Fiction Suspense Books Novels & Stories

It’s the first real smell in the entire place. And books. Hundreds of them. Not decorator books arranged by color. Real books. Worn spines. Dog-eared pages. I run my fingers along the shelves. Financial theory. Biographies of Carnegie and Rockefeller. Philosophy. History. And fiction. I pull out a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. The spine creaks. Pages are yellowed, soft as cloth. I flip through and stop at the margin notes inked in neat, sharp handwriting. "Revenge consumes the avenger," written next to a passage about Edmond Dantès.

“No doubt.” “What about those two small FedEx boxes?” “Most recent novels from Samhain Horror.” “Awesome. Those books I bought at the Webb County Library sale last week?” “Sorted into general and mystery fiction. Struck the mother lode with all those Mary Higgins Clark novels.” “We cater to all tastes, miss. Unless you like Twilight, 50 Shades of Gray or James Patterson. Folks want drivel, they can drive to Utica.” “Hey. I actually liked Twilight. It wasn’t all bad.”

She had poisoned herself and it was not only the alcohol's fault, but also the constant stress and exhaustion that had been accumulating for a long time. As she passed by the bookshelves, she decided to take some book to read. She was delighted with Matthew's collection. There were all the books written by Clive Cussler, one of her favourite writers, as well as a lot of books by Michael Crichton and Duncan Falconer. What surprised her more was to see all of John Grishams' novels.

My thoughts kept drifting, pulling me away from the plot and back to the darker corners of my mind. The book was one of those suspenseful thrillers, full of secrets and betrayals, the kind of story that would normally have me hooked. But every twist on the page only reminded me of the real-life twists that had unfolded recently. Every deceit, every bit of violence written so neatly in these chapters felt uncomfortably close to home.

I replied as I got to business ignoring him, even though he too also ignored me. I already missed seeing his face, I guessed that's the main reason I came around. I cleaned the Library last and I sat down to read the most interesting and horrific Novel I have ever laid my hands on. People keep dying if they make noise and what is giving suspense now is that the main author's junior sister was just kidnapped by something I don't know and the main actor looked worried, afraid of the fact that his junior sister might have died the same miserable and horrific death his senior sister died. Well, I would have liked to read the novel finished today but I don't want Damon to suspect that I am taking

Then there were his psychology books and books on wilderness craft. His gaze fell on a small cluster of volumes of English literature, some that Faith had convinced him to try. While he couldn't bring himself to read them, he hadn't been able to part with them, either. The top shelf held an extensive collection of contemporary bestsellers, and it was one of those he chose, a mystery thriller, as he heard the first roll of thunder. "Yep, Bear, it seems like a 'dark and stormy night' kind of night." He gave the dog a pat as he settled down in his chair.

They both guessed it could turn bad, but weren’t completely sure. Fiona spent the better part of the evening pouring through her books in search of information to help her understand the consequences of his actions. As she flipped through the pages of the musty, leather bound book he noticed had a peculiar group of interlocking circles on its cover, she expelled an enormous sigh combined with a groan and rested her elbows on the table top with her face buried in the palm of her hands. The room was quiet enough to hear a squirrel scurrying across the porch outside the open window. After an excruciating and interminable silence, Fiona pulled her hands away from her face and sat back, straighte

The one time Leonica found the most gripping each time she settled down to read her favorite books, were the pin drop moment. Suspense, silence and uncertainty. Those three went pleasant well during that particular moment and made the story all the more interesting and gripping to her as a devoted reader. But heck, she had never for once sat down and thought about how she’d handle such a situation if it was her faced with it, rather than the Mary Sue female leads in the books she read.

"Okay, listen carefully to this review. I've read your work 'Detective Johnson' twice or is it thrice. Okay, I had a serious exam the first time I came across your work, but I couldn't drop it down. I had to hide my phone in between my textbooks, pretending I was reading. So everyone was like the scholar is reading. And yes the storyline was that tempting. Like it was suspenseful and engrossing," " I used to see myself as one bright mystery buff, but I got shamed and dissapointed, just the way John Grishams books shames me. All my predictions of the killer was totally wrong, I had four suspects but they weren't the killer. I kept guessing, but I couldn't predict right. I found myself racing

Just muttered, “Feel free to browse.” I nodded and wandered. The silence was thick. Peaceful. I ran my fingers along the spines—mysteries, war history, sci-fi. None of it felt right. I turned a corner and found myself in a crooked, narrow aisle. A handwritten label above the shelf read: “Folklores, Myths & Things Best Left Alone.” Something about it made me shiver. I reached out and picked a worn, black-spined book: “The Blood and Bond of the Wild.”