Thriller Narrator Novels & Stories

Beside him was the federal investigator assigned to the case, a man in his early forties with sharp eyes and the kind of calm that came from having seen too many lives unravel in rooms like this. A small black speaker sat in the middle of the table. Inside it lived seven years of buried fire. “Before we proceed,” the investigator said evenly, “I need to confirm that everyone understands the gravity of what we’re about to hear. Once this file is played, there is no reversing its implications.” Sarah nodded once. “Play it.” The investigator pressed a button. At first, there was static—faint, distant, like wind passing through broken metal. Then the sound sharpened.

He wanted to finish the sentence, to say ‘an unavoidable tragedy,’ ‘a random occurrence,’ but the bitter taste of the truth was already on his tongue. Because deep down, the chilling, undeniable certainty had already taken root in both their minds. James Whitaker was a murderer. And Evelyn had just become his next target. —--- Hunter had just ended a tense, highly technical call with Eleanor, her voice a rapid-fire stream of intel on James Whitaker’s hidden financial conduits and shadowy connections. He was already fuming, the pieces Eleanor had uncovered confirming his darkest suspicions about Whitaker’s past. His jaw was still rigid, his hand clenching the phone like a weapon.

I couldn’t tell if I wanted to run from the sound of it or strike whoever stood in her place. Valerio stood. The movement was smooth, lethal. He walked around the chair until he was right behind the man. He put his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise. “You will tell me the truth. Every penny, every door, every name. Or you’ll die knowing you lied.” The man’s eyes bugged, frantic. He answered, gave names, times, sometimes repeating the same name as if repeating it might make it true. He spoke of whispers in bars, an envelope passed to a courier, a car with darkened windows and a woman’s laugh.

I murmured as I felt the cold tip of the metal object pressed against my chin. I heard a faint chuckle and a warm breath touch my skin. “Not unless its bullet was made from a very special material,” he whispers making me shiver for more fear. My hands clutch the side of my dress as I open my eyes and welcome his intense stare. “ W-Who are you?” my lips quiver at every word that I said. His emotion didn’t change at all, his lips gave me a smirk with his dull eyes. The tip of his pistol travels from my chin to the sides of my neck until it stopped to my mouth, enough for it to be pressed against my bottom lip. For a moment, my heart stopped thinking about what he’s going to do.

I look over to the person next to me and overhear him remark; 'Yes, I'm OK; if the girl comes alive, we'll continue the plan; if she doesn't, we'll return her to her family; the prize remains the same. Those statements made me growl even louder, and the man heard it and chose to pay attention to me immediately. He flinches and appears horrified when he sees my crimson eyes, which is wonderful since I want you scared and bleeding out worse than my lady. What's up, my girl? Nobody, not even this person, should be looking for her. "Who the heck are you?" says the narrator. He yells, and the man in front of him glances back and drives as if nothing happened since he can only see my snout.

Just as she turned it on a voice of a lady was heard who was anchoring the news. “The police confirmed the three murders to be a serial murder but they suspect that the murder was done by someone who held a deep grudge against the three deceased. It is also suspected that the murderer is a doctor because of his unique way of killing the victims. So, the police gave the murderer the code name Dr. Killer. Who is this Dr. Killer and why is he killing these innocent people? And where our world is standing now? The very lesson that should be saving lives is now taking them instead. The general people are panicking over-” she turned off the tv because of the boring news. The only thing interesting

That’s a new one. “Um…” I begin, as I clear my throat. Fuck! I’m nervous. Funny, I’ve been reduced from a sniper who used to kill people for money to a man who’s yearning for his boss to fuck him. “I have something to tell you.” I say, taking a deep and nervous voice. Why am I this nervous? Well, Nikolai’s gaze is intimidating. So intimidating. Why does he like looking at me like that? “Spill.”

Third person POV The person facing the assassin was Cillian, he was only on his boxer facing the assassin that was well equipped but the confidence ozzing out of him made the other assassin thinking twice why he accepted this mission in the first place, after the call with Kane he came downstairs whilst sipping on his drink leisurely waiting for the assassin. Even though he claimed to be at peace and calm but he wasn't truly settled, how could he when someone was on the lose, hanging around, waiting to kill his wife and unborn child, he couldn't rest at all "I'm not any assassin of any sort, so go back and tell your group or colleague to stay away from the Lumerés mansion as far as possible,

She looked so peaceful yet fragile. "Sir," I heard a voice and I turned to see Jackson standing at the doorway. "Jackson," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "Can we have a moment?" He muttered, looking grim. "Sure," I nodded and followed him outside. "We have news," Nicholas said. "What news?" I asked. "The shooter was indeed hired by Neil," Jackson muttered. God! "Shooter? So he didn't do it himself," I growled. "Are you sure?" "Yes, he was a professional shooter from Boston. Nicolai Thomson. He did it on the orders of Neil," Jackson answered, looking equally grim as I felt.

“From your sloppy actions, you’re either a terrible assassin or you didn’t come here to kill me.” Sloppy actions? He certainly doesn’t know me at all. If there’s one reason for my strange sluggishness, it’s his scent. It’s so distracting, it’s making me restless. He holds my own dagger against my throat, and I panic. “So, tell me who sent you to kill me.” “And why would I tell you?” I spit in his face, trying to break myself free. “Because I’ll kill you if you don’t.” “You think I'm—” his scent envelopes me again, and I can barely think.