J The Killer Novels & Stories

Kane stroked his throbbing cock furiously and exploded. Thick ropes of cum painted her full breasts and beautiful face. Vera moaned, scooping some into her mouth and swallowing. They lay there panting, covered in sweat, cum, and her squirt. The storm raged outside. Vera wiped cum from her lips and looked at him seriously. “I know who the real killer is, Kane,” she whispered. “It’s someone from your past. The man you put away ten years ago. He’s out, and he’s coming for both of us.”

“You know, I think EJ has been much too quiet here! What are you hiding, EJ?” “I’m just observing everyone here. Trying to find who the real killer is.” “And who do you think it is?” Lulu asked. “That’s easy. It’s Grayson.” EJ grinned. I got giddy seeing everyone look between the two of them. This was so much fun! “Who is the killer?” Skyler whispered, sitting on the couch next to me. “I can’t tell you,” I grinned. “Oh fine.” I clicked the lights off again and Carter was now dead.

Trash disguised as men. But the fourth one... the one who never showed his face, only his jawline and those rings on his fingers. Those damn rings. Thick, silver, two stacked on his index like he’s trying to make a statement. I zoom in, heart pounding against my ribs like a hammer. They all have one thing in common. They all work for my father's killer. Don Mojito. “Who the hell are you…” I whisper, swallowing hard. I replay that clip again. And again.

He looked at the purple fingermarks on her throat, at the oozing blood dripping onto her shirt, and he felt nothing but relief to be holding her now. He wasn’t about to tell Sarah that Donovan 'Joker' Kane had killed six women that Jax knew of – though the man always seemed to have a convenient alibi for the times of the murders, courtesy of Kirk Jensen – and that every one of those poor souls had had their throat slashed. If Jax were a betting man, he’d say that Kane had used that exact same fucking knife that had just been pressing down on Sarah’s wildly pulsing jugular.

Jones is pacing around his room, his hand arched above his head as he stared at the screen. Breaking News! Rising Model found dead in her apartment. It was not possible. He was sure he had the right man in jail. His father. He called the prison immediately, it was late, but he didn't care. It was more than just any crime. It was a reputable killer. The killer the world hid from and some had called the face of death. It was the face of death again, hopefully not death itself. He pulled his reports from the previous case. Pulled out a photo, he stared at the screen and back at the photo. Bloody fuck.

Ever since I was little, I knew my mom didn't want me. My dad, though, kept telling me that she loved me, but some complicated stuff was keeping her away. He said that once I grew up, I needed to find her and claim my place in her life. I always figured he was just making things up so I wouldn't grow up resentful of the motherly love I never had. Then the debt piled up. Dad was scrolling through TikTok, looking for any way to drum up sympathy online, when he suddenly let out a wild yell. "Scrappy! Look, it’s your mom! Pack your stuff, we’re going to find her!" I stared at the screen. The woman in the video was stunning, effortlessly poised, and dripping in old-money elegance. A cold pi

I panicked more I couldn’t believe that the one I had been living in the same house was the offspring of my parent's killers. The one Daphne had been playing all along with was the offspring of our parent killer who made her mute, And yet the two were already dead. My mind instantly ran back to J who I had left home. I slipped out my cell phone and put a call across to the pack house to make sure J was at home. I paced around the room and finally, after the second ring, someone picked up. The call was connected, and thinking it was J who answered it, I was so quick to talk.

"If you hadn't egged me on, I wouldn't have done that," Marina screamed. "It was you. You killed Caitlin. You're the murderer." Anthony suddenly laughed, smacking himself. He wasn't holding back. I could see his cheeks swell up red even from a distance. He dropped to his knees. "You're right. I killed the woman who loved me. Her blood's on my hands. I'm a murderer." I rolled my eyes, and he pulled out his wedding ring, which he had taken off since Marina showed up.

Then she spotted it — tucked into the edge of the window frame. A folded note. She pulled it free, fingers trembling. It read: > “There are two killers in this house. One wears your father’s ring. The other wears his guilt.” Her blood turned to ice. There were only two people in the house who matched that description. Lucien… And her. The paper fluttered from her fingers. Something told her this was only the beginning.

At 11:00 AM, my husband, Silas Vexille, slowly drowned in our indoor thermal pool. At the time, I was having my usual morning tea with the other mafia wives in the estate's back garden. The pool room was directly above the garden, barely a dozen feet away. Originally, if I had gone back to the main house at 11:00 as usual, I would have had plenty of time to save him. But as fate would have it, Victoria Harrison insisted on inviting us over to her nearby home to see her new pink diamond. At 11:20 AM, my daughter April and I pushed open the doors to the pool room. By then, Silas was already gone. At the lavish funeral, I was devastated, fainting several times. The mourners murmured in sympathy