One Arranged Murder Novels & Stories

Reema and I looked at each other and then looked at Marjan. After school, I headed back home and met uncle Jacob on my way. We had a small conversation about the murder. He told me to stay cautious as everything was messed up in the town because the victim was a journalist. The police were thinking that the murder was connected to some organized crime. Perhaps that journalist found out some important evidence about some big criminal organization so they killed him. It was not a psycho killer's case. But apparently the guy who had killed him was a psycho.

It was Friday, and I couldn't wait for a day off, even though I wasn't sure how I would be spending it. My mind always seemed to travel back to Ivan, the hunters, and inevitably, Balor. I buried myself in my work, trying to push the worry, guilt, and anger away. I was the least exciting person to be around, but it seemed like Piper was the only one who cared enough to try and bring me out of the slump I had found myself stuck in. "Three victims. All male, ages ranging from eighteen to twenty-five. Multiple gunshot wounds. Seems like another murder linked to this ongoing gang war between the Black Sea and Poison Snakes." I nodded my head, pursing my lips.

Rosy muttered and I shrugged. “It is simple. He was murdered to prevent him from giving the information to you,” I muttered after we had wallowed in silence for a while. “And he was killed by the same person,” Rosy chuckled. “I wonder who he is and what he is planning right now,” she smiled and sat down, crossing her legs together. “To get him, we have to get the people working for him first. Do you have any idea?” I asked and she crooned her neck backwards. “Melinda wished that I had died in the fire with Sherry, that criminal was murdered in prison, and Mr. Martino was killed in a public restroom. All these things happened in one day,” Rosy muttered, swinging her head around.

If he didn’t act now, Schading might lose his shit, decide to take his wife hostage after all, and blow the head off his expendable tagalong, Cutter. With a rapid mental ticktock in his head counting down the seconds, One-Mile realigned his shot, curled his finger a little tighter around the trigger…and squeezed. The crack of his shot resounded in his ears as the rifle kicked back, but he stayed with the scope and watched the bullet plant itself dead center in the middle of Schading’s forehead. The would-be gunman crumpled to the concrete. Blood splattered onto the screaming woman behind him and pooled around his body.

I reach across the desk and put my hand over hers the way I did before Kira woke up, and this time there's no archive work providing cover for it, it's just the gesture itself, plain and deliberate. She turns her hand over and holds mine. "The murders were curated," I say. "From a list built years in advance. By someone who knew exactly what she was building toward and had the access and the patience to build it correctly." "Yes," Juniper says. "Then we need to know who else is on the list," I say. "Who's left. Who's next." Juniper's grip on my hand tightens fractionally. "Dante is on it," she says. "I'm almost certain."

“In my version of the story, Ms. Mills lives alone.” The assistant was astounded and looked at the corner not far away. Rory hinted at him with his gaze, and the assistant continued. “There’s only one murderer? Then the murderer threw the person off the balcony first, then changed into the same clothes as the deceased and went to the rooftop to complete the plot?”

On the other end of the line, Jared remained silent for a while. He was clearly hesitating. However, soon enough, he sent me everything without asking any questions. After skimming through the key details, I asked him how many killers there had been. “One… No, hold on. The file says two. But I remember it being just one.” His confusion sent a jolt of excitement through me. I ended the call, and my eyes were brimming with hope. We all remembered it the same way. There had only been one murderer in Aurora’s case.

His fingers shook as he swept a cold smile across the crowd. “The memory decoder is a new product. Data misalignment is normal. Maybe Finn altered the memories before he died to drag his wife down with him. After all, he’s a murderer who even dared to kill his wife's parents!” A team member burst in, face ashen, shouting, “Chief! Another murder just happened in the south district! The victim was carved up and had bones severed—the method is exactly the same!” Linda struggled to her feet. She looked at me slumped in the chair, long devoid of life, her whole body shaking.

The symbolism was impossible to ignore. "This is already the third incident," Micah said, his face pale. "What the hell is the killer trying to do?" "I think it's pretty obvious," Rita said quietly. "Every single one of them was involved in that food delivery incident." She glanced at me. "Jeremiah, are you sure you don't know what's going on?" I shook my head, but inside, that twisted rush of satisfaction surged again. John was dead. The guy who said I deserved what I got was dead, and he died in a way that matched his sin perfectly.

“You’re not a suspect for murder. It happened last night and we know exactly where you were at the time the coroner said it occurred. We just need to know why the murderer had your gun.” “It was taken from my purse during my attack,” I said. “I forgot about that until just now.” He nodded. “I suspected it was something like that.” As he turned to leave, I asked, “Who was murdered?” “A Uri Voronin,” he replied. “He was actually living in that abandoned building that you were attacked in.” “Do you think he was my attacker?” I eagerly asked. He thought for a moment. “He could be. Although, he was killed with your gun. This puts a question mark on things.”