Ethan Cutkosky Death Novels & Stories

A little boy she had carried, loved, and lost without ever knowing his face, his cry, his name. “I can’t believe that my son died,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Are you sure, Ethan? Are you absolutely sure?” Ethan’s expression softened with sorrow. He leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead with gentle fingers. “Yes, Cecilia,” he said quietly. “He didn’t survive. I’m so sorry. I didn’t make his proper burial because I wanted you to be safe that time. The chaos after the crash… I was terrified Adrian or Isabel would find you. When I talked to the hospital department regarding your baby, they already put a burial somewhere in a Chicago cemetery. If you are well enough… le

“Mark my words—you’ll lose everything. And when you do, the company will be mine.” He shot me a final glare before turning on his heel and storming out. I let out a shaky breath, my pulse still racing. I hadn’t even realized I was holding it in. “I didn’t know he was related to you,” I muttered, still trying to process the fact that my coworker was also Ethan’s cousin. Ethan’s expression remained unreadable. “Now you do. And it would do you well to ignore him.” I swallowed, nodding. “Who else stays here with you?” I wasn’t sure I was ready for another surprise, but at this point, what else could possibly shock me?

“She chose to protect you. Not him. She knew you would be the one left standing when this became visible and she built you a foundation before she died.” The word foundation sat in the room differently than it had in every conversation before. Ethan was completely still. Bianca reached across and put her hand over his on the table. She did not say anything. She just put it there. He turned his hand over and held it. “Where is my father now,” Ethan said. “He died four years ago,” Oates said. “Two years before the inquiry began. Whether that was coincidence or whether Reeves arranged it is something we have not been able to confirm.” A pause. “I won’t pretend that’s a comfortable thing to hear

We decided he was one of the good ones so decided to give him a befitting traditional werewolf funeral. Time flew past and soon, it was Saturday. The first time I saw Ethan, I almost ran away. He was so different from the one I knew. He was ashy and he just looked lifeless with a black hole around his chest. That was the highest proof that it was murder. The silver was concentrated around his heart suggesting it was stabbed in direct in the area.

That’s all that matters. Then another thought hit me. I looked up at Josh immediately. “What about the truck driver? Did you catch him?” “Yes, ma’am. He’s currently in police custody.” Good. At least that monster was caught. But something still felt strange. What could Ethan possibly have done to make someone want him dead? I frowned slightly. “What did Ethan do? Why would someone try to kill him?” “I don’t know much yet, ma’am,” Josh replied carefully. “But the driver was heavily drunk.”

Rich people blurred together after a while. Tristan Musk had come to the gala because his assistant had put it in his calendar and because saying no to his mother was still harder than it should have been. He stood near the bar in a charcoal suit, bored out of his skull, nursing a scotch he didn’t want. Ethan had died four years ago—quietly, in his sleep, after never waking up. The family had buried the grief under layers of charity boards and stock dividends. Tristan ran the company now. He smiled for cameras. He slept alone. The guilt had settled into a low-grade hum he almost mistook for normal.

If there's anyone who can help me with Mexico, it's Luke, and who better to find him than the CIA? --- **••** "Thanks for coming to meet me," Ethan says as I settle into the chair in front of him. "Imagine, I wanted to apologize for Justin and Josh; they're a bit suspicious, you know." I shrugged, not caring. "I can understand, they just want to protect you. I miss them." Ethan lowers his head, sad. He seems sincere, but every time I look at him, the image of him in the coffin comes to my mind. He was so pale and with bluish lips; I could swear we buried him over two years ago, but he suddenly reappeared alive in front of me.

Curled up on the couch, holding his feet closely staring at nothing. That was what Ethan did. He was still in his black suit, the one he wore for his Papi's burial. The cause of his death was still unknown, but it is suspected to be a homicide. All he could recall was the deadly sight when he had opened the door. Flashbacks of neighbors running in at his hysteric screams. Them pulling him away from his Papi's corpse. The questions of the cops, the paramedics and his funeral.

He could not go on anymore, and my heart wrenched at how lonely he must have felt. We sat together in silence, and I was about to ask if I could go in there and see Ruby when I heard footsteps. It was Cole. I jumped up and ran to him, his hands stretching to catch me midway. “Cole,” his name sounded like a plea, a prayer, a broken request, and his hands tightened around me He kissed my forehead and let go of me. “What happened?” I asked and he sighed. “Ethan is dead. He fell into the water while fighting with his brother,” he sounded strange.

I stood there, frozen, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. His words echoed in my head, someone ended up dead. I hurried back to find my manager, who was talking to a couple of attendees near the cars. I pulled him aside. “Hey,” I said, trying to sound calm. “About Ethan…” He blinked. “What about him?” “How exactly did he die? The police—did they say anything?” My manager looked uncomfortable. “I thought I told you. They found him in his hotel room. No signs of foul play. He’d apparently OD’d. The assumption was hard drugs.”