Killer Instinct Jennifer Lynn Barnes Novels & Stories

The victim had died in the master bedroom of the penthouse; the woman remaining on this ridge was a weapon forged in five years of silent rage. Killian leaned back against the headboard, his bare, powerful chest marked with faint scratches from her fingernails. He reached out, his massive hand wrapping around the nape of her neck to pull her back against his side. His touch was heavy, possessive, and entirely grounding. "The compliance flag is just the first step," Killian murmured, his deep baritone carrying a lethal, calm certainty. "Julian is arrogant. When he realizes the funds are locked in that shell account, he won't panic immediately. He will try to bluster his way out by using his f

he whispered, his face dropping close, his lips grazing the sensitive skin near my ear. Then, his grip turned violent. His hand clamped around my jaw, his fingers digging into skin with a sudden, crushing force that forced my head back against the leather headrest. The raw power of the movement knocked the breath from my lungs. "You've been feeding Thatcher's legal team routing directories for three weeks," Killian growled, his silver eyes flashing with a quiet, terrifying rage. His face was inches from mine, his gravelly voice dropping to low, lethal vibrations that rattled my ribs. "Under my roof. From my servers. While you slept in my bed."

She felt as if someone was behind her. So every slowly with trembling figure she turned around. Her eyes widen and fear flashed in them when she saw the hooded killer standing right in front of her eyes. She opened her mouth to yell and call for help but her voice got caught in her throat. Her lips trembled. “SSSHHH!!!!!!!” The killer said putting his gloved finger over his masked lips, with a sudden strike the big silver knife came slitting Arelette’s throat. Her blood splashed on him and on the canvas behind her as her lifeless body fell on the ground. The last sparkle of light lefy her eyes with a lone tear.

Like she’s tasting that last gulp of air for the last time. Christopher Kincaid’s eyes never leave ours as his claws start to dig through flesh, as Silva steps forward and back not sure what to do. By the time any of us attacks, he’ll have already slashed her neck and killed her. Just like mother. Just like what he’ll view as poetic justice from his point of view. ‘Do it. Do it now’, Killian barks relishing control. My hands and feet touch the ground having had shifted back. The wind strikes me harder than it did that night. Than it did when I couldn’t do anything but beg.

Jennifer moved towards him and said, "I... I again killed someone. Caila was right that I'm nothing but a murderer and first my parents, then Jackson, and now I Even killed my sister." "No, no you are not a murderer. Jean you are not," William tried to ease her rising pain. "Oh, so she has become Jean Bentky from Jennifer Oxford?" she said and everyone in the hall gets a shock.

His eyes glimmer with something that makes my stomach twist—not kindness, not empathy, but triumph. “What if I told you,” he whispers again, slower this time, “that Aaron King has killed before?” The words slam into me. My breath stutters, my body freezes. I shake my head, choking on a sob. “You’re lying.” Kian leans closer, his lips brushing my ear, his voice low enough to sound like sin. “His wife, Lena. Jennifer. You’ve heard whispers, haven’t you? How she drowned in her own bathtub? How Aaron never quite explained the details?”

Something in me snapped. I wasn't a helpless, trembling woman. I wasn't just a wife or a mother or a pregnant distraction in this trap. I was an assassin. I had been forged in blood and pain long before I'd ever found Killian. And if Vincent wanted a monster, oh, I could be one. My fingers found the knife strapped beneath my dress. The weight of it was familiar, like an old friend. And then I moved. With one sharp twist of my body, the blade slid into the side of his throat. His eyes went wide, shock freezing his features.

My mother, Samantha, believed I was born a liar. Because she was deceived by my father's sweet words in her youth and abandoned after giving birth to me and my sister, Mia, she harbored a deep, bitter hatred for lies. She begged a witch for two magic rings. The rule was simple: if the wearer lied, the ring would glow red and burn them with magic. Mia's ring never hurt her, even when she broke a vase and blamed it on me. But if I simply said, "I'm thirsty," my ring would sear my flesh until I screamed. At first, I tried to defend myself, but Mom would just say, "The ring doesn't lie. Only through repeated punishment can your wicked soul be cleansed." After thousands of burns, even I started t

His fingers shook as he swept a cold smile across the crowd. “The memory decoder is a new product. Data misalignment is normal. Maybe Finn altered the memories before he died to drag his wife down with him. After all, he’s a murderer who even dared to kill his wife's parents!” A team member burst in, face ashen, shouting, “Chief! Another murder just happened in the south district! The victim was carved up and had bones severed—the method is exactly the same!” Linda struggled to her feet. She looked at me slumped in the chair, long devoid of life, her whole body shaking.

The Wi-Fi had been connected long ago, so I pressed the button. With that tap, every viewer's screen switched to a secretly recorded video. It was Ethan and Vanessa, inside my living room… and even my bedroom… being intimate. Of course, the key parts were fully censored. They were tangled up so tightly and got completely caught up in the moment. "Her pelvis has a condition… and the baby is big. She might not make it if it's a natural birth. "Even if she survives the birth, she could lose a lot of blood afterward, or suffer a serious fluid blockage. I've seen a lot."