Mr Mercedes Book Review Novels & Stories

Mercedes puckered her lips and looked at Rivera with aggrieved red eyes. Rivera was taken aback. "What?" Did she say something wrong? "You don't know anything about me at all!" Mercedes exclaimed in grievance and stomped her feet. She looked just like a cute child who had just been bullied. At that moment, a surge of embarrassment rushed through Rivera, and her cheeks reddened. Mercedes was right. Mercedes knew everything about Rivera, but Rivera didn't even know anything beyond the surface.

Hearing and absorbing everything Mercedes had said, I let out a low, deliberate scoff. Honestly, even though I was in the deepest agony of my life—hoping and praying desperately for my brother’s recovery—I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. It came out extremely soft, almost under my breath. I looked up at Mercedes and asked calmly, “Are you done speaking?” She arranged her dress with a boastful flourish, as if she had just delivered the best advice in the world, and nodded. “Yes! I am done!” she replied. “And I hope you grabbed the point from what I said and will throw that bitch out of your—”

There were a few times when they tried to overtake some other car, and since they did not decelerate in time, they almost crashed their cars. In the end, the Mercedes completely disappeared from view, leaving them in the dust. Malfoy and the others were fuming. “What the f*ck…” Malfoy slammed his steering wheel after losing sight of the Mercedes. He roared, “Who the f*ck is that punk? He drives a Mercedes sedan like a race car!” The others were speechless. “He’s good.” “Did he do something with his car?” “Ridiculous!” Malfoy refused to accept this embarrassing defeat.

Taking a deep breath, I killed the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the neighborhood sounds - the distant wail of a siren, the rhythmic beat of a boombox, the hushed voices of my neighbors. The Mercedes looked like an alien here. Gleaming obsidian against the backdrop of sun-baked brick and cracked asphalt, it was a spacecraft landed in a junkyard. I parked half a block away just to avoid attention, even though I knew it was pointless. People notice things that don’t belong. And this car didn’t just not belong—it screamed it. It practically vibrated with wealth and privilege in this neighborhood, a place where most folks were just trying to keep their heads above water.

Not even one finger. “Bitch,” Don Fabrizio said eventually, “you're nothing but a whore and a cheapskate who'd let a drug baron's son take you and have the gall and audacity to brag about it while in captivity. Have you no shame?” Mercedes smiled and replied, “None, not even in the least. I have no regrets... And I would gladly do it again... Now if you won't do something about what I've just told you, then I suggest you leave me be.. My baby needs to rest.”

I have been his rock, his friend, and partner in every sense. And then suddenly without any indication at all, Adrian's attitude transformed as though a full sun broke out on a winter morning; a very broad grin increased across his face. "I have a Mercedes Benz of model 2025," he uttered, trying to restrict his voice, though betraying extreme enthusiasm almost close to excitement. He practically spoke, free from any grammatical conventions, like a child announcing to all that he or she has just received a birthday gift, and I just followed him as much as the enthusiasm he himself were overflowing with. I couldn't help but feel some tinge of envy along with admiration as I looked toward the w

The issue was that Mercedes was as resilient as an overstuffed suitcase that would flip back open no matter how hard you tried to zip it shut. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Elders?” I humphed. So they've started considering Luna candidates. -

BIOGRAPHY Mercedes M. Yardley is a dark fantasist who wears stilettos, red lipstick, and poisonous flowers in her hair. She is the author of the short story collection Beautiful Sorrows, the novellas Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love and Little Dead Red, and the novels Nameless: The Darkness Comes and Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy. She often speaks at conferences and teaches workshops on several subjects, including personal branding and how to write a novel in stolen moments. Mercedes lives and works in Sin City with her family and menagerie of Strange and Unusual Pets. You can reach her at www.abrokenlaptop.com.

Mercer said, his voice steady. He moved toward the window and stared outside for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “But I need to understand something about what happened out there. Your gift. Has this ever happened before? Have you ever been unable to read someone?” “Never,” I said quietly. “Scars is the first.” Mercer released a heavy breath and shook his head. “He’s full of surprises.” “Yeah, he is.” [That is the understatement of the century. This man has spent years making federal agencies look incompetent. Surprise is basically his personality.]

Mercedes smiled. The threesome didn’t see her when she stepped into the room. What a heartwarming scene with Lizzy and James perched on William’s lap as he read them a nursery story. Mercedes had memorized the story when she was young, but it amazed her to hear William tell it. He added excitement, made the characters come to life, entertaining his children—and her—beyond belief. Warmth spread through her heart toward the man who might be unlawful. His ability to love his children and servants unconditionally made her question those doubts about him. Could someone so caring really be mean, and dishonest?