Kronk Lines Novels & Stories

Nathan Cross The bass rattles through the floor of Vortex like a heartbeat that refuses to die. The walls are obsidian. The air? Money and heat. Desire and rot. It’s not a club. It’s a cathedral. My kingdom. My kill floor. Politicians, CEOs, celebrities, and the wives they cheat on parade through the doors like royalty. Mink, diamonds, high heels and hollow stares. Their mistresses blend right in—just different shades of plastic.

Marcus replied dryly. Marcus lifted his chin, tilting his head back to expose his throat. There, highly visible on his jawline and running down the side of his neck, was a massive, pronounced bruise. It wasn't quite as dark as Ethan's purp-ish mark, but it was easily twice the size, incredibly angry, and impossible to miss. It looked like someone had practically clawed and bit at his neck in a state of sheer, sleep-deprived desperation.

Dana’s message hit my inbox at midnight. Great exposure. Let’s talk tomorrow about next steps — network requests are rolling in. I stared at the screen, the glow painting my reflection. Somewhere in that chaos, I knew we’d crossed a line. Maybe not on paper. But in everything that mattered. And this time, the world was watching.

The moment the screen lit up, messages poured in like they had gone insane. The vibration lasted a full minute. Most were missed calls from Simon. Dozens of them. There were also several messages, mostly from him. The earliest was sent at seven in the morning. [Maren, I'm almost at the hotel. Where are you? The makeup artist can't reach you.] Then at eight: [Stop making trouble. Come over now.] Nine: [Why aren't you answering your phone? Do you know how many guests have already arrived?] Ten: [Where are you?]

Breathe. Step. Step. Look. “Pause.” This time, it was the sky. Clouds stretched wide above us, uneven shapes drifting slowly. “What do you see?” Mrs. Toria asked. “A dragon,” someone said. “A bird.” “A face.” Karl squinted. “…That one looks like you.” I turned. “Which one?” “That one,” she said, pointing vaguely. “That’s not helpful.” I glared at her. Ernest glanced up. “…I see it.”

Along with the tick in his jaw and the veins flexing in his hands as he fought to keep them unclenched. He stepped forward, causing our chests to brush against each other, and making me step back. Except there was a small problem. The door. My back was pressed against it, yet he invaded my space even more. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. My body was already craving to arch into him. But I pressed my back against the wooden surface, refusing to let any part of me submit to him, even if I wanted to. His hands remained by his sides, but his stare made it feel as if they were on my body. Everywhere. Touching me in all the places that wanted his hands to touch. I shivered. It wasn’t even f

The words withered in my throat as my gaze locked with his, entirely captive to the fierce, possessive fire that burned within his eyes. My fingers tangled desperately in the fabric of his jacket, drawing him down into the very space he sought to conquer.With a low, triumphant groan, Caleb brought his mouth down parted my lips with a ruthless force, his tongue seeking mine. He wrenched his lips from mine only to bury his face in the hollow of my neck, his teeth and tongue tracing the sensitive skin with a relentless hunger, deliberately deepening the bruises he had carved into my flesh only hours before. "Ah... Caleb, mercy," I gasped, my head falling back against the whiteboard as a violent

Nobody believed in old-fashioned values anymore. "Don't stare at them, Deke, for crap's sake." Clancy kicked his friend under the table. "I'm not staring; I'm trying to figure out what the hell that boy got painted all over himself." "It's the Chicago skyline with some other stuff. I can't remember all what he said it was again." "If the boy's painting the place on himself, you sure he's gonna want to stay around here?" "You leave him to me. Look at the two of them; don't they make a pretty picture?"

Metal. A doorknob? No. just a pipe, broken and useless. Just like me. I scream again, raw and desperate. Much louder this time. “HELP ME!” Still nothing. But then–a flicker. A sound that’s not an echo. A whisper that doesn’t come from inside my own mind. Footsteps. And they’re getting closer. The soft clacks of footwear echo faintly, distant at first, like the lazy tapping of dripping water but they grow. Louder. Closer. Not rushed. Whoever–or whatever–it is, they’re not in a hurry.

I slammed the door behind me before he could finish. *** Morning. When I woke up, Sky was already gone. At least he knows not to cross his limit. With Nora gone, I had to do my makeup myself. I have been following the tutorial videos she sent me, and since I wasn't an expert yet, I took more time because I had to wipe and redo my mistakes.