Southern Man Book Novels & Stories

Still walked away with something real in his hands. But not untouched. “That’s the kind that stays with you,” Adam murmured. “Not because it was crazy… but because it wasn’t supposed to happen at all.” He tapped the book lightly against the counter. “In and out job… turns into something you remember for the rest of your life,” he said, half to himself. “Yeah… that’s dangerous in a different way.” Adam paused, staring at the page for a second longer. Then a faint smirk pulled at his lips.

“You’re acting all high-and-mighty in the Southern Clan’s territory. You’re just disrespecting Mr. Southern Sr.” Manuel’s face sank as he pointed at him. “You should go around and ask who we are. How dare you mention Mr. Southern Sr. in front of us?!” Waylon chuckled and said, “I’m just curious. You’re nothing but a bunch of parasites who feed on the Southerns, yet you have the guts to go around and harm the benefits of the Southerns’ guests, put shame on them, and disrespect Mr. Southern Sr. Are you guys the ones who make the rules here or the Southerns?”

He was walking ahead of us, gun laying on his shoulder. A huge door opened for us and when we reached the living room, another pack of armed men were all around. They were holding different kind of deadly weapons and they really looked dangerous. I couldn’t help myself, but to let out a sigh as my chest pound hard once more. “It’s a good job, I guess?” a man with big accessories said as he comfortably laid his back against the couch. “For you, boss.” He was a big guy. Tattoos were all over his arms and neck. He had a big rounds eyes, thick purplish lips, and big nose. He was too bulky enough to be fear with, so I felt it.

He collapsed on the sand, convulsing, the stench of urine carried far on the wind. The party crowd that had gathered to watch earlier stood rigidly, not daring to breathe. They finally understood something. The man they had laughed at as a kept husband was the head of the Thornes, someone they weren't even qualified to approach! I held Luke close and spoke gently. "Luke, don't be scared. I'm here. No one will ever bully you again. I promise." Luke clung to my neck and nodded hard, letting out a small, muffled sound.

He even patiently waited for me to recover my memory and held on to it as his hope of getting me back to him. I didn’t wait for Kim to end his argument with whoever was the man. Instead, I went out and headed directly to the office. Kim followed after a few minutes and found me sitting on the couch. My thoughts kept playing the scenes that bothered me lately, but I never felt as shaky as before in front of a stranger. “Your hands are still trembling,” Kim commented. He then sat beside me and reached out for my hand. “Who is that man? I don’t like him.”

“Timothy said… you tried to kill yourself three times because of me?” There was a hint of disbelief and something else in his tone—something I couldn’t quite read. Perhaps it was guilt or just discomfort. After all, carrying the weight of someone else’s life… that kind of love was too heavy. For the man he was now, it was probably nothing more than a burden. I pulled my sleeve down, covering the scars. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Ethan. It has nothing to do with you. Don’t flatter yourself.” He stiffened, clearly caught off guard, his expression turning grim.

I sat in the chair nearest the door because sitting nearest the door felt like the right instinct, and I waited, and the house waited around me, and nobody spoke. Then the front door opened. The man who walked in was tall, not as tall as Damien but close, with lighter colouring and a face that shared certain features with Damien's the way different editions of the same book share a cover. You could see the connection if you were looking for it. The jaw, the set of the eyes, the particular way he held himself like he had grown up being told he was important and then at some point stopped believing it. He was maybe thirty. He was wearing a jacket that had been expensive once and was not anymor

He paused briefly to let the applause fade. Erik held his book in one hand studying the front cover. "Try Again," Erik said, reading the title aloud. "Honestly, I don't know why I wrote this book. Of course I know why, but I mean why I specifically wrote it and who I wrote it for. It's definitely for someone sitting right here otherwise tonight will just be a wasted night. No amount of money can buy the human soul, that's one thing I love about it. We all care about making money and spending money too. In this book, the lead character is a man called Derrick Jefferson who has all the money in the world but could not save his soul when he goes into a coma after a car crash.

“Why d…do you…want to…kill…me? Wh…hat…have I done to…you?” “It's nothing personal,” the man's voice was as cold as ice. “It's just a manhunt.” And the last thing the guy has ever heard in his life was the loud bang of the revolver that ended him. He almost escaped. Only almost. * * * “Hi, good morning. The two of you must be Mr. And Mrs. Andrews?” asked Jacob Price politely, professionally like the way his Snyder Italian Cashmere Sutton Suit in Navy Blue wrapped around his well-built figure. He stood up at a height of 5'11. His hair was dark and soft and the perfect haircut for his oval-shaped face. Blessed with a pair of blue eyes—as blue as the skies, just looking through those windows cou