Tangled Plot Novels & Stories

“The problem isn't you… it's me…” “How…? What…?” I asked as I was trying my best not to let myself give in to the tears. But deep down, I was wondering what exactly it was that I had done wrong. With Troy, I had denied him rapid access to my body. But with Dylan, I had been generous with my body and that made me immensely frustrated. What exactly was I meant to do to keep them from treating me the same way? It was all beginning to look like some sort of conspiracy between the two former teammates. I was totally confused as I was beginning to suspect everything.

One wrong move, one misplaced step, and the fragile threads holding our world together would unravel into chaos and destruction. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the air thick with anticipation and fear. Every fiber of my being screamed with the urgency of the situation, the need to make the right choice before it was too late. But as the seconds ticked by, a sense of resignation washed over me. We were all players in a dangerous game, bound together by the tangled web of fate and circumstance. And in that moment, I realized that no matter the outcome, none of us would emerge unscathed from the tangled mess we found ourselves in.

Greg had found a wood plank buried with tiny nails that had pierced into Charlie's side and the blood was spreading fast. I need to have a word with that engineer! I sneered.

It contained an address in the nearby woods, but he wasn't sure whether it was indeed Booyeong who had sent the note, as he hadn't witnessed the man's face clearly. He dwelled on the embroidered pattern on the black robes of the man. The said pattern was prominent on the sleeves and back of the man's robes, suggestive that it was an emblem of an eminent evil. Was Booyeong part of a secret society that propagated wrongdoings and performed heinous crimes? Chad figured.

It’s been years since I’ve seen my Dad look this unkept. He’s wearing a t-shirt and a sweatpants. Vance Moretti does not wear t-shirts and sweatpants in public, not to mention the bloody gauze on his forehead, which is due for a change. “Someone is targeting us,” I hear him say, after zoning out a bit. “What?” I ask, though I heard him clearly the first time. “There was a shootout at your birthday party.” I feel Kaitlyn caressing my hand beneath the covers. Her touch keeps me grounded when I’m so close to leaving my body. I continue to stare at him speechless. It pains me to know that while everyone around me is so shaken…I’m numb and clueless.

I told them, staring down at each one of them. They watched me so intently and then broke out in fits of laughter, all of them. And I sat there watching the idiots. Including the one who sat beside me, stifling his own but failing miserably. “I told you, didn’t I?” Junior said to them. “And you were right. I get why he is spooked.” Said the woman pointing at Melo with a knife, and an apple on her other hand. “What is the meaning of this?” I said to the man holding my hand in his proudly. Not fazed by them. “We got the paintings tesoro, but…” he trailed off, his eyes not facing mine as if he was finding it hard to tell me.

The hut was warm, carrying the faint scent of burnt herbs and whatever incense Ishaan had lit the night before. Ashwin was sprawled out on the bed like a discarded offering, his green tail stretched lazily across the soft nest of blankets, still sluggish from—well, from being absolutely ruined. Unfortunately for him, he was not alone. Two other tails—one a deep, shimmery purple, the other a bright, fire-kissed orange—were tangled up with his own.

My head spun as a dozen impossible scenarios collided in my brain like a multi-car pileup on a foggy highway. None of it made sense. Not the gun in the garden, not the way the Sinclairs looked like they'd just glimpsed the reaper himself, and certainly not the way Jaxx held me like I was the only fixed point in a crumbling universe. I tugged at his arm, my fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his jacket, feeling the solid muscle beneath. "Jaxx! What the hell is going on? How do they know you?"

“And what about Dorian?” Penelope opened her mouth then closed it. “What?” Isolde demanded. Dorian spoke, finally. “They’re painting me as the architect of everything. Trafficking, blackmail, execution orders.” Penelope added, “They even included your mother’s charity as a laundering front.” Isolde sucked in a sharp breath. “They’re burning every bridge,” Penelope said. “One of you survives Velvet. The other becomes the villain.” The car stopped. They were in the underground lot Velvet’s forgotten underbelly. No cameras. No witnesses.

Kara asks, wiping away her tears. " I think you understand perfectly what I am talking about. Look at us now. We are stuck in a relationship where your morals have been Challenged. It's nothing close to normal to fuck two men at the same time. That's who I am. I share my women. I get pleasure watching another man fuck the woman I love. I have much darker kinky fantasies that are not appropriate for an angel like you. So, when you confessed,I knew I couldn't stay close to you. I hurt you to protect you. I was sure that you would soon forget me, fall in love with some good man and get married. I would have been okay with that, but fate had different plans. I still don't know how we ended up in