeve.

Vivian Stone, have you ever considered that this isn't my father's body, but yours? Vivian rolled her eyes at me. "My father is an honest, simple man. How would he provoke a kind college student into running him over?" She opened a video call and showed it to me as if she were flaunting a trophy. "Look. With one order from me, your father's corpse will be nothing but bones." In the video, Robert's body was being carried to the edge of a pool by several people in protective suits. White smoke rose from the liquid inside.

"Can I get my usual?" "Coming right up." I found my usual table in the corner and collapsed into the chair. My hands were shaking. My eyes were burning with tears I refused to shed. Three weeks. In three weeks, I'd be Mrs. Diego De Luca. I'd be trapped in a house with a man who'd never smiled. A man who'd killed his own uncle. A man who buried people alive. The rumors swirled in my head. Diego De Luca. The Deadliest Man Alive. He doesn't smile. He doesn't joke. He doesn't play games. He kills without remorse. He's a predator in a thousand-dollar suit.

"She is finally dead?" The mercenary’s gaze flicked up to meet mine, and for the first time, I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something in his eyes, something dark and unreadable, that made my stomach twist in unease. "It’s done," he said gruffly. "The woman is dead." "Good," I replied, though my voice carried little emotion. "Was there any trouble?" "None," he mumbled, shaking his head. "She didn’t even see it coming. One clean strike."