Romantic Killer Stalker Novels & Stories

“Your windows are closed. I came straight from the hallway. I didn’t see anyone.” That should make me feel better. It doesn’t. It makes it worse. Because if he didn’t leave.. Where is he? Zara sees the fear on my face. She steps back toward the door, something hard and determined settling into her expression. “RYAN!” she yells, her voice echoing down the hall. “What?!” comes the muffled reply, sharp with confusion. “Check the house! We might have a murderer in here!” The word lands heavy. Murderer.

she replied softly. Jes was silent for a moment, scooped up as much oxygen as possible to get back to neutralizing the heartbeat that had been irregular. You can still imagine the many weapons that Adam carried and you can still see the symbol of the gun and the rose on the back of the car. "Is Adam a mobster?" Asked Jes. Still silent, staring back at Jes without blinking. But Sisca slowly nodded her head, as if she was being hypnotized by Jeslyn's gaze.

My mom squeezing my arms tightly almost as a warning. I need to shut up. I panic when I realize that he is trying to take the papers away, “Sorry sorry sorry.” I chant and look at him, pleading. “You know how in a lot of horror and thriller movies, the smartass gets killed off first?” “Are you going to kill me?” my eyes widen as I stare at his hauntingly alluring eyes. “No I am not a killer.” “Again….you just killed a person.” For fuck’s sake, Zara, please shut up.

soldiers never died. Some were agents skilled in disguise, others were forensic specialists who could fake a corpse. The gory crime scenes were nothing more than Hollywood-grade special effects. Except for Enzo. He knew he had a terminal illness and was living on borrowed time. He used his last breath to stage that gruesome suicide in front of the whole world, just to push public fear and outrage to its peak. As for Dr. Sterling, the psychologist who jumped into the lake. He was the father of one of the kidnapped boys, and the architect of this psychological warfare.

It was like a guest of air, a dark secret but it thundered in my brain and my soul. What the hell is wrong with me ? "Hey! New girl. " I turned to look at the guy sitting beside me. "I am Roman. You? " He forwarded his hands. "She is out of the league, moron. Now out, " Jasper snapped at him. Jake and some of his friends pulled him away from me. As soon as the Roman guy left, Jasper, Jack and their friends surrounded me with their girlfriend's attached at their hips. "Don't you have a girlfriend? " I leaned on to Jasper and whispered to him.

The next one wasn’t my kill, but it might as well have been. Viktor held the gun with casual precision, his finger squeezing the trigger with the same ease as a pianist pressing a key. The man’s head snapped back, a crimson bloom spreading across the wall behind him, and I flinched, even though I told myself not to. “Don’t look away,” Viktor said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. “This is the world we live in now. You need to see it.” I forced myself to meet his gaze, to swallow down the bile rising in my throat.

Something about him made me uneasy, like I’d seen him before but couldn’t remember when or where. The way he moved—it felt too familiar. I forced myself to approach, clearing my throat. "Can I help you find something?" He turned slowly, and for the first time, I saw his face clearly. His eyes were dark, intense, piercing through me in a way that made my breath catch. There was a stillness about him, like a predator waiting for the right moment. He was handsome, but in a dangerous, unsettling way. “No,” he said, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down my spine. “Just browsing.”

Desire burned through her, startling and fierce. She pressed closer as he showered, watching the water trace the lines of him. When he touched himself, something inside her unraveled. She pressed her hands against the glass, desperate to see. There was no harm in watching. But he noticed. Her mistake frightened him. He tiptoed through her house after that. Avoided rooms. Tried to protect himself from her. He called her a ghost. She was not just a ghost. She was his. And when he spoke of leaving, of touching someone else, of getting laid, something cold and sharp settled inside her.

“So, is that it? You realized he’s not the guy you thought?” I hesitate, trying to put it into words. “It’s more complicated. Things were great... until I got a stalker,” I admit, and almost immediately someone squeals from across the room. “Oh my God! Like a real stalker? Is he hot?” A bubbly woman plops down in a chair, her eyes wide with excitement. “That’s Lilly,” Sasha explains with a laugh. “She loves her romance novels. Not all stalkers are dreamboat types, Lilly!” she teases.