Rdr2 Crime Novels & Stories

Jealousy they say kills. "It was nice seeing you again, Rio," I said as I shoved his ass into a chair. "Larry, book him for snatch and grab. I found this on him too," I grunted and tossed the bag of cocaine to the uniformed cop standing around like he had nothing better to do. As if there weren't things like drugs, child kidnappings, or the mafia soiling our streets. Sometimes I feel like the police were given their uniforms so they could look pretty for the magazine.

The rain returned before midnight. It was a cold rain and heavy rain. The kind that made Atlanta feel darker than usual. Detective Raymond Cole slowly lowered his pistol onto the wet concrete. Around him, over fifty armed men kept their rifles aimed directly at his chest. Red laser dots covered his body. His breathing sounded loud inside his own ears. Every officer who came with him was either dead or bleeding across the shipping yard. Police lights flashed weakly through the smoke. Bodies everywhere. The smell of blood was mixed with rainwater.

I'm not even afraid of the man sitting up there in heaven… so why would I fear a bunch of weak creatures I could gouge eyes out of with my bare hands? I love this place because crime here feels alive. It breathes. It pulses through the streets like blood through veins. I enjoy committing crimes, most especially the smell of blood. I love it more than continental dishes. I can't even count the number of people I've killed. Do I enjoy it? Of course I do. Especially when they beg for mercy. I love hearing people beg for their lives. The moment they fall to their knees… crying, pleading, promising anything for their pathetic lives… that's always the best part.

A black SUV pulls over just before the barricade, where other patrol vehicles are and a young man, probably around twenty eight, in a long brown coat and a hat gets down from the vehicle, smoking a cigarette. Detective Richard's POV~ Driving into the wreck of a club, my driver pulled over just before the barricade where other police cars were. I got off and puffing my cigarette for the last time, I threw it on the floor, stomping it out with the heel of my brogue. Walking up to the two officers guarding the entrance to the crime scene, I greeted them. "How do you do, gentlemen? Tonight's a fine night, wouldn't you say?" I said to them, sighing blissfully as I stared up at the pretty stars tw

I’d eat it alive. It’s always this way with the guys who hang out in public areas. A twist under their skin, dark adrenalin rushing their veins. Filthy as ditch water, murky as their eyes. They’re looking for something, but when they get it they don’t know what they wanted to do with it, or why. Sometimes it’s fake—that consternation, that fear—but sometimes it’s not. There’s the City Library up in the capital. Coded knocks on bathroom stalls. Those scenic spots along the highways where people like to stop. Parks.

He will serve as Fionna's guide while she's doing her task. "Yeah, whatever." Evening came and all of the mafias left the headquarters, except Kaede. He was tasked to make a hard copy of the crimes reported in Ciudad Reál for the whole week. Murders, robbery, abduction, and even kidnapping were reported in just a span of one week. It's not new for the people in Ciudad Reál that a lot of crimes were reported in just a short period of time, especially in District 2 and 3. Kaede was about to close the door of the printing room when he heard that there are people talking in the room beside his.

he states, like giving him a casual piece of information. “Wait! Wait!” the man requests, his begging doesn’t get through the deaf ears. Without wasting a second Riley pushes him, the noise of water splash occurs after a while. He keeps a step forward and peeps down, the dark sea makes adrenaline rush through him. He steps back immediately and walks back to his car. One part of him satisfied at his actions while the other part shivers at his own actions. He stops by the car and looks down at the gun in his red hands. He draws a deep breath in and tosses the gun through the open window of the car, he picks a bottle of water from the dashboard and washes his hands, for the first time he’d got

I approach the dilapidated looking building with caution, wishing that my heels did not click so loudly on the street stones. Domenico sits behind the wheel of the car, a cigarette in his hand as he watched me walk. He had briefed me on the way over what to do and who to talk to, a small mission that was no doubt less about being successful at something and more about proving I am willing to do what I am told. After the conversation with his father I am afraid we are on thin ice and at any moment I may fall through. There are two men waiting near the doorway and when I approach they look me over. I am no threat and they know it.

She was not surprised. Dylan drove into the streets of one of the most unlawful parts of the country, where there had recently been a gang war. He looked outside his window as his driver drove him there, observing the several litters on the ground and how dirty the environment looked. This place was also the poorest in the city, leading to a high crime rate. He saw several crimes and wrongs being perpetuated in broad daylight, breaking his heart. This place got his attention a few months ago. He had resolved to do something about it, but he had been procrastinating.

the woman said coldly. “If you resist, we are authorized to smite you where you stand!” the man said indifferently. “Do you even know who you are here to arrest?” Drake yelled as he stepped forward. The two of them eyed Drake. “Drake, you are the Outlaw Department’s third grade criminal. What a coincidence! We can arrest you too,” the woman said. Drake’s face immediately turned stormy. “Why am I only a third grade criminal when I’ve killed so many people? I should merit at least the second grade!” He was very displeased about this.