Thriller Authors Books Novels & Stories

“I do. Although, on many nights, I simply like to read with only the lamp on, and the moonlight shimmering overhead. It’s utterly enchanting and so peaceful.” She could picture him like that, reclining on the day bed, a book in hand, the moonlight filtering on him. So sexy. She shook her head to clear her mind from those tantalizing images of him. “What sort of books do you like to read?” she asked. “I read a lot of philosophy—Dostoevsky, Plato, Socrates, Kant...” “That’s…deep,” she said, still skimming over the shelves. “I also read thrillers. Dan Brown, Lee Child, and Matthew Reilly.”

My life has been a whole bunch of screw-ups until I started writing and somehow years later, after too many minimum wage jobs, Clara picked out my work from her random piles and decided that I was going to be the next bestseller author. My life has been a series of failures, disastrous mess, one thing after another. It has never been easy for me, except for my writing career. It was making me rich, but unhappy and somehow unfulfilled. I thought losing my fiancée was my breaking point. But somehow, Ella, the stalker beauty was pulling me down to another level. If my state that of mind can be a measurement, then my very dark short writings were the clear testament of it. "...and turn those dar

“I mean you as a homebody, not as my boss or anything like that.” It might be an exaggeration to say that Ingrid felt that day was very serene. She was a homebody herself when it came to it, always staying home when she didn’t have work, but it was a different feeling when she was with a man, and they were just relaxing. And his house... God, it felt like home already. “What kind of books do you read?” she asked interestedly. “Stephen King, Dan Brown, Clive Cussler, John Grisham, and the like.”

So I stayed in my little hidden room, surrounded by old furniture and boxes of memories that belonged to someone else, and I worked on my other secret. Because being the Miracle Doctor wasn't the only thing I did with my free time. I was also a writer. Lyra St. James, the name on the covers of my books, which currently occupied spots three, seven, and twelve on the New York Times bestseller list. Psychological thrillers, the sort with twists that made people stay up way too late reading and then complain about being tired at work the next day. My editor loved me because I delivered early and never caused drama. My readers loved me because I wrote books that made them feel things. My publishe

I was delighted to uncover new layers beneath this prickly barista's tough exterior. "So mysteries are your favorite books? Any current authors you'd recommend?" I asked, genuinely curious to know more about her tastes. Aria's eyes lit up, clearly passionate about this topic. "Oh yes! I just finished a great atmospheric thriller by Ruth Ware. And Jean Kwok writes amazing psychological suspense." I smiled as she rattled off a whole list of mystery writers and descriptors for why she loved them. Her enthusiasm was captivating. "I may have to check out some of those. I tend toward action thrillers, but I'm open to new things," I said.

She had poisoned herself and it was not only the alcohol's fault, but also the constant stress and exhaustion that had been accumulating for a long time. As she passed by the bookshelves, she decided to take some book to read. She was delighted with Matthew's collection. There were all the books written by Clive Cussler, one of her favourite writers, as well as a lot of books by Michael Crichton and Duncan Falconer. What surprised her more was to see all of John Grishams' novels.

he asked. “Not one single. He is writing a series, about this Israeli spy, who has been brought back by the Mossad and a psychic girl along side him who are solving the crimes whose trails have gone cold. The Melitov Series is the one that I like. There are seven books till now which have been released. The eighth one is going to come soon enough….next week and I cannot wait,” I said as I clasped my hands and rubbed them like an excited school girl. “Great! Since you are speaking such nice terms about this new author, I shall take a look at him,” said the man.

“No doubt.” “What about those two small FedEx boxes?” “Most recent novels from Samhain Horror.” “Awesome. Those books I bought at the Webb County Library sale last week?” “Sorted into general and mystery fiction. Struck the mother lode with all those Mary Higgins Clark novels.” “We cater to all tastes, miss. Unless you like Twilight, 50 Shades of Gray or James Patterson. Folks want drivel, they can drive to Utica.” “Hey. I actually liked Twilight. It wasn’t all bad.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Do you like to read? I blog about books, specifically horror and thriller books.” “Like Stephen King?” She nodded. “Stephen King, Dean Koontz, David W. Wright, Sean Platt, and, ah, Dan Wells.” He nodded slowly as she listed her favorite authors. “What about A. A. Abernathy?” Fuck! “You read Abernathy?” “Yeah, I just picked up the latest one. It’s pretty good so far.”

He wants to get some books for himself. “Do you read psychology books?” I ask. Aiden turns to face me. “Not really. Just checking out the titles,” he answers. “I only read thrillers. I love anything that will keep me at the edge of my seat.” “Not really a big fan of thrillers, but I have read some thriller books by S.J. Watson,” I say. “I know him. He's one of my favorite authors.” “He's really good,” “Just so you know, I have good taste,” He says, giving me a wink and turning back to the books he's checking out.