Joel Rosenberg Latest Novel Novels & Stories

Auxel, who was closest to the chair, immediately opened the goodie bag, and took out two books that were quite thick. As he flipped through the book, he saw the title of a novel that had made his travel across America just to get it. "Crazy!" the man said involuntarily. Brandon immediately picked up the book, and his eyes opened wide. "Axel, where did you get this novel?" "It's no longer in production because Little White Rose is on hiatus. In fact, we read this novel in turn from the community we joined." Axel didn't answer immediately, he chose to enjoy the taste of caramel macchiato that always made him happy.

The scent of paper and cedar cologne seeped through every corner like a slow poison - calm, domineering and ruthless. The project team sat in their seats, hands trembling with cold sweat dripping down their backs. They each bit their lips, heads deeply bowed - not daring to peek a sight of the man before them. Matthew picked another file, flipping through the first five pages with pure disinterest. After a while, his lips twisted in a low sneer, his long fingers reaching for a gold rimmed lighter. He flipped open the cap, and with one flick, he watched countless, sleepless nights turn to nothing but ash and fumes.

Bianca was sold to a mafia lord at a very young age and all she could think about was getting revenge. Her plan was going well until the mafia lord's son, Nico, came into the picture. Nico was handsome and cold, brutal but calm. However, when he met Bianca, she brought out his troubled side. He didn't want her. She didn't care. In fact, she hated him. She felt he was emotionless and he felt she was too tough. Both were intrigued. ~♡~ "The only thing stopping me from taking you right here on this table, is that you belong to my father." His voice was tensed and I didn't need to see his face to know how he felt. "My father's whore." He added. I swallowed, hurt by his words. "You

There was sorrow there in Issabelle’s eyes, Rose stopped herself from asking for more information. After talking with the rest of the staff to be sure it wasn’t there before, Rose found that Mr. Bastille had been the sole occupant the eve prior. This revelation made every hair on the back of her neck stand up. He may have been twenty years her elder and definitely a society figurehead but that wasn’t going to stop her from investigating. Rose knew the law would do nothing about a doll, but she may know someone that could help.

The warm atmosphere chilled significantly at the interruption. The waiter stood there awkwardly, holding the roses, unsure whether to do as she said. When Heather remained silent, he chose to leave silently. This did not deter Charles at all. He continued to send a bouquet of roses, pink this time, to her studio every single day. None of the bouquets even made it inside; they were disposed of in the trash can almost immediately. At another art exhibition, Charles confronted Heather at the entrance and demanded why she refused to accept his flowers.

It moved farther and farther from the cemetery on the hillside, and farther away from all the love and hatred buried beneath Sicily's soil. Daisy leaned against Caleb's shoulder and looked out the window. The hillsides were covered in blooming irises. The warm breeze never felt better. Her new life had only just begun.

Rodriguez. The name felt foreign on my tongue, yet it sounded oddly pleasant in my ears. Too pleasant. Almost too good to be true. When we stepped out of the civil affairs bureau, he ordered his assistant to take me home. As I got into the car, I mentally braced myself for whatever was coming next—for the life I hadn’t planned, yet was suddenly living. Through the tinted glass, I watched the city fade away. My old life dissolved with it, leaving behind only reflections of what used to be. The weight of it all pressed down on me, and I suddenly felt weak.

“Since we have destroyed Azba, I have no urgent need of him. No large band will appear now till the first grass.” “Is Azba cut to pieces then?” inquired Novoveski. “So cut up that I do not know if twenty-five men escaped; and even those will be caught one by one, if Mellehov has not caught them already.” “I am terribly glad of this,” said Novoveski, “for now it will be possible to go to Rasrkoff? In safety,” here he turned to Basira: “We can take to Sir Rushet the letters which her grace, our benefactress, has mentioned.”

Jacob Reyes had been the head of the Black Rose before Cassien, which meant he'd been in charge when my parents were killed, when the fire was set, when my entire life was ripped apart and stitched back together wrong. I needed air, needed space, needed something other than these four walls closing in on me. My feet carried me to the balcony almost on autopilot, and I pushed through the glass doors into the afternoon sun. The heat hit my skin immediately, warm and heavy, and I sucked in a deep breath, trying to fill my lungs with something other than the suffocating weight of unanswered questions. The stupid book Elias had given me was still sitting on the small table where I'd left it earli