Jointing With A Table Saw Novels & Stories

Kiara sat at her small kitchen table literally bumping her head into the wood. Several times. Why the hell did she agree to spend four days in a island with loaded snobs she knew nothing about? Of course, she didn’t know exactly what she signed up for before she accepted his offer, but she knew it came from the guy who sent her to jail and said yes anyway. And based on what? A hunch. Something so intangible and arbitrary she would be unable to explain even to her dad, who was always a firm believer in following your gut. But she saw it, right there hiding behind his handsome stoic façade. He was… desperate. --All Kiara has in life is her passion for art. Her career as a circus performer is a constant search for real attention, for people to see through the veil of plain entertainment. Chris Wright is the heir to one of the most profitable construction empires of the city, but to get to the top he needs the approval of his authoritarian father. Who knows what will happen when art meets business and passion meets duty?

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell his cologne—cedarwood, leather, and power. My hand moved. Smooth, practiced. The pistol slide from under the apron into my palm. I raised it fast. But before I could pull the trigger— BANG. Not my shot. A scream tore through the restaurant as another man launched himself toward Romano’s table, blade flashing. Another assassin. What the hell— Romano didn’t flinch. He shoved the table forward, knocking the attacker off balance. The blade scraped across wood, not skin. I ducked instinctively as the room erupted into chaos. Gunfire cracked. Glass exploded. People screamed and dove for cover. “Get him out—NOW!” one of the guards barked. I aimed for the second attacker. Didn’t even hesitate. One shot—head. Gone. The guard saw me. Confusion flashed in his eyes. Then rage. I ran. I weaved between overturned chairs, plates, and screaming bodies. The smell of blood was real now, thick in the air. One of the guards grabbed me. I slammed my elbow into his ribs, twisted, and brought the butt of my gun down on his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. Out. I had to get out. My boots pounded the floor as I tore through the narrow hallway. But then— “Elisa.” His voice stopped me cold. I turned. Antonio Romano stood in the middle of the carnage, suit untouched, blood spattered behind him like art. His eyes were on me. And he was smiling. It was darker. Slower. Like a hunter seeing something worth chasing. Somehow, he knew who I was. “Interesting,” he said softly, tilting his head. “They sent you.” I didn’t answer. I ran. But that voice followed me. He knew my name. And he let me go. This wasn’t over. It had just begun.

Ericka Matthews has been in love with her roommate for two years. The problem? Dominic Anderson made her sign a contract when she moved in: no romance allowed, or she's out. She's respected that boundary, hidden her feelings, and watched him from across the breakfast table every morning without letting on. Then Dominic kisses her. And immediately tells her not to kiss him back. Heartbroken and humiliated, Ericka decides to disappear. She has a backup plan, savings, and an apartment lined up. She'll be gone before he even notices. But when she collapses on campus and ends up in the hospital, Dominic is forced to confront what losing her actually means. The contract gets torn up. Confessions are made. And it turns out their mothers have been running a secret spy network dedicated to getting them together for three years. Now they just have to survive Sunday dinner with both families and Aunt Linda's unopened Christmas presents. A contemporary romance about two idiots who wasted three years pretending to be "just roommates," the meddling families who saw right through them, and the kiss that finally broke all the rules.

On my birthday, the dining table was loaded with all my favorites. My mom had been cooking and baking the entire afternoon, insisting everything be perfect for when Mike got home from work so we could celebrate together. But then, he called and said his first love had been drugged at a bar, and he had to go help her. I stopped him and begged him not to go. Mike snapped at me. "Jesus, Em, don’t pull this jealous wife crap. She’s alone, defenseless, and unconscious—I can't let some random dude take advantage of her!" My mother heard those words and was so enraged that she had a heart attack. She died on the spot. Just like that, my mom died on my birthday. I called Mike, asking him to attend my mom's funeral. But before he could reply, I saw Cathy Miller's latest Instagram post, captioned: [Mikey… after all these years, it was always you.] Mike had liked it. My thumb moved before my brain caught up, typing out the only words that mattered: [A homewrecker and a lying bastard. Hope you rot together.]

My husband brought home a set of triplets and insisted they were mine. I rushed to get a DNA test done overnight, and the results proved that none of the three children were related to either of us. But my husband lost it. He slapped me, called me disgusting, and forced me to sign the divorce papers, leaving me with nothing. Furious and shaken, I went to my best friend to vent. But the second she saw those three children, she grabbed the fruit knife from the table and slashed my face. “If you dare say they aren’t yours again, next time, I won’t stop there.” My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. That night, I bought a ticket and fled back to my parents’ house. I cried as I told them everything. But after hearing me out, they grabbed a garden hoe and beat me to death. Even as everything went dark, I still couldn’t understand why everyone was forcing me to accept three children I had never given birth to. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my husband first brought them home.

I'm a privileged only child hailing from the wealthy coastal region. In fact, my family has just received three brand-new apartments from the government after they've bought up our old property for redevelopment. On Christmas Eve, my cousin, Patrick Snyder, brings his girlfriend, Kelsey Randall, back for dinner. She stares at me for a while before gasping in shock. "Hang on, you look really familiar! You must be 69goddess, right? I saw your videos on a porn site before! You really have an amazing figure!" The atmosphere at the dining table goes eerily silent at that moment. My relatives all shoot me disgusted looks simultaneously. Dad is so pissed that he tosses his newly-shelled crab away. Meanwhile, Mom can barely catch her breath after hearing the news. Patrick shields Kelsey from me while looking disdainful. "You bring nothing but shame to the family, Jillian! Don't go around telling others that you know me from now on!" I wipe my hands with a napkin slowly. Then, I shoot a wide smile at the pretentious Kelsey. "Have you forgotten that I'm the one performed the gender-affirming surgery on you, Kelsey?"

My mother loved a billionaire once. He destroyed her quietly, with power and control and the particular cruelty of a man who knew nobody would believe his wife's pain. She left him with nothing but the clothes on her back and a warning she planted deep inside me before I could even walk. *Never marry a billionaire.* I believed her. I built my own empire. I refused every wealthy, charming, well-suited man who came to my table with a ring and a rehearsed smile. Then I walked into The Harlow Hotel and saw a waiter. No charm. No performance. Just steady eyes that looked at me like I had startled him and then looked away first. Shyly. His name was Charles Dick. Simple. Honest. Real. Everything my mother's warning was never about. I pursued him. I provided for him. I loved him completely. Five days before our wedding he told me the truth. And everything collapsed in sixty seconds. Because the most dangerous love stories are not the ones that begin with lies. They are the ones where two people lie to protect themselves from the very love they have been searching for their entire lives. .... Vivienne Donald had sworn she would never marry a billionaire. She kept her word. She married something far greater.

I was on vacation with my mother at our country vineyard when a message arrived from Ava, my husband's personal secretary. He was the new Don of the Falcone family. The photo showed a woman, bruised and naked, curled up on the floor of a cold cellar. It was followed by a voice message, her tone arrogant: "Helen, is this what you peasants do? Claw your way out of the mud just to leech off the Don?" "Don Lorenzo just acquired this estate, and you have the nerve to let your blind, ill-mannered mother wander in here to freeload? As the Don's personal secretary, it's my job to uphold the Falcone family's dignity." "This is the price for trespassing on the Don's estate!" I froze, my eyes lifting to the other side of the long table where my mother was sipping her red wine, perfectly safe. I zoomed in on the photo. The moment I saw the details, my heart seized. On a pale hand was a familiar ring. It was the heirloom the Falcone Madre never took off. I immediately dialed Ava's number. "Ava, are you insane? That's Lorenzo's mother!" A careless, almost flirtatious laugh came from the other end of the line. "The Don may consider you his property, but he never agreed to take in your dirt-poor family."

I died giving birth. I gave George Norris ten children in seven years and died with my last child during childbirth. Everyone said I was unlucky, but no one knew that I saw the comments on the screen as I was dying. [The cannon fodder is pretty pitiful. Now the female lead gets ten healthy babies for free.] [The female lead is so clever. She likes children but doesn't want to give birth to any for the male lead, so she added fertility pills in the cannon fodder's food.] [Tsk, tsk, tsk, the cannon fodder probably won't even know she gave birth to the male lead and female lead's children.] The comments made me so angry that I dropped dead right then and there. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back, right after I had married George. [Tsk, the female lead is so ruthless; she added three fertility pills to the chicken soup.] [Is the female lead not afraid that the cannon fodder will give birth to triplets and die on the operating table?] Watching the chicken soup Cheryl York handed me, I grinned, grabbed her mouth, and poured the soup down her throat. If she liked having children so much, she could have as many as she wanted!

My best friend Ada felt sorry for my eight-year crush on Theo. So when our wolves recognize each other as mate, Ada simply gave me a pheromone-enhancing herb and sent me to Theo’s bed. Intoxicated by my scent, Theo claimed me like crazy. When I woke up, he coldly agreed to hold the marking ceremony. But shortly after the marking, Theo frequently visited European packs, and stayed away for five years. I raised our son Alex alone, waiting for him at the pack. But he never came come and just told me he didn’t like puppies. Until Alex's birthday party, I saw a video where someone asked him: "Theo, what's your happiest moment?" He replied carelessly: "Last week in Europe, after putting Marcus to sleep, I took Claire to the dining table in the living room." Amidst the whistles and cheers, my hands and feet turned ice cold. Claire was his ex-girlfriend, Marcus was his ex-girlfriend's son. They say he'd been living with them these five years in Europe, so it was all true. I was completely heartbroken, submitted the mate bond dissolution to the Alpha Council, and left North America with my son, erasing our pack registration.