Four Or Dead By Goa Novels & Stories

Instead, he only laughed coldly. A wave of unease washed over me. “The base was breached by zombies! Conrad, you’re coming with me to save them! June…”

"We did everything we could. The patient lost too much blood. There's nothing more we could do." I stood frozen. My mind was blank. The man who had hurt me for eight years, the one who had pestered me all this time, was gone just like that. Vincenzo's funeral was simple. Only a few of his men and the Costa family's longtime helpers attended. I wore a black dress and stood before the tombstone. As I stared at the name—Vincenzo Costa— carved there, I felt unusually calm. I took a bouquet of white roses from my bag and placed it on the grave.

I heard Kira's voice, and I blacked out instantly as my head hit the roof of the vehicle. Finally, I managed to find the dead. I just hoped my team had enough time to escape, and I prayed they would never get caught again until death. T.b.c ©2021

Her body convulsed once, twice, then exploded into dust. Gone. Just like that. The sound that came out of me wasn’t even human. I slapped my hand over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut, but it didn’t matter. The image burned behind my eyelids—her vanishing mid-step, her clothes disintegrating before they even hit the ground. The Game Master chuckled. “Precision, my dears,” it let out. “Precision is everything.” The next name flickered. “Number 0449.” A man this time. Big, broad-shouldered, maybe in his thirties. He muttered something under his breath and stepped up.

Rafe POV For five days, I buried them. Not literally in the ground, but in my head? A dozen times. Maddox dead in some cursed tunnel because he thought rage was strategy. Jaxon talking his way into a blade. Calder bleeding quietly somewhere no one could find him. Evelynn dragged into darkness by the Hollow Mother herself. Every hour they stayed gone, I imagined a new ending. Then they rode into the yard like nothing had happened. Dust-covered. Bruised. Alive.

I shouted with all my might. "I'm sorry, treasure, but I'm afraid that's impossible." some of the men told me. "What are you going to do? Please take everything ... I'll give you everything but let us go." I was dying of fear. I didn't know what was coming. They were laughing. Apparently it was funny for them that I was praying for our lives. "Treasure, your man owes us so much moee than just money and he will pay with his life," said one of the men.

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

The lonely, yet stunningly beautiful death or simply Sebastian, ran his fingers through his long thick black hair. Bright citrine eyes surrounded by rich black lashes glance across the bare landscape. The year 1245 a.d. Sebastian once again is late to save his soulmate. He always finds them, male or female, moments after their death. He rubbed his eyes and kneeled down next to the young woman that had been crushed to death by a stampede of buffaloes. He gritted his teeth and cursed the fates.

If he eliminated Jayson, Shane would give him a share of the manufacturing market. Once Jayson was dead, he wouldn't be able to come after him anyway. But now the guy was gone, and the problem had just multiplied. Gustavo cursed under his breath. How could he have anticipated a helicopter showing up to rescue him?

Silence descended over Sector 4 once more, broken only by the heavy, rhythmic drumming of the rain against the yellow steel. I stood in the center of the three downed men, my chest rising and falling in slow, perfectly measured cycles. The freezing rain washed the wet clay and blood from my face, my dark hair plastered to my skull. My Glock was still raised, the barrel smoking slightly in the freezing air, my eyes scanning the dark perimeter. "Clean sweep," I whispered into the mic, my voice entirely flat, the coldness of the Ghost fully returned. A low, dark growl of absolute, possessive pride vibrated through my earpiece, making my pulse jump in a completely different way.