The Executioners Novel Novels & Stories

She looked worried sick, walking up to my house after not finding me anywhere and for days, She kept glancing around, calling my name softly under her breath, her steps hesitant like she already knew something was wrong. I couldn’t stay hidden. I couldn't bear her panic and welled up face… she just lost her grandmother and I was the only one she had left. We were going to get married in a few months and my life is already ruined. I stepped out, moving toward her fast, ready to tell her to go back, to stay away until it blew over. But they came out of nowhere. Two executioners. Silent. Black-clad. One second the street was empty, the next they were there—guns already drawn, moving like shadow

The cage in my chest rattled violently. “You killed her,” I whispered. “You burned my home. You murdered my father.” “I didn’t kill her.” He shrugged, utterly indifferent. “I just opened the door for the rogues. Elena Ashford gave the orders. I was merely the executioner.” He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming. “And you, little wolf, are the unfinished business.” He uncorked the vial. The dark liquid hissed, releasing a foul, acrid scent that made my stomach turn.

They were wrong. I didn't order their execution. I carried it out myself. When they burst into the office, guns drawn, I was waiting. The first man fell to a precise shot between the eyes. The second, I took down with the very utility knife I'd once used to settle my debt with Lorenzo. As he bled out on the expensive Persian rug, I looked at the other captains gathered in the doorway. "Any other questions?" I asked, my voice steady. There were none.

The red glare of the flare hung in the salt-heavy air like a bleeding star, casting a jagged, rhythmic light over the deck of the mangled gunboat as it pitched violently in the black harbor swells, Verina felt the world tilt, not from the waves, but from the impossible sight of the man standing over a pinned and gasping Miller. Silas’s father, Elias Vane, the original "Executioner" who had supposedly been buried in a watery grave ten years ago, looked like a specter forged from obsidian and sea-spray, his face was a map of deep, jagged scars and a decade of cold, subterranean exile, but his eyes were the same dark, predatory wells as his son’s. The heavy breathing of the two Vane men filled

My skin prickled as I followed Dimitri, my eyes flicking to the faces in the crowd, seeking a clue to the source of my unease. We reached the high table, a platform overlooking the central square where the executions would take place. The pyres were already set up, their dark forms stark against the twilight sky. I took my seat, my gaze drawn inexorably to the first pyre. The accused, a struggling young woman was dragged forward and bound to the stake. Erica Miller- Killed her husband.

“That must be sounding stupid, I know.” “It doesn’t sound stupid. It IS stupid,” I growl, making him flinch. “What? Why?” he asks, staring at me with wide eyes. I straighten up, leaning back in my chair. “It’s not normal for them to see someone running from an execution. Executions are supposed to be welcomed by any good Christian because they wish to defeat the devil. They would have thought that you were afraid of being executed too, so the devil told you to run… Or some bullshit like that.”

"Well, it's close to the quota. Just a little." "Looks like you broke more than you collected." "That's right. The weak should be exterminated, the poor should be erased!" I stressed. "You're different from Zaneah." "I know. And I'm not going to be like her because I'm an Indelcio. A true Indelcio unlike her a bastard!" "Shut up, Roden." "Why? Shouldn't she know the truth? TSS if you don't have anything to say, I'm leaving. I can give you what you ask for after this month!" I said and left Stan's office.

Blood ran down my face, but I remained unmoving, wishing only for death. Jonah fixed me with a cold glare. "You exposed me. How dare you ask for a swift death? Your memories will be extracted, and you'll be judged before all. Only after enduring endless torment will you be allowed to die!" "Yeah! She's a journalist herself, yet she betrayed the male lead, who was also undercover. She offered him up as proof of loyalty, then slept with the antagonist! Disgusting!" "If not for her, the male lead would've long since exposed the antagonist's crimes with solid evidence, bringing him to justice. He wouldn't have ended up with his legs broken and endured torment!"

His scream tore through the warehouse, raw and animalistic. “Try again,” I said, as I lowered the gun. “I ain’t saying shit,” another one muttered. I walked over and shot him in the stomach. The others flinched. I could feel the discomfort radiating off my own men like heat. But I wasn’t here for mercy. This wasn’t a courtroom, and I wasn’t a judge. I was the executioner. I stood in front of them again, breathing hard. “You stole from me. You cost me millions. You think you can walk into my territory, take my product, and not bleed for it?”

And my old man’s voice hit me then, clear as day. “A man who leaves wolves alive don’t deserve peace.” That voice stayed with me all the way down to the docks. I pulled off the main road. Drove along the rusted fence. Warehouse sat low, wide. Gray as death. I parked beside the wall. Killed the engine. Got out. My shoes crunched on the gravel. The door opened before I could knock. Executioner stood there. Face like stone. Gloves already on. He nodded. Quiet, sharp respect. I didn’t say a word.