Hands Of The Killer Novels & Stories

The video was taken at the hospital's ward. A burly, middle-aged man with a buzzcut was on the screen. His left arm was in a cast and hung before his chest. He was Tristan, the guy I saved from certain death. His eyes were red, and he was roaring at the people beside him. "On your knees!" The camera moved. A middle-aged woman and two young men dropped to their knees. Those people were the ones who had snarled and yelled at me.

"Your name's Yvonne, right? You're saying my husband choked you and ripped your clothes with his hands?" Yvonne straightened up and said with unwavering confidence, "That's right! His hands were shockingly strong and covered in calluses. They hurt so much! I'll never forget those hands!" "Good." I nodded, a glint of coldness in my eyes. "Hopefully, when we get to court, you’ll still remember what those hands look like. "Because my husband lost his hands in a fire five years ago. "You said he choked you? With what? His imaginary hands?"

His blood shot eye rolls to the back of his head, his body dropping to the wooden floor with a thud revealing a mud drenched figure behind him. No..this can't be real. "I killed you." His head ache, his skin itching like thousands of infected worms were crawling all over him. "I killed you with my own fucking hands." He hand drived a hunters knife deep into his chest some days ago. Watched as his pupils dilates and the life slip out of his body. He should be dead. No he is dead. The table let out a clang, his body pressing against the hard metal as his eyes stare at the blood dripping organ clenched around the supposedly dead person's fingers.

Although he did not find the murderer, he did not throw the old proofs or keep them locked in a cupboard for later investigation. He first investigated Hades as told by Alessandra. Took fingerprints from his hands so that he could match them with the knife found in his room. By the way, no relationship was established between the knife and his hand and they did not even get the reason behind that. The knife found in his room was not matching with his handprints, but when further investigation came to know, why would a murderer like Hades hunt with open hands? He used to use his cleverness and it is a simple matter that whenever he used to hold the knife while killing, he used to wear gloves

Katya "Take them to the guest house, I will enjoy having a little chat with them." Lips coated in matte red lipstick, Finger nails in a similar shade of ornamental red, No visible mark on her body to make her distinguishable... Except the roughness of her nails which not even her nail polish could conceal. My eyes narrowed, focusing on them for a moment as I recognized her hands for what they represented, The hands of a pro gun handler, She was a professional assassin.

If a dark, rainy night had a smell, that would be it. “Are you going to kill me?” “Not yet,” he said pointedly. “I have nothing to offer you.” “I’m sure that’s not true.” His words were laced with a silent proposal that I, weirdly, wasn’t afraid of. My body acted against my will at his close proximity. Heat began to twist in my lower belly. I shifted my position, squeezing my thighs together. This man—this killer—shouldn’t have been this intoxicating. They said the Hand of Death had many gifts. Maybe this was one of them?

"But you know what he did? He kissed me and confessed his love to me." Hunter was eerily quiet, his eyes taking in the two homicides kissing each other to demonstrate how it happened that day. His eyes flickered to their back at Claire. She was trembling vigorously now. Of course, she wasn't used to meeting homicides like this. First Zara, then Caine. Two in such a short time. It was more than normal for Hunter. Meeting them on a daily basis also meant that he knew how to get rid of them. His eyes dipped down to the first open button of his black shirt.

he cautiously comes towards me like I'm dangerous "No-what-why " "Miss I said put your hands behind your back " he yell. Doing so slowly he grabs my hands harshly and pins me on the floor. He cuffs my hands and he picks me up dragging me down the halls . Foot prints of blood are seen all over the floors , handprints of blood smudged all over the walls . We turn left into another passage and I gasp. Three nurses and 2 doctors layed sprawled out on the floor . "We have detained the killer" gasping I look up at him .I did this but I don't remember anything. I remember sitting in my room Jax came to me and he helped me escape

She murmured, squirming against my touch, " I don't.. want to kill him.. Please..You can do it by yourself..." I forced her to stay at her place. Whispering into her ears, I kept pointing the gun at his right hand, " Right hand, isn't it?? Or do you think that we should just blow his balls out?" She stammered too scared to punish a bastard like him, " Xander.. wait.. please.." I didn't waste another second. Pulling the trigger, I shot straight at his right hand which had touched Carissa. His two fingers tore off from the fire, leaving him wailing. Blood spurted like a water bubble from the hit.

“Second, just because I got handed over like some cheap trade doesn’t mean you own every inch of me—or that you can claim it wherever the mood strikes.” My back pressed flush against his front, the rigid length of him grinding against me through his pants, hot and insistent, making my thighs clench with a mix of fury and unwelcome heat. He went still for a beat, then chuckled low, the sound vibrating through us both. “Fine. You wanna know why my hands are stained red? I killed someone.” He said it casual, like swatting a fly or pouring a drink. Effortless. Maybe to a man like him, it was.