Murder By Choice Novels & Stories

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

“Exactly. We both know. I would have killed him. Without hesitation. Without regret. Because that’s who I am. A killer in a nice suit pretending to be civilized.” “Stop. Just stop.” She grabbed his face. Made him look at her. “You didn’t kill him. You had the opportunity. The justification. And you didn’t. That’s proof. Real proof that you’ve changed.” “I didn’t kill him because he walked away. Not because I chose differently.” “You went there with money. Not weapons. Not a plan for violence. Money. That’s choosing differently.” “It’s choosing to outsource my violence. To pay someone else’s price instead of extracting it myself.”

"You…" Zach blurted and put on a look that made me look like I was the cheater who had broken his heart. I grabbed the hem of Leslie's shirt and said calmly, "We're done, Zach. You have no say over how I live or who I date." Zach started shaking violently, as if he was trying desperately to hold something dark inside him from escaping. I didn't spare him another glance. Instead, I turned around and left the roof. It wasn't until I was a distance away that I realized I was quaking in my boots.

she spits, her voice shaking, but her hands are tight around her fork like she’ll stab me with it if I try. “I’m not pitying you,” I growl, sharper than I mean to. My fingers curl into fists on the table. “I’m trying to get my head around it. You loved him, and you killed him. That’s not pity, that’s... fuck, that’s something I can’t even put into words.” Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t have a choice.” I lean forward, my voice low. “There’s always a choice.”

“I’ve already lost everything. What more can they take from me?” For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression an almost curious intrigue but it vanished quickly. “You have three choices,” he said. “Break and die. Run and be hunted. Or survive.” I swallowed the bump in my throat. “I choose to survive.” Damon smirked as he stood, leaving me alone in the dark, his words settling over me like a heavy shroud. I had chosen to survive. Now, I simply had to make sure I wouldn’t regret that choice…

She didn’t think, didn’t take the time to truly understand her actions; and that had resulted in the death of another person, someone that may have had a family. Gilmy stepped towards the half-breed, his eyes soft and caring. "You had no other choice, they would have taken you." "There is always a choice and I chose wrong. I had already knocked him unconscious there was no need for his death." She sobbed, staring at the ground. He took her hand, lifting it towards his lips as he spoke. "I understand your sadness, and killing never gets any easier, but you made the right choice, it was them or us."

"Please. Do it. End this. Because I can't keep being what she made me. I can't keep killing." "I'm not going to kill you, Victor." "Then I have to kill you." He started toward me. "Because those are the only options Morgan left me. Kill you or die trying. There's no third choice. There's never a third choice with her." He lunged. I pulled the trigger. The gunshot was deafening in the small room. Victor stopped. Looked down at the red spreading across his chest. "Thank you," he whispered. Then he collapsed.

Not begging. Just … steady. Like, he doesn’t want us to see him break. Then the screen cuts to black. Words appear, white text on black. The asshole is getting creative. CHOOSE. Option A: Throwing a dice. Raped. Left alive. Option B: Rigged with a bomb that will tear limb from limb. Your choice will be recorded from start to finish for you to enjoy. You have 48 hours. My vision tunnels. Holy fucking flower bats. His choice is way worse than mine. His person … dead or alive. And knowing my twin, he’s going all out psycho right now.

But watching her argue for something she clearly believes in, seeing that fire spark back to life in her eyes. "But you still chose to kill," Daniel counters, turning in his seat to face her. "Nobody forced you to take a life. You made that choice." "Sometimes there is no choice," Rae's voice gets stronger, more passionate. "Sometimes it's your life or theirs, and choosing to live doesn't make you a killer." "It literally does, though," Daniel insists with a laugh that makes my hands curl into fists. "You can dress it up however you want, but at the end of the day, you killed someone. That makes you a murderer."

Blood pooled beneath me, warm and sticky, soaking into the earth. I stared up at Marcus and Damon, standing frozen above me like statues. My brother's face was stone, but I could see tears reflecting in his eyes. Damon looked like he might be sick. This was how I died. Not in battle, not protecting my pack, not in some glorious way that would make my parents proud. I died betrayed by the two people I loved most in the world, sold like livestock to creatures I'd never even seen. The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Marcus turning away, unable to watch me take my final breath.