Outer Banks: Dead Break Novels & Stories

But he was interrupted by the door swinging open. "Shawn chill, you can't kill her yet." I heard a unfamiliar voice say. I opened my eyes to see another very intimidated man in the door way. He seemed very casual. No shirt, messy hair. It honestly seemed as though he had just got laid considering all the bruises on his neck. "She's our bait, she has to stay alive until they come for her." He said nonchalantly. Shawn clutched the gun tightly in his hand as he kept the gun perfectly aligned with my skull.

Abe stared expressionlessly at the fallen Breaker. The dark aura that surrounded the Dark God’s Divine Servant was no more. The little assassin was severely battered. His chest was a mess, and several of his ribs were broken. His heart had been completely obliterated, and if it wasn’t because of his special constitution, he would have long given up the ghost.

I blacked out from the pain. When I came to, my body ached all over, and my head was spinning. I realized I was sick. Francesca walked in. I tried to sit up but collapsed back onto the bed. She looked down at me from above. Her face was smug with triumph. "So, when are you going to sever your mate bond with Charalambos? "Francine, I killed your pup, and what did he do to me? Nothing. Isn't it obvious? He loves only me."

DEBBY’S POV __________________________________ Dark hum. Machines breathing. My heart a metronome. The world’s a black ocean, thick and endless, pressing down. I try to move, but the dark swallows my limbs, slow and heavy, like syrup. Somewhere far off, a voice cuts through. “Where’s the map?” Levin. Rough, desperate. Then another voice — clipped, official, too clean. A cop maybe. “You’ve been withholding evidence, Levin. The docks burned. People died. You think we’re just gonna let that slide?”

We ran. The Dead Oak was a blackened skeleton, massive, hollowed by fire years ago. Fen stood beneath it, arms folded, tattoos coiling up his neck like smoke. Marek was beside him, too relaxed, too sure. Behind them, three more Exile-wolves waited, eyes sharp, bodies tense. Fen didn’t look at us as we arrived. He just stared into the hollow trunk, face unreadable. Kael stepped forward, all teeth and threat. “What is this?”

Ella Pezzano died in the flames at Costa Estate. The woman standing here was Luna Kane, heir to the Kane family. No one would ever hurt me again. Three days later, the yacht reached Norvale Port. Our car rolled into the wealthy district downtown. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the bustling night view of all of Norvale stretched out before us. I stood by the window, gazing at the glittering lights, but I felt nothing. … Third-person POV Back at Costa Estate, Vincenzo had already begun his retaliation against the Camorra family.

In his time as a True Crime writer, Byron had interviewed many people, many of them disturbed or troubled in some way. In these interviews, he would often run up against what he called The Breakdown, to the point where, due to the pressures of telling him their story a person would hit an unknown well of feelings and just… shut down, usually in a maelstrom of tears. They always recovered but it was at a point that Byron always hated, even dreaded.

She just turned on her heel and walked away, her boots crunching through the spreading pool of blood like it was nothing. I couldn’t breathe. I Could Not Breathe. “What the fuck—” I gasped, stepping backward, nearly tripping over my own feet. “What the fuck was that?!” Hoodie Guy’s expression didn’t change. He looked at the dead man, then at the brunette, and finally, back at me. “Bad timing,” he told me quietly. “Bad—?!” My voice cracked. “Someone just—she just killed him!” He sighed, like I was overreacting. “Yeah. That tends to happen in situations like this.”

The vibrations of a subterranean engine rumbled through the ancient stone floor, vibrating straight through the wood of the broken chair beneath me. “Quiet down, Ebu,” Detective Rowan Black barked from somewhere beyond the thick copper-plated barrier, his voice sounding thin, strained, and entirely stripped of its usual smooth authority. “The transport from the Darkwater Freight Dominion is already idling at the surface. If you don’t want to be dragged up there in chains, you’ll stay exactly where you are.”

Rook’s cold voice snapped over the sub’s intercom: "Brace yourselves. We’re going in— no turning back.” Approaching the Wreckage Suddenly... Massive floodlights blazed, cutting through the dark abyss, illuminating the twisted remains of The Black Fortress. Its shattered hull loomed... like a steel grave... waiting to close in. An Unwelcome Signal The emergency comms crackled, spitting harsh static... And then... We heard it. Damien’s broken voice... weak but steady. "Leave... while you still can." The Trap Springs Before anyone could respond... The ocean exploded.