Less Than Zero Book Novels & Stories

I was packing my hospital bag, weighed down by my belly, when I noticed a note sitting on the table. 'Babe, there's a planetary alignment that only happens once every 77 years and I just got pulled through a time portal. Don't miss me. See you when I see you.' The bag slipped from my hands and hit the floor. My husband, Jasper Wynn, had snuck off again behind my back, abandoning his wife who was days away from giving birth. In our three years of marriage, the excuses he came up with were getting more and more ridiculous than the last.

It was Damian Knight’s voice when he said, “You belong to me.” Because a part of her believed him. And a darker part didn’t want to argue. She stood restlessly and wandered the room. Her fingers trailed along the bookshelves. Most were hardbound. Thick, glossy, untouched. Titles like Power & Play, Behavioral Strategy, and Psychology of Loyalty. One book was crooked. She tilted her head. It was the only one not aligned with the rest. She reached out. Pulled it. Nothing happened. No secret door. No dramatic reveal.

But upon her return, Abigail had placed a drug into Kelsa's glass of wine as well. Abigail made them toast to her friend. "This is my best friend, Grace Books. She is twenty years today and I want to make a toast to her. Happy Birthday my dear. May you live long to see many more happy years like today. Cheers!" Everyone clinged their glasses and drunk happily. Kelsa didn't want to take the drink but Abigail persuaded. Moreover, she didn't want to offend Abigail. Therefore, she took a sip. "Drink more! It's a party, come on. Don't be such a killjoy." Abigail forcibly persuaded Kelsa into drinking all.

AMELIA “I can’t believe it didn’t work,” I grunted in anger as I stabbed the sword into the book, and it did nothing. “It’s empty now, but a piece of useless old shit.” The book was around four inches thick. The hardcover seemed to be made of animal skin. The smell was like an old rotten dead rat. I was expecting suggestions, but everyone’s mouth was shut this time. “Really?” My eyes narrowed at them. “Now I need your unsolicited advice and you’ve got nothing. You, Theia. You’re very opinionated. What do you have in mind?”

He threw the file into the garbage can. "What about this one?" Miguel showed Elijah the file. "Really, Miguel? Do I look like I have time to deal with a walking, talking inferiority complex?" He said and threw another file in the garbage can. "Well, we have only one candidate left." Miguel picked up the file of Desiree Hilton from the table. "You have to admit, she is our best option." "She is also a cocky, spoiled brat," Elijah reminded Miguel. "So what now? Do you want me to arrange another interview?"

CASSANDRA The pulsing between my thighs just won’t go away. It’s been there since my lesson yesterday with Rhett, along with a tingling sensation like I’ve been transformed into a bubbling can of lemon seltzer. I press my legs together as I lounge on the green velvet chaise in my room. I’m reading a book Clarisse brought me from the outside world. It’s a romance novel entitledBuilt from Stoneabout a girl who goes hiking and gets caught in a storm, only to be rescued by a rough mountain man who takes her home to his cabin where…thingshappen.

Don't just skip this book again; add to library. Enjoy! Your loving author; Natasha Gwen

They sure do act high and mighty, thinking they wanted to save the world yet in reality, they wanted to rule the world. I had now finally realized by the novel ‘In the name of Psychopaths’ written by Zero, had a rating of one out of five and there were a lot of angry readers who commented on the book because of the plot and the ending. A lot of readers even dropped the story out of anger and lost interest, and I belong to the latter. What's more mysterious was the comment that I happened to read in the comment section of the novel.

The fact that the perfect stranger is following with sobbing nods, tells me this is not the first dangerous situation she’s been in. Chapter 1.25 How Many Zeros - Rourke

Competence, she learned, was its own narcotic. When the espresso cooled and the study lamps took over the sun’s job, the lesson shifted to people. Lenny dragged a leather-bound book from the drawer and opened it like a priest revealing relics. Names and notes, not just debts: a bastard child’s birthday, a father’s surgery, a wife’s second attempt at sobriety. Tiny biographies of leverage and loyalty. Margins wore small griefs in pencil; some lines had been pressed hard enough to cut the paper.