Jack Twist Death Novels & Stories

"Sorry, sir! I couldn't make it last. He died last night. The adrenaline and everything couldn't bring him back to life. I'm sorry sir." Bram looked very guilty because he could only make Lucas survive for 2.5 days in this torture. Of course he felt this was very short for torture when Jaxter really wanted to make this man feel his punishment for as long as possible. Jaxter looked at the two bodies that were now lying stiff in front of him. Chelsea with a stiff, pale, blue body with a crushed neck and congealed blood. They placed her in a special freezer to prevent her body from decomposing.

"Knock the cars aside. We have to go after them." Meanwhile, in Lucille's car, Dexter suppressed the pain from his broken ankle and said, "You're not getting anywhere. No matter what happens, you're dying here today. This is where your life ends." Tobias' lips twitched. He slapped the back of Dexter's head and snapped, "Shut up! This is more like your grave, if you ask me. You still don't realize who you've pissed off, huh? Keep talking if you think you have more than one life to live! You can earn as much as you want, but will you live long enough to spend it?"

Jack smiled “In that case, thank you Sir. You can be as nasty as you want.” Getting home that evening Jack was very happy that he won’t have to go to work anymore. He won’t have to pretend to be an expert on subjects and procedures he knew nothing about. The competent detectives and police officers were his worst nightmare, he used every excuse in the book to avoid interacting with them fearing being exposed by them. He went to sleep excited about his sedentary future to never wake up the following morning. His family doctor ruled his death as a heart attack caused by his well known unhealthy lifestyle.

Given this, Jack found enjoyment in assisting someone fulfill his destiny. The father had rolled around, grabbing where his lips should have been. Jack laughed. Damn funny! Power over another was a special kind of freedom. A ceramic lamp in the shape of two swans kissing on a table near the television set. He picked it up, sneered at its tackiness, yanked the cord from the wall. Jack slammed it down on Wes’s face, bulb shards impaling the eyes. They both heard them pop and still, he didn’t die. “Tough little fucker,” Jack said.

When our whole family saw the death timer for my sister will end on her sixteenth birthday, she became the most important person in the family. She suddenly took priority in everything, from food to dresses, and even bedtime stories. I felt for her, but I was also jealous that she was given everything. However, a day before her sixteenth birthday, my parents locked me up in the storeroom in fear that I would make a mess of things. I kept hammering the door, crying, "Mom, let me out! I'm having a fever, and my head hurts!" Mom didn't believe me. "Just stop! Your sister will die in just a day, and you're playing sick to gain our sympathy?! Don't you understand anything?!" "No…" I tried m

It tries to send the memory through her knees, her hands, her throat. Maya lets it arrive. Then she steps left. The dead follow sound and motion. They do not think. They do not plan. They do not fake low and attack high. They are patient appetite in a ruined suit. “Behind?” she whispers. Clear within twenty feet, LUS says. “Lovely.” The dead man reaches. Maya lets him commit, shifts inside the arc, hooks her foot behind his ankle, and drives the crowbar hard into the side of his knee.

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie

In her last moment, her hand shot out, clamping onto his leg in a death grip. "Julian, die with me. Let's go to hell together." Without a flicker of emotion, Julian pried her fingers from his leg, one by one. She let out one last scream as she fell three stories. He walked to the edge of the balcony and watched her body hit the pavement, blood pooling around her. He felt nothing. A month later, Julian got the doctor's report. Lung infection. One month to live. He didn't seek treatment. With his last bit of money, he took a bus to New York.

"Go on. I'm listening." "Think about it, when Mad-Dave was killed Jack was in a straight-jacket, confined to a high-security room. Next Nurse Roxy turns up dead, Jack could have personally killed her and left the body for people to find, almost mocking the FBI and the police. That or someone killed her upon his orders." I hadn't given Ken the credit, but he was smart. "Anyone, you suspect?" I asked. "Paul." He said point-blank. "Why Paul?"

“Shut up! You don’t deserve to say her name! The only pleasure I’m getting through all of this is knowing how he’ll kill her like you killed my mate! You’ll have to suffer the way I do but worse. He promised a painfully slow death for your bitch—” I had my hand around his throat in a flash. I pulled him up along the chair he was chained to. I brought him close to my furious face. “So, it’s a he then?” I asked calmly even though my face said anything. Jack’s eyes began to roll in the back of his head, so I drop him back down. “You’ll talk. They always do. And don’t think I’ll forget the bitch comment.” Reaching down, I forcefully lifted up his right leg high into the air in an uncomfortable p