Off The Clock Book Novels & Stories

Cassia stared at the clock on the wall as it struck midnight, her palms slick with nervous sweat. The card in her pocket was a constant reminder of what was coming. Room 7. Midnight. Live demonstration. The words had burned into her skin since the moment he handed it to her.

Cole’s POV. The grandfather clock in the corner of my study ticked loudly, each second marking the countdown to my own execution. It was 2:00 AM. Sunday morning. I sat behind my desk, surrounded by stacks of documents that represented the dismantling of my life. A glass of amber whiskey sat untouched near my hand. I rubbed my temples, staring at the transfer orders on my laptop screen. Liquidation of Private Assets: Approved. Offshore Trust Fund for S. Adams: Pending.

As was the section on "Strategic Alliances: Knowing Who to Trust and Who to Watch." Finally, I glanced at the antique clock on the desk and realized with a start that nearly an hour had passed. I needed to get ready. I closed the book carefully and returned it to its place on the shelf. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught on another book, this one was slim and bound in white leather: "The Luna's Gift: Understanding Your True Power." I pulled it from the shelf, but when I opened it, the pages were blank. Completely blank, as if the book had never been written in or the ink had somehow faded entirely.

Until I read the text "The clock is ticking and you have only a few days, nasty slut. My smile fell.

"Off the ice." "I'm fifteen minutes late, that's literally it, I'm not—" "I don't care if it's five minutes or fifty minutes." I walked closer, close enough that everyone could hear this part clearly, cause honestly at that point I wanted them to hear it. "Last night I stood right here and told this whole team, you included, that I expected everyone on time, no excuses. You said you understood that." "I do understand, I just—" "Then act like it." "There was traffic, and my alarm didn't go off, what do you even want from me right now—"

The locker room after a championship win is its own specific universe. Noise that has texture to it, the particular layered sound of people who pushed past what they thought they had and found something on the other side of it. Rohan has somehow acquired a full bottle of sparkling water which he shakes and opens at Matty who retaliates with an entire water bottle and within ninety seconds, Coach is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and the expression of a man who has decided to let this run for exactly two more minutes.

CLARA'S POV The 48-hour clock began its final countdown at midnight. By 3:00 AM. I sat at the master console in Ares’s obsidian office, wearing an immaculate black suit. The high, structured collar completely hid the heavy silver band around my neck. The air inside the locked study smelled of stale espresso and the cold, metallic ozone of hyper-threaded servers.

The digital clock on the penthouse microwave read 2:14 AM. Liam sat cross-legged on the edge of the leather sofa, wrapped tightly in the heavy velvet duvet Jaxson had given him the night before. The penthouse was dead quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the central AC and the distant, muted horn of a taxi down on the streets.

POV: Jaxon I read it at 11:58. Two minutes early. Because I'd been watching the clock since ten and at 11:58 I couldn't wait anymore and I opened it with the particular braced quality of someone who'd seen the shape of the thing coming and was about to find out how bad the actual thing was. Not as bad as it could've been. Bad enough.

If there will be any. The clock from above struck heavily, signalling the commencement of a new hour and Harold sighed. Whether he liked it or not, the contest was drawing nigh and he wasn't prepared physically, mentally and emotionally and instead of preparing to become a better person, he was there, picking sharp objects off the floor and cleaning books with a rag that smelt awfully.