Murder By Choice Novels & Stories

She had slammed right into the innocent victim. Zachary saw the footage too. Just before Gigi was arrested by the police, Zachary rushed to Gigi's house in a frenzy and stabbed her. It felt like he had looked up the most effective way to kill someone. As soon as he stabbed her, blood gushed out of her. Gigi crumpled to the floor, her eyes wide with shock. She died before the ambulance even got there. The police were alerted and came right over to arrest Zachary. Looking into the camera of a surrounding spectator who was recording on his phone, he tearfully cried out, "I've avenged you, Mom!"

"When the earthquake hit, Kayla knew the ceiling was coming down. But she only cared about saving herself! She jumped out the window and left Tristan to die. If she hadn't abandoned him, he never would've lost his legs! She's a cold-blooded murderer!" Fiona whipped toward me, her eyes bloodshot. Then she saw my perfectly fine legs. And snapped. "Kayla, you vicious bitch! How are you standing there without a scratch while my son's about to lose his legs? I'll make you pay!"

If the law cannot bring you to justice, I will do it for Holly! Holding a knife, George angrily threw himself at Clifford. Clifford instinctively took a step backward but quickly stopped. He carefully pulled out a voodoo doll from within his jacket and mumbled, "The priest said that I will stand another chance with Holly if the voodoo doll is stained with my blood. I am too cowardly to take my own life, so I guess you're doing me a favor here." I did not pay him any attention. Crying, I ran over to George. "You'll get sentenced for murder! Are you an idiot?"

I pressed my trembling hand to my mouth, terrified of making a sound. My baby was dead. Because he was sleeping with Bianca—the orphaned daughter of his mother's best friend. Because he pulled security to please his mistress. He chose to save Bianca, and let our son die. And I never even got to see his face. The pain was so immense it felt like my heart was being torn from my chest. After Massimo left, I used my last ounce of strength to get back to my room and collapse onto the bed. Chained to this wheelchair, I was too weak to get revenge.

"What about you? Are you going to talk to Mirabel again?" "I don't know. Maybe." She picked at a thread on her sleeve. "She has kids, Anthony. Two little girls who don't know anything about what their mother did. If we destroy Mirabel, we destroy them too." "That's not our responsibility." "Isn't it? We're the ones making the choice to go public. We're the ones who will decide whether those kids grow up with a mother who's hated by everyone." I understood what she was saying, but I didn't agree. "Mirabel made her choices. She doesn't get to hide behind her kids to avoid consequences."

Aaron informed him, watching the group of people gathered trying to see what was going on behind the yellow tape. "This scene seems familiar." Chad suddenly said, drawing Aaron's attention away from the group. "It is?" He asked his partner who didn't respond to the question. Aaron begged God for patience to deal with his frustrating partner. "In LA, there were three murders, all females. The killer specialized in cutting people up like parts to be used in a sacrifice. I actually admired how clean he could be, doing something this delicate and not leaving a single trace of himself.... splendid, isn't it?" Chad turned his light grey eyes to Aaron's baby dark blue eyes. Aaron gave himself a men

"You have no idea what you're talking about, boy. " "I understand plenty," I cut him off. "I understand that you're a murderer and a fraud. And now, you have a choice to make." I tapped the stack of documents on his desk. "Option one: I release all of this to the authorities. The Miller Group goes down in flames, and you spend the rest of your life in a federal prison." "Or?" he asked, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Or," I continued, "you confess. To Mom's death, ."

“Here's what makes sense to me and what will make sense to a judge. You used your keys to open the door to a room that purposely left empty. You snatched the girl, kept her in your workshop for a while before you took her into the room and killed her, with your wook working tools.” “Um, no offense, but how the hell does that make any sense? If I had the girl in my workshop, with no one knowing, why the hell would I move her from the private, secluded place and bring her into the motel, putting her right next door to customers, my livelyhood none the less, to murder her. Knowing people would hear the screams. How is that smart?” “Well-”

Then, I continued to talk. “The story is all about two young women who accidentally killed their teacher because he tried to abuse them. They erased all the evidence that will connect them to their crime, and they buried the corpse of their teacher underneath their school garden. Mantus Taylor wrote ten rules to be a murderer in the prologue of the novel.” I said to them, “Rule number one; accuse someone of the crime you did, rule number two; be a liar, rule number three; be smart, rule number four; choose an appropriate weapon, and rule number five; create a strong alibi. Those are the primary rules to be a better murderer,” I explained.

A man's voice, pleasant, almost bored, telling her exactly how little her escaping mattered to how this ended — the words arriving not as memory but as something happening to her right now, in the car, in broad daylight, gulls still screaming somewhere very far away. She'd have died in that container. Not almost, not narrowly — actually died, the way people actually did, if Alessandro had been a single street further away, if Marco had moved half a second slower, if any one of a dozen things that had gone right that night had instead gone the ordinary, unremarkable way things usually did. She understood, with a clarity that made it worse rather than better, that she had spent weeks treating