Murder Books Novels & Stories

BELLA The 21-year-old girl from North Carolina, missing for ten months, found dead. Suicide or murder?—the morning headline said. I was tired of hearing Mamma’s sob every time I entered this house. The more I wanted to forget what I had seen, the more I sank. The feeling of guilt seared within me, like a flame that never douted. “I don’t understand why the police are claiming it to be suicide when it isn’t,” Val said, sitting at the edge of the bed. “She goes missing for a year straight. Then, she’s found drowned in a lake.”

Killing a woman who posts no threats to her is too much. As the hired man approached Marie Arnold, his footsteps echoing softly in the dimly lit alleyway, he felt a familiar surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had always been killing, and this is the same feeling he always feels whenever he is about to kill someone. He knew what he had been tasked to do, but as he drew closer to his target, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of doubt that gnawed at the edges of his conscience.

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."

“Check this out. He documented three nearly identical murders in that same area. 1914, 1951, and 1968. All with the same pattern—slit throats, no signs of entry, houses locked tight. There’s just enough time between them that nobody made the connection—except Anthony. He noted that he was keeping an eye out for a fourth.” She turned the journal toward us. The entries were detailed and clear—maps, names, dates, and disturbing consistencies. “And now here we are,” William said, nodding slowly. “No way one person could’ve pulled off murders that far apart in age,” I noted. “Exactly,” Alexandra agreed. “Alright. I’m in. But we’re not hitting the road tonight, right?” Alexandra gave a small shrug

I sat beside her, and she immediately stretched her legs back out, her feet landing in my lap. "What are you reading?" She held up the book without looking away from the page. "A mystery novel. A detective in Victorian London." I caught sight of the cover. A woman in a low-cut dress leaned against a man in a top hat, their faces inches apart in the fog. The Scarlet Letter Murders. I grabbed the book from her hands. "Hey!" She sat up, reaching for it. I flipped through a few pages. My eyes landed on a passage. His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset…

“When we found him, he was dead.” Daniel cut me off. “In his own home. Murdered. “Time of death was around four yesterday afternoon. Before your company even left for the escape room. “The weapon was an axe. “And on the doorknob of his apartment, we recovered a fingerprint.” Daniel lifted a fingerprint comparison report. The red markings made my eyes ache. “After analysis, that fingerprint… belongs to you.”

That was beyond brutal. "What are the cops saying?" a classmate asked. "They're calling it murder. The investigation's still ongoing. I heard they didn't find any real clues at the scene. The killer was very careful," Micah said. "The creepiest part is that there were a few empty takeout boxes next to him, all greasy with oil. It was like… like someone put them there on purpose." My heart started pounding wildly. Takeout boxes? How could that be a coincidence?

One of the greatest writers of crime books and Slice of Life, dramas between real cases, was celebrating the release of his latest book. Partying with his wife, who recently got out of her depression. According to his wife, who needed to spend time with her mother, she seemed thinner, her husband saw their ten-year-old daughter, he was worried about her, due to the wave of murders in the city that was taking place, he was in the track of the murderer, collaborating with the police. He had been waiting for some time for news of some contacts with the whereabouts of Doctor Blood. About that. He was at a party with his superiors to promote his book.

" Consumed by the Mafia is my second and most popular book you can find right here on good novel. Woken Desires and Queen of Wolves you can find on W*****d to read for free. I have the same pen name and book names on that app if you want to check out my newer books.

Jean Luc could not wrap his mind around it, but maybe that was what the murderer wanted. With quickening breaths, he turned into the gaming room. His craving to resume playing the Human Apocalypse game flew out of the window. He knew the light blue inked pen that the murderer used to write the letter. Perhaps, it had RD's fingerprint somehow. He didn't know. His mind was in such a frenzy of worry that he could barely think straight.