Hooked Emily Mcintire Novels & Stories

The clubhouse was alive with noise — the low murmur of engines cooling in the yard, the clink of bottles, the restless pacing of men who had lived too long on the edge of war. Grim leaned heavy against the table, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. Hawk sat restless, boot tapping against the floor. Sierra hovered near the couch where Emily usually sat, her arms crossed, her eyes sharp with worry. The front doors slammed open. Every head turned. Emily stepped inside first, her clothes torn, her skin smeared with blood that wasn’t hers. Her eyes were wide, burning, but steady. Behind her, the doorframe filled with a shadow that froze the room.

“Wait here, please. I’ll call the doctor.” Cal looked like he might break the desk in half if she made him wait one more second. I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let her do her job.” But he wasn't even listening to me, his hands clenched, I knew he was managing to stand upright. I felt a small hand circle my lower abdomen, someone hugged me from behind, I relaxed, it was only one person that felt like this. “Are you okay?” I asked Emily. Her hair was all over her face, a mixture of dirt and dust. Her clothes were stained with blood. “What happened?”

Chapter 6 “So... you’re telling me,” Emily says slowly, her fork frozen mid-air, “that you hooked up with Axton freaking Rowe?” I blink. “Who?” Callie actually chokes on her mimosa. “You don’t know who Axton Rowe is?” “No? Should I?”

A distinct click followed - the lock. Emily remained where she was, napkins still clutched in her hand, her expression changing the moment the bathroom door shut. The spill had not been an accident. It had been calculated. From the intel she had been given, the agency had long suspected that the so-called Robin Hood thief was not entirely human. She needed to see with her own eyes whether the wound was still there - or whether Damien Hayes was something far more dangerous than a wealthy businessman. Inside the bathroom, Damien braced both hands against the sink, his head lowered for a moment as he steadied his breathing.

“Why do you need to know? Would you try to kill him again if it turns out that you failed?” A shadow of frustration crossed Emily’s face, her voice tinged with annoyance. “Just tell me!” she snapped, her patience reaching its limits. Before Detective Garcia could respond, another detective entered the room and called for Detective Garcia to step outside for a moment. With a wary glance at Emily, Detective Garcia excused himself, leaving her alone in the interrogation room. Emily’s heart raced, her mind filled with uncertainty and anticipation. She needed to know about Ryan Marchetti’s condition. His fate was the key to her twisted sense of satisfaction and the final puzzle piece.

Henry crossed his arms, his eagle-like eyes sharp and looking down at Emily. "Are you Emily? I've heard about you. You've been with two men, the first was the son of a real estate tycoon. Because he had a drug history, he was forced to break up, and you even went to the extent of aborting the child. The second was the heir of the Brown family; when their family just lost power, you abruptly broke off the engagement without any hesitation. They say a harlot has no feelings, and an actress has no righteousness. Emily, which category do you belong to?"

She tried to remember what the man she met at the bar looked like, but nothing was working. The cells open and it's Eric here to see her. He notice her vomiting and he ask her what's wrong. "You don't look so well" he says. "I'm okay. Just a little sic" she tells him" and that's the best I can do", he tells her" "But you are still under observation right?" And Emily nods, she is, and if she gets sick or something they'll have to put her in isolation for a bit. There's a knock on her door. A guard wants to know if she has eaten anything today, and she just looks at him blankly. He walks away and she lays back against her bunk and thinks. About how much time she’ll have before her period begin

SMOKE BREAK WITH MAMA METCALF Emily met Mama Metcalf her third day on the job. Three hours in and overdue for her first break, Emily sought refuge in the courtyard accessible through the break room. Although ‘courtyard’ seemed too fancy a description for the space, which she could tell from peering through the staffroom window was empty except for a weathered picnic table and the woman sitting at it. Emily gripped her fourth coffee of the morning in one hand and gripped the handle with the other.

Her gaze sharpened as it locked onto me. A second later, she sat back down. Casually, Emily picked up a TV remote from the table beside her. Click. The screen, previously dark, came to life, casting a bluish glow across the room. Our shadows stretched across the floor while the faint hum of electronics filled the silence. Emily leaned back and crossed her legs. "Everything's a mess. I can't even bribe those damn cops anymore," she said without taking her eyes off the screen. "Now all we have is you, Hanna Harper."

I was grateful for the distraction from the weight of Alistair’s crimes, my father’s death, and Emerson’s vengeance. But despite the glossy gossip parade on the screen, my mind kept wandering back to those heavier thoughts. Alistair’s arrogant denial. My father’s final moments. Emerson’s relentless war. Then, the mention of a name pulled me sharply back to reality. “Emerson Williams,” the anchor chirped, her tone laced with intrigue. My head snapped toward the screen as my pulse quickened. The screen now displayed a series of blurry, grainy images of a couple walking together, their faces partially obscured.