Thriller Fiction Books Novels & Stories

" I don’t turn a person into a bookworm. You should give it a try. Reading is fun. " His fingers slid through the spines of the book. "Will you let me borrow your books?" Yes, yes. Just take care of them. " I don’t usually lend books to other people. He’s a friend, and he saved me from death. Lending him a book every week or so was not a huge distraction. "I suggest a thriller book for beginners and guys like you." "Are they good?" "They were fantastic." I walked toward him and picked up a book for him to take to his place. I chose a third-person point of view for my domestic thriller. The one that crept up on me one time. "Try this."

"Exciting." Frowning, I clasp my hands together in front of me. Using his index finger, he wiggles a book out of its spot, with some difficulty. It looks as though the covers are stuck together, with suggests this library is old; probably older than me. "Action? Thriller?" I question. Those kinds of books that get your heart racing are my favourite. They draw you straight of reality, lulling you into a dream-like state where my imagination can run rampant, with no one to tell me otherwise. Moments to live for, in my eyes. If Malik felt the same way, he must understand why I had to leave my room to find something better than a nonfiction book on the Love pack.

“What about you, Mr. Brady, do you read?” "I haven't read in a while. I like thrillers. Lee Child, James Patterson, Stephen King." He tells us as he reaches and takes a piece of steak. "Have you read Harlan Coben? He writes some amazing thrillers like Drop Shot, One False Move, and Tell No One." I'm in my element now. This is safe ground, I love talking about books. I love almost every genre out there. I'll give anything a go once. Indie authors are my favorite as their work is so unique, it's like a diamond in the rough.

“There was Rophynol in every soda, vodka, whiskey, and so on.” “Why?” “Trafficking, duh! It was like a full-blown Mafia business,” Harley said. “But before these assholes could execute their plan, some men in suits barged in and stormed everyone out of there.” “What men?” She rubbed her nape. “They had guns and this broach over their pockets in the shape of a spade.” Spade? “Why do I feel like I’ve heard about the spade broach before?” “It’s obviously Mafia business, B. It seemed like one gang was interrupting the work of another. But I wonder which mob is so decent.” She huffed. “They literally stopped human trafficking.”

Touched and angry at the same time. Touched that he'd cared enough to think about what I'd want. Angry that he'd been planning my imprisonment. I pushed those complicated feelings aside and kept browsing. The fiction section was extensive. Mystery novels. Thrillers. Fantasy. Literary fiction. And romance novels. A whole shelf of them. I pulled one out, curious. The cover showed a shirtless man with tattoos and a woman in a provocative pose. Very dramatic. Very over-the-top. I flipped it over to read the back.

Then there were his psychology books and books on wilderness craft. His gaze fell on a small cluster of volumes of English literature, some that Faith had convinced him to try. While he couldn't bring himself to read them, he hadn't been able to part with them, either. The top shelf held an extensive collection of contemporary bestsellers, and it was one of those he chose, a mystery thriller, as he heard the first roll of thunder. "Yep, Bear, it seems like a 'dark and stormy night' kind of night." He gave the dog a pat as he settled down in his chair.

Sleep refused to come. My mind felt restless. Maybe there was something in this room that could help me remember. Slowly, I stood up. I began looking around. The bookshelf immediately caught my attention. Dozens of books filled the shelves. I pulled several out. There were history books, pack law books and training manuals. Then I noticed something else. There were fiction novels; thrillers, mysteries and crime novels. I blinked. Apparently, I enjoyed those. "I don't remember reading any of these."

These actions cannot be explained, Navpreet,’ said the inspector gloomily, casting an eye on the mountains. The sub-inspector gave a stiff nod and carefully studied the inspector who seemed to be lost in contemplation. ‘From what I have seen, murders are of two types,’ said the inspector, the tips of his fingers coming together. ‘First are the unplanned ones, committed by people who were suffocated in some way by the acts of the would-be victims. When they see an opportunity, their fear is eclipsed by the pain they have suffered and they strike.’

But that was gone already now. The only thing that played in my head over and over again were the moments of his betrayal. The time when he had announced to us that Bianchi's men were going over to Vittoria's, and when I dived over her protecting her from the sniper, at Yara's party when Vittoria almost got kidnapped, the accident we had at Ontario.... It was all him. All North. My f*cking blood brother. The whole sh*t was messed up. I loaded one gun and handed it over to Vittoria, " Your knives wouldn't really do much if those airheads are with guns."

Avery and Gio were in their bedroom. I made myself a cup of coffee, locking myself inside the library and searching for a book that would satisfy my craving. I came across a novel titled 'The Black Dahlia' by James Ellroy. The title was quite interesting, so I grabbed the book and sat on one of the armchairs, making myself comfortable and beginning to read. The story was intense. I was sucked into it. i was so invested in the crime fiction book that I almost missed the sound of a knock coming from the door. I used my pen to keep track of the page number, before looking up to see who the hell interrupted my moment with the book.