Jeff The Killer Picture Mga Nobela at Kwento

Jeff exhaled slowly, “The cameras at the protest were tampered with. There’s a gap in the footage, right at the moment the smoke bomb went off. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.” My heart sank, “So we have nothing.” “For now,” His eyes darkened, “But I’m not giving up.” I stared at him, searching his face, “What are you going to do?” Jeff’s jaw flexed, “I have people looking for him and I don’t mean just security, I mean people who know how to find ghosts.” A shiver ran down my spine, Jeff wasn’t just talking about private investigators, he was talking about people from his past. The past he’d tried to keep buried.

He grunted, "Captain Hefner, what type of person could this murderer be? He's so arrogant. He not only dismembered his victims but also dared to threaten you." "Not a simple person," Jefferson's reply was meaningless because he had no idea who the killer was as well. In his memory, he couldn't remember that he had offended someone so capable. Perhaps it was the drug dealers, but he had no evidence to point out at them. Furthermore, he had no idea how Stephen looked like.

Theo fired back as his eyes twitched in outrage. "And be ready to expect her to get a high heart attack, probably for her to collapse and die at the scene. You would be awarded for the most dangerous human being for being behind the death of your closest siblings. Try it. It would surely be fun, don't you think?" Jeffery grinned with his blood-stained teeth wide open like a maniac in a horror movie. Damn! I feel like disappearing.

I remembered him vividly well. He sure as hell was the man I shot in my memories. Despite he was covered in bruises and dried blood, he had this cocky smile on his face that gave away the fact that he wasn’t from an ordinary family, yet, I killed him because of a fucking woman, not caring about what his family might do to me. My eyes flickered from the first photo until the last and that was all I needed to accept the glaring truth. I was indeed Guiliano Jensen. A killer. A psychopath. And a man with mafia genes running through his veins.

“I-I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeffrey sneaking up on the gunman. I just needed to keep him distracted for a little longer. “Yes, you can. You’re going to kill me anyway, right? I deserve to know who wants me dead.” The man growled in frustration and ran his free hand through his hair. “You don’t understand!” Just as the homeless werewolf cocked his gun, Jeffrey pounced on him. He pinned the other man’s arms down with his legs and ripped the pistol out of his hand, throwing it far out of his reach.

It’s like he’s watching to see if I’d slip away and run off with Jeff. If I were alone with him? Hell yes. Fortunately, I have Ethan by my side. I’m not letting him go until this is over. Oh my God, I think as I come to a realization. Ethan’s father is a killer, a criminal. Oh my God. How is he going to take it? He can never find out, I conclude. At least not now. “Good heavens, God must really like me,” Jeff exclaims, coming to stand before me. He doesn’t even acknowledge his friend first.

After hanging up the phone, Isabella knew that her family would probably become suspicious, so she contacted Sophia specifically. Leaving the hospital, Isabella drove, and Ethan in the passenger seat received a message from Colin. "The shooter's name is Jeff, 40 years old, a retired soldier who has been working as an extra for years. Colin found the person; he drowned and died. Jeff was diagnosed with leukemia recently, and he has an 18-year-old daughter." So, everything makes sense now. It wasn't a fan at all. Jeff was doing things for the sake of his daughter's future, accepting money and then ending his own life.

then she excitedly shows my solo pictures. “And the two of you look great together,” she even adds. I shyly peek at the picture and somehow, I totally agree with him. Jeff is indeed good-looking, and his height is suitable for a tall girl like me. He also looks ravishing in his suit. I clear my throat, and snatch one of our pictures that look like we are almost kissing, “I’m going to keep this, you keep that one,” I demand. Jeff shyly accepts it, “Oh, my pleasure,” he answers shortly and I see him stare at the picture and smile at it.

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach, and I unintentionally clutched the photograph so hard that it began to crumple in my hand. Jeff watched as realization dawned on me, and gently took the picture from me and set it on the table, but didn’t say anything. I got up slowly, on shaky legs, and walked to the window, my heart heavy and my eyes swollen with unshed tears. “All the time … I thought … I believed … we …” I trailed off, not knowing what I even wanted to say. Why? Why had those people done this to us? What was our offence? With all they had lied about, I was beginning to question whether Jeff had really beaten up anyone who later died, as they claimed.

I already knew he took the pictures, but now I needed to know why. I knocked once. I could hear low voices inside, but no answer came. Growing impatient, I pushed the door open slightly and stepped in. The voices were coming from his open laptop on the desk, but he wasn’t there. I called out his name. Then the bathroom door by the wall pulled open. Jeff walked out with water splashed over his face. He looked like a shadow of himself… pale, trembling, eyes wide with panic. “Jeff?” I drawled.