Novel & Cerita Motley Crue Books

I feel my hands sweating with nervousness. I can hear the cars stopping in front of the house. Slowly I walk to the wall-size windows, and I peak out. I am curious to see my future dear husband. One thing is for sure. He should sleep with one eye open because I might kill him in his sleep and become a black widow. I have no problem with that. I close my eyes, shaking my head. I think my books have a bad influence on me. This would be a good plot. I make a mental note to write that story. A mafia story. Who knows. It might even be a best-selling story.

I cough when it raises a puff of dust into the air on its way. “I gave you all the ones with more pictures,” Roger murmurs, closing his book and reaching for his next as well. “Wanted to make it easy on you.” My mouth drops open in a little outrage at his implication there but then I see the upturned corner of his lip. “Liar,” I say, smiling down at my book as I open the cover. The title page reads A Complete History of the Cults of the Dark God, 1862. “You just didn’t want to get your hands and clothes dusty touching all these old ones.” Passively, I gesture to my clothes – which are indeed covered in a light layer of grey library dust.

It’s plain, with no writing, and thin maybe only twenty pages. “That is everything I have on Grimalkins, if there is any other information out there on what you are then I don’t know about it.” He shifts forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, “Tell me Crimson, what do you know about yourself? I will try to fill in the gaps as much as I can. And hopefully, that book will help you understand what you are.”

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Sherly listened attentively as the reporter's voice filled the vehicle, detailing the recent events in the ongoing mafia conflict. "The latest reports indicate that the long-standing rivalry between the Vile Mafia and the Rui Lin Mafia has reached a violent climax," the reporter announced gravely. Sherly looked out of the window, as she already knew its content. "In a decisive battle earlier today, the Rui Lin Mafia emerged victorious, effectively dismantling the Vile Mafia's hold on the city."

Monster “Stop fucking looking at it.” Gritting my teeth, I tore the tablet out of Havoc’s hands. He was trying not to smirk at least, which was more than anyone else in The Drunken Otter. Pope and Cyber were giggling like schoolgirls smoking their first joint. They weren’t even trying to hide it. And who could blame them? I would be laughing too if our roles had been reversed. “Fucking perverts.”

Perhaps that was the point: perhaps whoever did this wanted to hide that book. Caitlin had seen chaos throughout her career in bookstores and libraries—but she’d never encountered anything like this. Not only were there so many books, but they were also each so rare, so valuable. She was astonished. She’d never seen such an abundance of riches under one roof. Some of the books that she’d already passed through her hands, she knew, would be worth millions of dollars on the open market. Why had anyone treated them this way?

I have been dealing with so much shit that I don’t know how I am still breathing. It’s been one year since I took over the Italian mafia, everything is going well, Killian and I moved into a big house where the Irish and the Italian don’t exist. Here we are just a couple, a normal, regular couple. In here we don’t discuss work and we don’t mention anything from the outside. This is our safe haven and that’s how I want to keep it. No guns inside the house, no discussions about anything. Theo and Elliot spend more time here than anywhere else, its almost like they moved in with us.

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Before disregarding any notion of embarrassment, I pushed the door open. Giovanni was laid on the bed, one arm folded behind his head while the other clutched a book. His long muscular legs were crossed at the ankles and I gulped audibly at how irresistible he looked. “Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment again?” I asked as irritation itched at my throat. Giovanni remained stoic, his eyes still trained on the novel in his hand. I sat on the end of the bed, staring at his nonchalant form. The title in his hand caught my eye, ‘La Divina Commedia’. (The Divine Comedy) I smiled at the book in his hand.