Manacled Cover Art Novels & Stories

"You're beyond saving." Ralph lost his patience and waved people forward. "Hurry up! Bring the kid to Mr. Burgess." "Dad!" Luke clutched my arm tightly. I patted his back. "Don't be scared. I'm here." Just as one of the burly men reached for Luke's arm, a dart sliced through the air and slammed into his forearm. Blood sprayed instantly. I covered Luke's eyes. "Aaaah!" The scream echoed across the beach. The next second, five jet black helicopters dropped from the sky, shark head insignias painted on their sides. The massive rotors whipped up a violent wind, knocking beach umbrellas sideways.

I pick up my book and look at the cover, holding it open so I don’t lose my page. The man on the cover is wearing a long blue military jacket with red trim and yellow trousers. The woman has on an elaborate gown and is leaning her head against his bare chest, her own gown falling down around her lower arms, her breasts spilling out the top like a melon cart that’s been tipped on its side.

It was at the same exclusive gallery from before, but this time, it was empty, save for the two of them. In the center of the main room, covered by a large black velvet cloth, was a massive print. "This is our masterpiece," Marcus said, his voice filled with pride. "This is the truth." He pulled away the cloth, revealing the photograph. It was a huge, stark, black and white image of Alex from the day before. He was on his hands and knees, his face a mask of pure ecstasy, his body slick with sweat. And behind him, Marcus was visible, his body tensed as he came inside him. The image was raw, explicit, and incredibly beautiful. It was the most intimate, most vulnerable moment of Alex's life, ca

He reminds me of Uncle Craig, charismatic and bold—deceptively so. My fourth captor is smaller than the others and less confident. He stands to the side, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to shrink in on himself, but that doesn’t make him appear any smaller. His expression is bitter, a permanent scowl etched onto his face. Unlike the others, he isn’t looking at me, but at the fifth and final man in the room—almost as if searching for approval. Alexander Mancini is the man on whom I focus. XXX

That had possibilities, if it wasn’t all crap. The old man at the front, a bundle of wild whiskers and armpit hair long enough to braid, wiped his nose on his Grateful Dead shirt and thumbed through the book. The image on the shirt caught Jon’s eye. It was a skeleton in blue, carrying a bindle in one hand and a red rose in the other. Arms outstretched, head upwards, it was about to step off a cliff. There was something there. The red rose— “This is kind of a collector’s item,” the old man said, distracting him.

But there's nothing classy about the brightly colored Huntington Manor merchandise scattered all over the room. I walk over to one of the toppled tables. T-shirts of every color lie in piles on the floor, and I reach down and hold one up. It's neon green and has a stylized image of the house embroidered in purple thread on the front. The words "Huntington Manor" are stitched in cursive below. I drop it back in the pile. A couple of feet away, a mannequin lies in pieces. I bend over and hoist it upright again. It's wearing one of the T-shirts and a pair of jeans with "Huntington Manor" sewn in metallic thread on the back pockets. Seriously? This place has branded jeans?

he'd mentioned might've been one of the thugs involved. As it turned out, I didn't end up just learning about the so-called friend's name—I even learned the entire story behind the deliberate cover-up. I was going to reveal the truth the next day and destroy Joshua with one lethal blow. In a way, I would also be giving Sabrina a very memorable divorce. After making all the necessary arrangements, I drowsily went back to sleep. In my dreams, I felt as though someone kept asking me the same question over and over. "If you really didn't care, then why would you still bother with the antidepressants?"

Manik smiles. The white Iru enveloping him vanishes. “Harasho is the most reasonable dogma. You can say that it projects the current life.” Manik reaches into his jacket pockets and draws their contents. There are two books on his hands. A pink book with a couple smiling at each other on a heart frame on the cover is on his right hand and a red book with a short hair woman crying on the cover is on his left hand. “Which Doujin do you like, Your Highness?” Manik asked.

Adam glanced back down at the page, a faint smirk returning. “Man handled it though,” he murmured. “Didn’t panic, didn’t fumble it… just stayed in it.” He closed the book halfway again, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. “Still… that’s not for everybody,” he added. “Takes a certain kind of mindset to even step into something like that.” He looked at the cover for a second, then back at the pages. “This book really doesn’t miss,” he said under his breath. Then, without hesitation—

There's no doubting the strength that lives there. I felt powerful and helpless at once as he took my body with pounding thrusts. I didn't need to be told that I was being punished for that smile. But instead of feeling annoyed, I was gleeful. The great Hank Mancini was losing his shit because I looked at a guy too long. I hid my grin by reaching for his lips. I couldn't hide the laugh when he bit my lip though. "Oh you think this shit is funny?" Oh boy. *** MANCINI