Matthew Shepard Wiki Novels & Stories

"Try impossible. Why are you here, Matt? I don't understand." "I think I told you that I've taken a disability retirement from the Air Force, right?" Summer nodded. "Was that real? Were you honestly hurt?" Matt tugged up the hem of his shorts to show the bottom edge of the surgical scar on his hip. "Yeah." Then he turned to show her the collection of angry welts on his back. "Everything I ever told you in the dreams is true. You want my sister or my mom's phone numbers? Hell, look them up. They're in the book. Sarah Warren and Tanya and Mike Stephens, all of Morgan's Creek, Texas."

“Let’s kill the bastard.” That’s why I trusted him. Matthew wasn’t just a lawyer. He was a weapon, sharp, relentless, and just as damaged as I was. We weren’t born into war, but we learned to survive one. And back then, when I was just twenty-three and too furious to breathe, he was the only one who stood beside me. I had nothing then. No name that meant anything, no title, no fortune—just a trail of bruises and memories I couldn’t drink away.

“Police arrested Wilmington photographer Richard Baimbridge earlier this evening on suspicion of murder in connection with the case of missing twenty-three-year-old Ashleigh Matthews.” Martha had taken a Percocet tablet that left her groggy and thick-tongued. “Oh, Richie,” she moaned as they played video of Richard being paraded through a crowd of reporters and pushed into the back of a police car. Tears streaked Pearl’s cheeks and collected on her chin.

“He was a bully. He tried to force himself on me… again. I pushed him away, but then she came. She killed him. I didn’t stop it.” Matthew had just sat there, stunned. No questions. No judgment. When I looked down in shame, expecting disgust, he’d only said: “Never tell anyone else. Not unless you want to. This stays between us.” I nodded then. I didn’t know what to think of him—why he still wanted to help me after what he’d seen. But it warmed something buried deep under the fear. Now, the bus hissed to a stop, and the silence of Cavenshade engulfed us. Matthew stood first and offered his hand.

Williamson and Dalton grabbed Matt by his arms and pulled him away from the desk. “Get off me!” Matt exclaimed. “No!” Williamson yelled. “Sheriff! You’re going to hurt yourself. Stop!” Lawrence yelled as he stepped around the glass. Williamson and Dalton dragged Matt back against the wall. “Damn it, Matt!” Williamson roared. Matt didn’t know how long he had struggled against them. He just remembered that his strength left him. Dalton and Williamson slowly loosened their hold. Matt had enough strength left to grab Williamson’s collar on his uniform. “I had a son, Curt. I had a son and now he’s dead. Damn it, he’s dead,” Matt cried with anguish. “I lost my son and I lost her.” Water stung his

“We gave him five years of silence. He should’ve stayed dead.” That was the thing about ghosts. When they came back, they never came quietly. Matteo had once been my hammer. My shadow. The kind of man who didn’t blink when ordered to burn someone alive. He’d been loyal until he wasn’t—until he started talking to the Bureau. Feeding them scraps, trying to trade me for immunity. What he got instead was a bullet to the gut and a watery grave off Pier 13. Or so I thought. My jaw clenched as I stared at the heat signature on the screen. Alive. Walking. Breathing. Speaking again, apparently.

CIARA The silence in the elevator is uncomfortable and bothersome. The transaction logs were clear: the syndicate was closing in on our son’s home location despite all we did to keep him safe. My son.... Our son. The world thought Mathew was just the stoic, brooding fighter and billionaire playboy then they thought he was an asset I threw at corporate disputes. Nobody knew about his crazy obsession tò the woman I became, nobody knew that the child with Mathew’s dark, hyper-vigilant eyes was currently tucked away behind a triple-layered security detail because his existence would tear the lots of empires to pieces.

He took out his camera from his jacket's pocket and stopped to take a picture. Matthew loved those moments of tranquillity where he could sing as loudly as he wanted, surrounded by silence and beauty. He kept walking until he spotted familiar silhouettes. He stopped and took off the earphones. "You disappointed me." "Sir, I am sorry, but they were so many and stronger," Matthew raised an eyebrow when he recognized one of the hunters who attacked Levi the other day. Spencer was his name. "I told you to get more men! You failed your mission once again!" the stranger shouted.

he finally replied. Yes, the fugitive they are looking for is Matthew Patt, the hitman who killed the mayor of Detroit, Michigan, 26 years ago. Matthew Patt was a skilled sniper who often killed many people according to his clients' requests. And that time, he was caught because he forgot to wear his headgear after successfully shooting the mayor from an empty building.

It was the love that I couldn't give. 'Then be decent to her at least' my wolf said. Yeah, I should do better. Try to listen to her more and spend time... "Alpha" Busta's voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I followed him as we walked into my office. Hardin sat comfortably and I sat on my chair. "What's up?" "We got news that Matthew is alive. And being held hostage in a facility" he sat up, shock written over his face. "Matthew? That's impossible. We buried him"