Hell's Paradise Blind Guy Novels & Stories

She stood up, standing in front of him. His mouth dropped open and he looked into her eyes. It was one thing to be a woman's bodyguard, but one who was blind, he just wasn't equipped to deal with that. "No one told me you were a woman, nor that you were blind. Am sorry for making that remark." He couldn't stop his eyes from moving down to her chest when she got up and stood close to him.

Too close for my comfort. “Who the hell let you stick your face in people’s rooms?” he asked. I gave him the patented blind-girl smile—soft, harmless, tragically polite. “I’m sorry. I can’t see very well. There was a panic in the corridor. I got confused.”The big guy looked at me as if I just hatched. The bleeding shoulder didn’t do much to improve his temper. He smirked— in a lazy, crooked way that promised a lot of trouble. “Shit. A useless blind rabbit,” he spit. “I need someone to check my wound.”

Just please, please Lord. “Oh,” he gasps. “A religious slut.” He chuckles, and it's then I realize I'm speaking my pleas out loud. “You're dying, so it's good to pray, maybe then you'll go to heaven when I kill you. No,” he shakes his head, slightly moving the blade against my skin. “that won't do at all, I need you in hell so I can see you when I get there.” He's not just crazy, he must have escaped prison or a heavily guarded psychiatric hospital. This man is a deranged serial killer and I'm his main course tonight. “Hey, go on and be blasphemous, you won't get into heaven then.”

He could only let out muffled sounds. After that, I knocked him out once again. At the same time, I heard many screams of agony. I just closed my eyes to tune them out. Those young and beautiful blind masseuses dreamed of making a ton of money when they boarded the cruise. But they would never be able to leave the cruise with the money. Finally, the sounds died down at night. I clutched the keycard that I had found in the gray-suited man's pocket as I opened a small gap in the door.

Your own personal hell. ******************************************

I trusted no-one else with my life as much as I did him, and even if he was to betray that trust, I still wouldn't care. Paralysis. I've only once seen my brother use this ability. But it was even more than that. Hayden's paralysis only prevents the prey from escaping, they still felt whatever torture he decided was fit for his victims. There is also a momentary lapse in heart beats that results in lack of oxygen. As much as his prey attempted to move, to fight to stay alive, it was futile. Blood in clots formed at his mouth, a portion falling down his lips as his face turned a deep purple. The other men fell back, dropping their weapons except the guards while they huddled together attempti

Sicily jumped at the sound of footsteps with a familiar frequency. Her hand clasped, the other sought a grip on Esters fingertips. "Calm down, Miss, normalise your breathing!" whispered Ester. Sicily followed all of Ester's directions, but anxiety and fear were still evident in her eyes. A man came closer, a figure with a distinctive scent began to greet the blind girl's sense of smell. "What business does a blind woman have at the auction, is there any ability?" Harlan's voice was clearly caught by Sicily's ears.

My wife, Anne Brighton, gives me a gray parrot. Every single day, it looks me in the eye and screeches, "Go to hell!" I send it to a parrot rehabilitation center, where they place it in a mirrored cage and play "I'm a good bird" on loop, three thousand times a day. Here's the thing—I've been reborn. In my past life, that parrot came into our home knowing only two phrases—"So ugly" and "Go to hell". At first, I believed it was merely mimicking what it had heard. But then my body began to fail. Sleep was the first to go. Every night, the same nightmare returned, and the same voice echoed through it, repeating those words over and over. "Go to hell." My appetite disappeared, and I wast

he soothed, "Look at me." After a moment, I did what I was told, raising my gaze slowly to meet his. It was dark now, but I could see the spark in his eyes through the changing colors of the carnival lights. I felt his gaze, deep and penetrating. I held it for as long as I dared, my fear of heights dissipating the longer I stared at him. And then, my fear was all but gone as he pressed his lips to mine. In fact, I think the ferris wheel had just become my new favorite ride.

Wrapping my long fingers around my glass tumbler, I take a long look at him. Dark shadows cover his hooded stare, his hair is distraught, and the light stubble on his face that he usually prefers is covered with more of his sandy brown hair than I have ever seen him with. If I didn't know him, I would have assumed he was a homeless man. His clothes - the jeans, white tee, and black sneakers - seem to be the only thing distinguishing the difference between Drew, my best friend, and this guy who stands before me. The guy, who, if you made eye contact with, you can almost look right through him. He looks soulless, dead inside.