Htgawm Connor Walsh Novels & Stories

Seeing that, of course, Rey's anger subsided instantly, and was replaced by a snort when he left Gavin alone. When things got back to normal, Connor gasped. He seemed to be about to jump from his seat, making all the men there stare curiously. “What else, Connor?” Rey asked looking tired. He prayed that god would be kind enough to strengthen his faith before anyone got really hurt. Raising a group of grown men was much more difficult than bunch of teenagers. “You won't believe this,” said Connor, his eyes fixed on the phone screen. He lifted the flat object into the air and showed them a photo.

His Jeep was loaded down when he made his way to the cabin where the rogues had Connie tied up. “You don’t know how much this turns me on, Walker.” “Fuck off, Connie, you’re about to take a little visit to the cemetery or Temperance, which one ya want?” Connor sighed, “As much as I’d love to take credit for trying to kill little miss fucking sunshine, I didn’t get to her first.” “How am I supposed to believe that?” Connie laughed, “I would have done it right the first time and the bitch would be dead. ” “You don’t have to be like this,” Walker said, “Tell me what you know.”

If anything, this strengthens my resolve to push back against the Mitchells and whoever else might be behind this smear campaign. One thing stands out to me as I read further into the article—Connor. His name is mentioned, not just as a casualty in the crash, but specifically as my bodyguard. That detail is strange, and it bothers me. Connor’s role was something we kept quiet, especially since he was only recently hired and supposedly working for an agency that doesn’t even exist anymore. The article paints him as part of the crew, yet somehow, his real identity is exposed.

"Poor baby. Well, listen, I need to show you my new guy. He’s gorgeous, Danny. A total catch." He turned the phone, the camera swinging around to a guy sitting on the edge of a bed, pulling on a shirt. "Hello, Danny?" the guy said. I froze. The voice. The jawline. The way his eyes looked like they were constantly calculating the price of everything in the room. It finally clicked. This was the guy from the club bathroom. The guy who had looked at me like I was gum on the bottom of his shoe while he screamed at Noah. "My name is Connor," he said, giving the camera a slow, knowing smirk.

Then, three years ago—right around the time Tyler and I started dating, he walked back into my life at Woodhills Medical Center like no time had passed. “Miss me?” he’d asked with that crooked grin and I’d thrown a pen at his head. Now the entire city whispers about Dr. Connor Hayes. The Golden Hands Surgeon. No patient had died under his scalpel in three years. Nurses called it a miracle. Older attendees muttered about unnatural talent. Connor called them dramatic and kept avoiding cameras like they personally offended him. The man was a legend wrapped in sarcasm, and somehow he was still the same boy who once punched another kid for mocking my stutter.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t used in a long time. It rang twice. “Mr. Vale.” A clipped, familiar voice answered. “It’s been a while.” “Grant. I need a private intel sweep. No questions, no paper trail. A man named Damon Connolly just resurfaced in Isla’s life.” “Isla Hart?” he asked, and I could almost hear the quick flipping of mental files. “Yes.” “And you want him… neutralized?” “No,” I snapped. “I want information. Everything. His current location, phone records, bank activity, known associates. I want to know what he had for breakfast and who he pissed off last week. Discreet but thorough. Understood?”

She finally noticed him staring at her. "I bet you heard it from that lousy cliche romantic drama you're watching." He plays with her soft hair, twirling it with his index finger. "Yes, why am I even watching this?" She turned the channel and saw a CNN news report flashed on the screen. "... a news flash today, suspect of the Coulson Massacre, Collin Beaver AKA James Connor has been reportedly seen in an convenient store in Newark a few days ag--" Before the screen could even flash a CCTV picture, he took the remote and flipped it to another channel. "I'm so sick of hearing some murder news." He vomit that lied and stayed with some Asian fantasy movie to watch.

“You’re going to make everyone cry.” “Maybe,” I said, feeling a warm flutter in my chest. Then I heard his voice. Across the parking lot, Connor leaned against his car, backpack slung over one shoulder, smiling like the world belonged to him — or maybe like I belonged to him . “Hey, Sparrow!” he called. Chelsea and Laila stopped in mid-step, eyebrows raised. “Sparrow?” Chelsea whispered. “It’s… a thing,” I muttered, cheeks heating. Connor waved, grinning. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

But the wall they're bolted to is older, crumbling concrete. He pulls. The silver burns, but he ignores it. Pulls harder. The bolt loosens fractionally. This is going to destroy his wrists. Probably permanent damage. But if it saves Amara, it's worth it. Connor pulls with everything he has. His wolf's strength, his desperation, his love for his mate. The bolt shifts. Concrete cracks. One more pull. The bolt tears free. Connor's left wrist is destroyed, bone visible through burned flesh. But he's partially free.

Containing my frustration was getting more challenging. I heard someone approach and immediately knew it was Connor. “Tell me you have something,” I said through my clenched jaw. “There is no easy way to tell you this,” Connor started to say. “Then just fucking say it,” I yelled, turning on him. “Ian managed to access some wolfsbane in the cells,” Connor stated. “And?” I demanded. “He took an overdose; he is dead,” Connor replied. I stared at Connor, “This cannot be happening. Who gave him access to the wolfsbane?” I demanded. I knew Connor was not the bad guy, but right now he was in front of me. He was taking the brunt of my pain.