Stream The Crucible Novels & Stories

ARABELLA. My heart pounds in my chest, and my hands won’t stop shaking, tears filling the corners of my eyes as I continue to gape at the name across my screen. "Stop," I whisper to Dex before he drives out of his place without removing my eyes from the phone.

But suddenly. “Mommy, Daddy.” A cry from a little girl echoes right in front of him and from the other end of the bridge. The night that is deep and quiet makes the crying echoes. The burning cars in front of them and the smell of intoxicating burns are raising. He stops crying, now pitying the little girl that just got his attention. He turns his gaze in front and saw the little one dressed in red, full of wounds, and crying hard. Her cheeks are red from crying and her nose seems to swell because of the same reason. The lights from the bridge made him see her clearly, or perhaps he is only seeing himself from her.

Across the table, the seat was empty; Dante was up at the counter, waiting for their plates of toast and eggs. The screen displayed the home page of a major national sports network. Sitting squarely in the center of the broadcast layout was a slickly produced, multi-cam video player. Above it, the text read: EXCLUSIVE: Richard Cole on Family, Legacy, and the Real Story Behind the Westbridge Legal Protection. She pressed play, her shoulder hunched against the vinyl backing to block out the clatter of silverware from the kitchen doors.

“I’ve been such a slut in my head, Lucas. Fantasizing about strange men running a train on me. Four big cocks stretching my pussy, ass, and throat while I scream like a whore. Would you like that? Seeing your wife get turned into a cum-covered mess?” I was lost in it now—bobbing my head frantically, slurping and gagging, my fingers frantically rubbing my clit under the lingerie. My heavy tits bounced with every movement. I didn’t notice that in my lust-drunk haze, instead of hitting record… I had accidentally started a live stream to my social media. Every filthy moan, every wet suck, every depraved word I spoke was being broadcast live to hundreds of people—supporters, donors, journalists,

Chapter 4 My fingers fly over the screen before I can second-guess it, scheduling a live stream for thirty minutes from now. The title is simple: "3 BIG DICKS. 1 USED SLUT. NO LIMITS." I don’t even flinch as I drop the link into my fan group chat, watching the notifications explode instantly. $500 already. $1,000. The numbers climb before I’ve even stood up.

The stadium exploded. Trisha capitalized, engineering a methodical drive. On third and goal, she faked a handoff and found the tight end wide open in the end zone. Touchdown, Cannibals. Heather’s extra point gave the Cannibals their first lead of the night, 30-30. Fourth Quarter: The Crucible

“He left the territory early this morning to begin filming with the cameras. It’s being streamed live to the city as we speak.” My fingers freeze instantly over the keyboard. My eyes look up, a shadow of pure disbelief flickering in my gaze as I stare at Myles. Wordlessly, Myles pulls out his device, launches the live stream feed, and places it gently on the wooden desk right in front of my hands. My eyes glance down at the screen. My expression darkens to pure coal. “Cruel rogue,” I grumble under my breath.

If I’d known she hated you this much, I would’ve locked her away long ago. The livestream sparked outrage. Everyone demanded justice. "This is murder. She’s rotten to the core!" "Where’s the law? Lock her up immediately!" However, when Tristan and Wendy tracked me down–still streaming live–everyone watching… broke down in tears. ... Tristan Crowley and Wendy Crowley rolled out of the city with a full livestream crew and a line of bodyguards. The convoy stopped at a private villa tucked away in the foothills. Nobody was permitted to enter that property. It had been built for one purpose. To hold me. The wife he had decided was a sinner.

I returned to my office, made myself a cup of coffee, and waited. It didn't even take ten minutes before someone came knocking. The first to come in was, surprisingly, Layla. She clutched a USB drive so tightly her knuckles turned white. As soon as she stepped inside, she dropped to her knees. "I'm sorry, Ms. Cooper. I'm so, so sorry. I must've been out of my mind!" She cried, burying her face in one hand, while holding out the USB drive with the other. "Everything's in here—every chat log where Keira planned how to blow this up step by step and force you to give in!

"Fuck it," Azriel grunted and looked heavenward. He squinted at thousands of water droplets gushing out of the shower. Hiss ripped from his throat as they crashed against his battered skin. Blood continued to drip down his body leaving a bloody mess on the white marble. Every drop felt searing and painful.