Marc Cameron Books Novels & Stories

The other one added. Henry Cambert is a well-known author, and there's no denying that he's really talented. He's been awarded as a best-selling author multiple times, and his novels are famous in different parts of the world. There's no denying that he really is a treasure of the country when it comes to his talent. But, it will not change the fact that he is a monster. There is also one thing that Amara somehow discovered from his novels. She found out many similarities of his novels to his real life. It's as if his novels are his veiled journals of his crimes.

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Damon shrugged, pushing his head forward to a book that was placed on the man's table, and the title that was written by the side was vivid, at least, enough for him to see. “That book,” he announced, raising an eyebrow. “Walking free by Dr. Munjed Muderis, in the year 2014.” “You've read it already?” The man kept revealing the shock on his face, after every word that left his mouth. “Yes,” Damon replied almost immediately, placing one hand in his pocket. “About three times to be precise, so yeah, that should be an easy guess.” “Then why did you use two options?” the man questioned, squinting.

“Alright. Let’s start from the beginning. How did you find her? How long have you known? And… how do we know you’re not part of the madness?” Cameron’s gaze hardened, dark and stormy. “Because I’ve been tracking Mara, studying her moves. Because I’d die before I let her hurt her - or you, or anyone she uses as leverage. Because I am not a part of the madness, I am the solution.” Rowan’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Cameron. “Alright. You’ll need to earn our trust. And it won’t be easy.” I stepped forward, placing my hand on Cameron’s arm again. “He’s earned it. I trust him.”

His clothing was soaked to him with sweat and blood. Heath sighed in relief as Sparrow stepped back to admire his workmanship and withdrew the blade from Heath’s skin. The blood itched as it trickled down his stomach to the waistband of the cheap MegaStore jeans that Cameron had brought back for him. “My mate would probably get off on this. He’s got this real pain kink.” They had moved past pretending, and he saw no reason to deny what he was any longer. He suspected that Sparrow would kill him once he determined that Heath wouldn’t give up Aislen’s location, and truly did not know where August was.

The room burst into laughter. For a moment, things felt normal again. Meanwhile — Marcus Learns Something Disturbing Marcus’s office at MAX Holdings was unusually tense. Cameron stood across from him with a tablet in hand, eyes narrowed. “We have a problem.” Marcus set down his pen. “What kind of problem?” “The man who confronted Asher yesterday—the one who said Marcus cut him off—he’s connected.” Marcus leaned back slowly. “To who?” Cameron tapped the screen, revealing a man’s face on the display. Hard. Scarred. Dead eyes.

I couldn't deny the annoyance his presence always left on me. "Marc always claims to be almighty... I can't deny he isn't, given the name and power he had built over the years. I must say, astonishing. It was worth the sight when I worked with him before," Damarc said, beating around the bushes, wasting my time even more. "So, tell me the plan. And if you don't have one, I guess I should be leaving, then, since I am guessing now that you don't," I said. "Alright. The plan isn't confirmed yet, so at the moment, I am unable to share that with you. But I will have all the information I know about Marc emailed to your mail," Damarc said. So, was he bluffing the whole time he had mentioned having

~MARLOWE~ I glanced around the room Burdock had brought us into, noting the walls were bare except for a faded Ravens insignia and a corkboard layered with maps, photos, and handwritten notes that had nothing to do with bikes. That corkboard sat like a bruise on my understanding. I’d expected leather and bravado and testosterone in a room like this, not timelines and grids and things labeled with coordinates. This wasn’t a biker club back room. This was something else wearing a biker club like a jacket.

I just waved him forward. He set the list down in front of me, fingers lingering on the edge before pulling back. “He gave them up.” I picked up the parchment. The names sprawled in jagged, uneven lines, ink smudged where his hand must have shaken. Dozens of them. Some expected. Others… gods. Wolves I’d sparred with. Shared meals with. “How bad?” I asked, not looking up. Camerin exhaled through his nose. “Broken. He’s hollowed out. I pressed him until he cracked. He gave me everything, but it cost him. Marcus isn’t a threat anymore. He’s not much of anything.”

[CAMI] Two days later, I’m on the bed flipping through a new book I’m reading when Marco shows up. He doesn’t tell me where we’re going. He just says, “Boss gave me orders,” in that half-amused, half-serious way of his. I trail behind him through the hall, my bare feet padding over cold marble. For a second I imagine bolting, sprinting in the opposite direction, but the idea is laughable. Guards are everywhere. Besides, where the fuck would I go?