The Outsider Novels & Stories

Knight growled. “I’m not buying you a drink, I’m buying myself one,” a voice told him. Knight's ears picked up a faint accent that sounded like Russia by way of being mangled through Boston. The discordance was enough to get him to look over. He liked what he saw, despite his shitty mood, and couldn’t stop the faint stirring of want coursing through his veins. It was a woman. Who was surprisingly dressed in cheap tight black dress, making her look like a hooker, but with her angelic innocent face, the result is quite unexpected. She's not looking at Knight, but at the bartender as the stranger wrangled a beer out of the establishment.

They were huddled over a map, their heads close, their bodies moving in a synchronized dance they had clearly practiced for years. The attraction I felt for Ruan was still there—a pulsing, living thing that made my blood hum whenever he was near. But the realization that I was an outsider in his world was becoming a weight I couldn't ignore. I wasn't a biker. I wasn't a criminal. I was a woman who had seen a crime and was now paying for it with her soul.

He knew it was Starkov’s dogs barking for attention. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and pulled the curtains back. He needed to see the world outside this room. Below, the street was alive with the mundane. He watched people drift in and out of the yard. A group of nuns crossed the pavement, their dark robes a sharp contrast to the small children holding their hands. For a fleeting second, Jonathan envied them. Their world was simple but his was a house of chaos.

"I don't beg for attention from girls. They beg for mine. I told you, didn't it? I am David Park, the Adonis of the town. With my perfectly chiseled jawline, mesmerizing hazel eyes, and impeccable sense of style, I am -and will always be- the center of attention wherever I go," he retorted, a smug expression adorning his face. They both glared at each other, Avery frowning and David smirking, and just as the tension escalated, the door swung open, causing Avery and David to crash onto the floor. It was the guys from inside the house who had opened the door, interrupting David and Avery.

I've been called that more than once. Her eyes flash and she has a seat next to me again. "More like the outcasts, the ones who don't necessarily fit in everywhere else. Heaven Hill is made up of all the people that society said wasn't moldable, most of them had no family, so they made their own. I'm seeing a lot of them in you, and I think this is where you need to be."

And how would he get to The Gold Star? "Mom is that a hobo?" the innocent voice of a child towards his person caught his attention, receiving a look of astonishment from the creature and one of rejection from his mother. "Yes, ignore him and keep walking." Oliver could not fully understand that strange conversation; the people outside that prison spoke strangely, with an unfamiliar accent. He swallowed a little saliva looking around him again; there was a lot of light, more than his eyes had ever seen, people kept passing by. This time they noticed his presence; they covered their noses with their expensive coats, others looked at him with disgust and annoyance while some just walked faster

As darkness descended, shrouding the landscape and concealing his movements, the hidden moon provided him with an advantage, enabling him to elude his relentless pursuers. In a small clearing, George paused and gazed upward, captivated by the beauty of the starry sky. Mapping his course toward the Natural Park, he discerned the mountain's silhouette against the night—a beckoning call to freedom. Amidst his preparations for transformation, his hand brushed against something unexpected in his pocket. Retrieving it with surprise, he discovered Anne's forgotten phone.

one The young man's cold voice rang in the room, while the cold breeze of autumn was much warmer and warmer than his voice. He had already slammed the door and left without his mother needing to speak to his father. While Nevra and Altan looked after their son with sad eyes, Altan turned his full eyes to the window next to his bed: one

At the start of graduation season, my boyfriend took more than two hundred photos of Madison Vale. Chase Whitman was president of Westbridge University’s photography club. He knew how to find flattering light and how to coax people out of stiff smiles. Madison stood beneath the maples outside the library in a white dress, her graduation cap tucked under one arm. “Am I taking up too much of your time?” she asked. Chase checked the last few shots and smiled. “You make my job easy.” When it was finally my turn, he barely looked at me. “Stand by the tree.” He clicked the shutter twice and lowered the camera. “Done.” I stared at him. “That’s it?” He turned the screen toward me. In one photo my ey

Nothing. I sighed. *This place isn’t a house. It’s barely better than a garage.* I didn’t know much about being rich, but this was another level of poverty. How could someone live like this? Guilt crept in. *What if he really is harmless? Then I’m the cruel one for locking him outside in the cold.* I moved to the window and peered out. He was lying flat on the narrow concrete floor just outside, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the dark sky. His thin black shirt was torn at the collar. Even from here, I could see goosebumps on his exposed skin.