Historical Thriller Book Novels & Stories

Maybe you want me to send someone to kill the two--- " Nikki stopped what she wanted to say when Benedick strangled her. She saw the burning anger in the man's eyes. He was determined to kill her. Because it was on fire his eyes. She could not breathe at Benedick's strangulation of him. She struggled to loosen his grip on her neck. But the young man is strong. Benedick is already full. He could no longer restrain himself from hurting the woman. "I'll kill you! If you do to my wife!" He threatened her and tightened my grip on her neck even more. Nikki would have taken her breath away. If, Valerie didn't come in. Valerie was released from jail because none of the charges she filed against her

he said. He spoke quietly into his earpiece. A pause. Then he nodded once. "Yes," he said. I walked back to my room with the book held against my chest. The negotiation book. But my mind was still on the other one. Dark green spine. Faded gold lettering. Third shelf from the bottom. Four books from the left. Stone City's history sitting quietly in the corner of Ryan Thompson's library. Waiting. I sat on the edge of my bed and looked at the cover in my hands.

This was about my children, and that made the calculations sharper, meaner. I picked up my pen and circled a name I kept returning to: an old private investigator, Marco. He had a grudge against Abbas after a contract went bad years ago. He kept records, people, phone numbers. If Abbas had enemies — useful enemies — Marco would know. If there were men willing to follow orders into the dark, Marco could find them and, more importantly, tell me how they were paid and who answered to whom.

Fisting my hands over the surface of the table, I said, “The only thing that will clear the misunderstanding is you handing Elias over to me.” My words brought his usual deviousness back. “There’s no handing him over. He killed my sister, so I tell you when we’ll torture him and you will come to join me.” It didn’t sound like a poor plan. “My men have been searching through his things. He apparently has connections with many people.” “He’s a manipulative bastard.” “I can see how much.” He pointed at the drive. “He was smart enough to keep proofs of all his business and negotiations through surveillance cameras, hidden cams, pen cams and so on.”

I approached slowly, the heels of my boots clicking softly on the polished floor. Drawn like a moth to a flame, I skimmed my fingers across the titles etched on the spines. Tales of kings. Wars. Bloodlines. My gaze caught on a thick, weathered book left open on the desk. Its title was simple: Pack Histories and Blood Betrayals. A cold shiver rippled through me. I leaned over, my shadow swallowing the page, and began to read. At first, it was the usual: chronicles of battles, treaties, ascensions. But then, a word snared me, rooted me in place:

Others were modern thrillers and contemporary fiction, their glossy jackets still vibrant. But then she came to a section that felt...different. These books weren’t stacked like the others. They were nestled into the shelves like treasures, rich, cracked leather covers, some with gold foiling so worn it was barely legible. Her hand paused over one that read, The History of the Black Moon Pack. Her brows knit. “Pack?” she murmured under her breath, pulling it from the shelf.

The institution had a highly respected program, one that the historian had disgraced when he had been caught in his office with his pants down with one of his younger female students. Following his dismissal from the university, the historian spent much of his time gambling and drinking, a combination that had led to the man's lowly end, in debt up to his eyeballs and desperate for anything. The historian may have been a degenerate, but he was a ruthless researcher, and his desperation provided the perfect motivation for Elizabeth. The door at the end of the room opened and a younger man with thick, blue hair appeared. He wore a colourful gangster leather jacket and dark emo pants. The man l