Killer Chef Novels & Stories

Tiny proudly stated. Chef is the best when it comes to cooking top-notch cuisine. He takes his profession seriously. But just like the rest of the members of El Latro, he too has a double life. The chef enjoyed torturing people and squeezing information out of them. He used different techniques to make our captives talk. He loves mutilating people and watching them bleed to death. That's the reason why he is also known as the "butcher." "Nice to finally meet you in person, boss." The chef removes his gloves and extends his hand for a handshake.

Killer: someone who kills another person; one that has a forceful, violent, or striking impact Tessa I was spent, I'd never been so tired in my life before when I let Nero lead me to the back of the club, where there was a huge kitchen where the human chef was preparing food for the guests. Huh, didn't know people eat in this kind of establishment. One would think they were too busy basking in their kinks. "Father?" A beautiful young woman looked at me from head to boots, she didn't even miss my glittery clutch. Damn, this boyfriend of mine surely has pretty children.

The oven door slammed shut smartly. “Where did he learn all his other professional skills?” My voice might have held a teensy bit of sarcasm. Seriously, how did a person go from MasterChef to assassin? “They came later, after someone tried to disembowel him, or so I heard.” Miss Sharkey then went back to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of white wine, and busied herself with opening it.

he ended with another shout. “YES SIR.” Mr. Anderson responded with a salute. And with that, the Chief stomped away from the room with his other subordinate officers. As he stepped out, the five detectives let out a big sigh. They were literally holding their breath up until now, especially after how he just then poured his rage on JEAN, fearing what if the sound of their breathing somehow upsets their Chief and bring forth his another display of wrath. “What the hell is his problem? Why the hell is he so pissed on us? Did Dr. Killer killed his secret lover or something?” mumbled Kate as she got back to her computer.

He wondered how they would react when they could see her with him now. How was his mate going to react on realizing their presence and would she be angry at him? By the way, she had killed the rat that he had kept tied for her this morning had given him the idea that she wasn’t that vulnerable but it was hard to figure out a person completely and he hoped that the plan wouldn’t backfire. The bullies had been arranged to sit in a manner that they would all be herding around their table and as Alastor passed by them he had to force himself to keep his claws to himself as just a mere look from them was making him want to rip their throats out.

Tonight, the armor of our high-society triumph was entirely absent, replaced by the beautiful, vulnerable uniform of domesticity. A few feet away, standing at the massive marble island, the Master of Elysium was cooking. Victor St. Clair had approached the creation of a Sunday night dinner with the exact same surgical, unyielding precision he applied to a complex suspension scene. He wore dark, low-slung sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt, a pristine white apron tied securely around his narrow waist. His large, calloused hands—hands that could command absolute obedience with a single gesture—were currently meticulously dicing a shallot with a terrifyingly sharp chef’s knife.

My footsteps completely faltered. Killian was standing in front of the large gas stove. The absolute ruler of a massive criminal empire was holding a wooden spatula, flipping a thick cut of steak in a cast iron pan. He had draped a dark apron over his chest to protect his expensive shirt from the popping grease. He looked completely natural, entirely at ease. I stared at him, genuine shock piercing through my anxiety. I had watched him test my food for poison in the bedroom, but seeing him actually cook an entire meal from scratch completely scrambled my brain.

“Is it possible to let her out early? I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.” “Let her out early?” He repeated as if he was grinding the words between his teeth. “Do you even know who she is? What she’s done?” I just watched him quietly, until he forced out between clenched teeth. “She’s the head chef. The one who tried to kill you under Vanya’s orders.” As soon as the words were out from his mouth, a memory popped into my head. It was of a woman’s voice saying something that sounded a lot like: ‘stay alive placeholder.’

Most cooking procedures he knew would take an hour or more, aside from a certain person in the past. He also thought her face seemed familiar. He sipped a spoonful of soup and his eyes lit up. He tasted this before. Someone he knew well cooked this exact dish but met a tragic death. It was the same person who had odd cooking procedures. "What's the name of that girl?" He asked a boy holding a list. "Chacha, that girl's name is Asha Das." "What?" The name resonated an image of a smiling pretty lady to his mind. He looked at his bowl with a sullen face and whispered, "Fultushi, why is your daughter following your husband's path?"