Framed In The Dead Of Night Novels & Stories

The rain had increased but by then Annalise was fast asleep. . Linny had her covered up in warm blankets for the night. Poor child. she thought. Annalise slept throughout the night but it was Damian who couldn't sleep. He kept on turning and tossing. This was disturbing for Phyna who loved her full slice of sleep. " Damian" she screamed He kept thrashing and his body was all sweaty. He always slept bare and although Phyna always complained. She somehow had to get used to it.

“Understood?” “Copy, Don,” they chorused without hesitation. ***** Nightfall came but it came too slow. Time crawled like a dying thing. Francesco stood at the grand steps of the Dante estate, draped in black. Beside him stood Brinda and Bullet—lethal beauty and ruthless grace. Before them, a sea of armed men waited in silence, eyes blazing with anticipation.

MIDNIGHT ***** The night air was thick with tension as Vinnie and his crew prepared for their ambush. The deserted warehouse on the outskirts of town loomed before them, a dilapidated structure that had seen better days, now a silent witness to the dangerous game about to unfold. Vinnie, a hardened criminal with a reputation for ruthlessness, was determined to eliminate the one person who had been inching too close to their operation: Detective Ling. His sharp gaze swept over the area, noting each shadow and the way the moonlight danced across the cracked pavement. His men fans out, weapons drawn, their faces set in grim anticipation. They were all armed to the teeth, adrenaline coursing thr

Kylie’s POV. The dead of night enshrouded the room, a blanket of silence so profound it seemed the world outside had ceased to exist. Every corner was bathed in shadows, and the only sound was the rhythmic whisper of my own breath, harmonizing with the distant hum of the city. The night had wrapped its serene, dreamlike calm around me—a stark contrast to the sudden unease that prickled at the back of my neck, an instinctive warning that the peace was about to be shattered.

The streetlights passed overhead in dizzying pulses, shadows dancing across my jaw as I stared forward, unblinking. Andy drove like a man possessed, weaving through late-night traffic. A horn blared as he cut off a delivery truck and powered through a red light. Headlights sliced through the darkness. I checked my watch, two forty-one. A smile appeared on my face. Tonight was the night when Ansaldo would dance with death, and I would be the god of death.

The frosted glass didn't shatter. It caved inward with a sharp, dry crackle that sounded like winter pond ice splitting under a boot. ​The silver bone-handled cane didn't retreat. It remained pressed flat against the white fractures, the pale hand behind it applying a slow, hydraulic pressure until the bronze frame of the night-latch gave a long, metallic groan.

He bit into her neck deeply; I saw his hands scratching at her chest while biting further. I screamed as blood filled his mouth and ran down her neck. She screamed and tried fighting him off to no ability. She hit him and he grabbed her arm throwing it aggressively. The sound of shattering bones filling the room with her screams that started to die as well. I felt like I couldn’t look away, the dark one bit harder and ripped her throat out. I screamed louder in terror. Everything that was rushing back into my mind was the grizzly scene from my parents death.

An unread text from an unknown number. I blinked, trying to force my vision into focus. I swiped the screen. It was an image. High resolution, stark, and utterly silent. In the center of the frame was a man lying on a bed. He was pale, his eyes wide and milky, staring at a ceiling he would never see again. His chest was a ruin of crimson, a deep, jagged crater of blood that had soaked through his white undershirt and turned the sheets into a sodden, dark map. Buried deep in the center of that mess, right through the sternum, was a tactical knife—its black hilt protruding like a tombstone.

We went inside and the cabin was cold but had the bones of somewhere people had sheltered before… a couch, a table, the basic geometry of a temporary refuge. Franklin was asleep within the hour. He had fought exhaustion for as long as he could and then he had simply given out, which was the honest biology of a human being at the end of a match day that had also contained a car chase through a forest. I covered him with my jacket and sat near the window and let the forest settle around us. An hour passed. Then most of another. I turned and looked at him. His face in the dark was relaxed in the specific way sleep made it, the particular vulnerability of someone unconscious in an unfamiliar pla

The following Thursday the rain came harder. It hammered the front windows in sheets and turned the neon sign into a bleeding red smear against the glass. The bar had emptied by 11:40. Dominic locked the door at 11:45 and killed the neon without asking. The sudden dark made the single bare bulb in the back room feel harsher, hotter. The air already smelled of whiskey, wet coats, and the sharper tension of three people who had stopped pretending this was still casual.