Grisham Camino Series Novels & Stories

~Third-person viewpoint~ This is becoming an extremely terrifying situation right now. It’s been years, but I’ve finally gotten around to concealing my tracks. Why the hell did he have to give that girl everything? fucking why! He never cared about bitches. Now I will have to go after his teeny weeny wife. Shit! Besides, I’ve always liked Camila. Her confidence and her entire demeanor. Carman had the option to take on the responsibility of raising that cretin as a son. She could have been the owner of Chris’s company. Anyway, since he divorced her, I wouldn’t be breaking any rules if I pursued his ex-wife, would I? He did get a divorce from her, after all. After all, she has everything he do

"Well then, let me spell it out for you. "You invited me to your dance competition that day, planning to have me kidnapped on the way. But things didn’t go as expected, so you and Yannis came up with a new plan. This time, you are the one being kidnapped. You wanted to demand my company's shares as ransom. "But you miscalculated one thing. During the video call that day, I noticed something strange—the kidnapper had a mole on his hand, just like Yannis did. It was even on the same finger, the same spot."

It was nice to have someone to talk about his romantic life with –semi pseudo paraplegic romance –even though it wasn't for free. It felt regular and archaic and old and a total cliché when he took his first step towards the man. He expected to feel something new, but it was still the same. From the ground floor elevator to the third floor where Hamilton's office was; the purple orchid that hung to right side of the door; the room thirty seven copper plated office number with Dr H. E. Greenfield boldly inscribed beneath, everything up unto this moment felt too predictable and strangely insipid.

MINUTES BEFORE RESCUING GRACE Silvano's Pov IN RUSSIA The black SUV drove along the countryside, the air inside the car thick with fury and adrenaline. I stared out the window, but all I could see was Grace's face, the image of hope in her eyes before I crushed it and the state she could probably be in. Since I knew what they did to her, I could barely function well or think straight. I would see her face anywhere I turned to, and I would hear her voice even in my dreams.

The moon hangs high and stars sprinkle the midnight black sky. After locking the van, showering and putting up window coverings, Gracie melts into her bed. Unwinding, a long sigh escapes her lungs, bringing her mind to rest in her sanctuary with Gunner at her side. Chapter Two Gracie awakens to a whining dog. In her van, she lays, opening her eyes to see her German Shepard, tilting his head, awaiting the outdoors. Feeling restful, she rises up, glances around her camper van. White washed wood panels, the metal wall, with a door between the living space and drivers seat, is painted a light blue. A window on the left side, she props it open, listening to ocean waves roaring, smelling the salty

“I was thinking we could move the sofa closer to the fireplace and the bookshelf closer to the window. That way the books do not smell stale. What do you think?” “I think the books will still smell.” He says and I deflate. The moment is gone. He lights himself a cigarette with the flame from the fireplace and sits near the window. I know what he is doing. He is thinking of his business, and how it will work for him when his father is no longer the boss. His fingers are itching for control, his mind electrified by the thought of pure power in his grasp. He is not thinking of a field of wildflowers. A whiskey sits in front of him, untouched in its glass. He is deep in thought. I do not clear m

A mahogany desk sat in the center, scattered with papers and a half-empty glass of whiskey. Grace’s eyes caught on the documents spread across the desk. Names. Numbers. Photographs. Men in suits. Weapons shipments. Notes scribbled in Damien’s sharp hand. Her throat tightened. She didn’t understand all of it, but she understood enough. This was more than business. This was power. Violence. Control. She shouldn’t be here. She knew she shouldn’t. But her feet carried her forward, her fingers brushing across the papers as if touching them might unravel the mystery of him.

Ahead, the road forked—one took the way leading back to the safe house, while Grinch & one other took the lane into the city. As Grinch slowed the van, Antonio looked up, eyes hollow but burning. “What's up with the driving and formation?” "A Shamus {Detective} is sniffing on your case" Antonio's jaw ticked, "Those wretch—when will they get tired". “Might as well be on your case forever. They picked a Dame{woman} this time.” Grinch hinted, veering the car into the Hunts Estate. “Whatever," Antonio hissed. "She will eventually breath down our necks then disappear just like the others”.

Whatever that thing was, but how were they connected? My visions of Grisha were painful, they were draining, and they were chilling. But my vision of the burning bird was calm, peaceful, and utterly soul-fetching. But why did it scream Grisha? Because I heard it, I heard it loud and clear and I knew it screamed Grisha! What in the hell was Grisha and what did it have to do with the burning bird? For an umpteenth time ever since I set my foot in Varagrafena, I laid awake at night, filled with nothing but questions, and more confusion!

We left the casino at a brisk pace through the emergency exit. The car was already there for me, and Grisha, having provided his motorcycle to Chechik, got behind the wheel himself. He drove carefully, but very fast. The night air rushing in through the open window greatly diluted his smell, making it almost unreadable, but in the rear-view mirror I saw the reflection of the darkness that completely filled his eyes, affecting even the whites. Grisha was silent and literally gnawed on a cigarette, and this pressed me even more. Pain methodically drilled in my temples, sharply reacting to every bump that the wheels of the car hit, which had already left the city.