The Face Of Fear Book Novels & Stories

“So am I. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But Jax once taught me something I never forgot.” She lifted her chin, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the fire in her gaze. “He told me fear comes down to a choice. You can either Forget Everything And Run…” Her words lingered, pressing against the hush like a dare. “…or you can Face Everything And Rise.”

Just enough. Not to leave. To let the noise from outside bleed in. Voices. Movement. Life continued like nothing was about to fracture. “Fear,” I said simply. “That’s already there.” “Not enough.” I turned my head slightly with my gaze cutting back toward him. “Fear needs a face.” “And you’re giving them hers.” “Yes.” A pause. “And if it backfires?” Her smile returned. This time colder. “It won’t.” “You sound certain.” “I don’t need certainty,” I said. “I need timing.”

There was no obvious anger, no hatred, no bitterness. My brows pulled together as I tried to read their expressions, trying to figure out what was passing between them. But before I could understand what I was seeing, another feeling suddenly swept over me. A sharp, instinctive sense of fear and panic crawled through my body, making my entire focus shift and my body freeze. Slowly, I turned in the direction of the feeling, and saw a man walking toward me. He wore a face cap pulled low over his head, hiding most of his features, but it wasn’t enough to conceal the ugly scar that stretched across his face.

And I saw — finally, the thing she had said she didn’t feel, the thing that had been underneath the composed face and the managed stillness and the Thomas-Morgan’s-daughter steadiness all day: The fear. Small. Controlled. Real. I crossed the kitchen. I didn’t think about it. The management and the week and the library and the what-comes-next — none of it was the present calculation. The present calculation was: she was afraid and I was three feet away and the three feet was not a distance I was willing to maintain. I put my hands on her face. Both of them. The specific deliberate gesture. Her face in my hands, the way her mother had held her face in the entrance hall when she’d come back fro

It was the way his entire expression shifted the moment he saw the book in my hands—like he had seen a ghost. In an instant, he was in front of me, snatching the book from my grasp with a speed that sent a startled jolt through my veins. His hands tightened around the cover, his knuckles white and his entire body tense. His eyes were dilated, his lips sucked in, completely terrified. “Did you read it?” His voice was sharp, urgent and with that hint of fear.

Her hand rested lightly on his chair. “Councilor,” she said softly. “Do you know what fear does?” Bianchi blinked, his mouth dry. “I—” “It makes you small,” she continued. “It makes you obey men who promise protection while holding daggers to your throat. I lived like that once.” Her eyes flicked, briefly, to Russo. “But fear can become fire. If you decide to use it.” Russo snorted. “Pretty speeches.” She met his gaze. Steady. Cold. “Truth. And truth spreads faster than your photographs.”

The man who opened the trunk called and when I looked at his face, I felt a shiver run through my side. He had a scar running down the middle of his face, almost like whoever had done it, had the intention to split his face in half. The scar was nasty-looking and was enough to instill fear within me. I got out of the trunk and moved to the side where the girls had begun lining up. I had just heard the trunk of the car close when I heard a commotion behind me. A girl was trying to run away. She didn’t get very far because Scarface was right on her heels and the moment he caught her, he wrapped his hands around her throat, shaking her violently and for a moment I feared he was going to kill he

Turning to the functioning laptop beside him ,he stole a glance at the sound buttons before he began to type. ¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶ Fear, that horrid emotion that weakens one, subjects one to levels below that one would never have succumbed to. It was surprising how it was easily acquired;by the loudest of sounds, by the slightest of sounds and by even no sound at all. It had stunned the children, shaken them to their bone marrows.

I saw the scars surrounding my boutique with 'the scar face' sitting on my counter chair. I looked at them in utter shock. They have actually crossed every limit here. How did they even get in when I clearly remember I locked the door...maybe they broke the lock. My eyes went on the scar face and he was holding one of my books. "A silent storm is stronger than a loud one.......huh?" He asked and looked towards me while tilting his head to the left. "You're a writerrr." He said and I just kept standing there looking at them in shock.