Wry Grin Novels & Stories

Whole. Then — like I’m possessed — I look back down. And that’s when it happens. Over Mike’s head, Damion grins. Just … grins. Good Lord. It’s slow and wide and completely devastating. Laughing eyes, crooked mouth, zero effort. How can a grin — from that distance — turn my spine into jelly?

Haggard in appearance, his usually knife-shaven jaw sported thick bristles, his usually poised look marred by his messy braid and bloodshot eyes. Rough time? Too bad. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but under her glare, clamped it shut. She felt her arm on her other side lift, and she tilted her view to see Golden Grin holding her by the hand. Almost as ragged in appearance, he flashed her a wan smile that wilted as she blasted him with her gaze.

awkward. Mason catches my glance, his lips twitching as he gives me a knowing shake of the head. I grin, mouthing, "Sorry. Can't help it."

And for the first time, Elias’s grin isn’t reluctant. It’s real.

Jake said. “Fuck, now I can unclench my butthole,” Weasel said. K-9, Viking, and Rebel burst out laughing next to Jake as he shook his head. “There’s something really wrong with him,” Jake said. Omen climbed onto a table and raised his beer in the air. “Listen up, everyone. If you want to own it, patch it, otherwise Wrath’s going to fuck it!” More laughter erupted around the room, and Jake’s shoulders shook as he laughed. Hands clapped his shoulders and back and before he knew it, things had returned to normal.

I could see the male on the other side of the one-way mirror in his cheap suit, his pot belly bursting the seams of the nasty fabric, as he stuffed another pastry in his mouth. "Greedy bastard!" Wrath scoffed, watching with me as he shovelled it in his mouth like it was to be his last meal. He was in his early 50s, sporting a receding hairline and dead eyes that I could only imagine were from seeing far too much evil in this world.

She twitched her mouth and he smiled at her. “You look pretty. Don’t search for a hairpin. Just let your hair hang freely.” Gracie glared at him unhappily. “What? Are you making fun of me?” “No… No… No… You are pretty. Trust me.” He winked at her and then went straight in the direction where Yohan Dixon was busy talking on his mobile phone. Gracie looked at his back sadly. She did not care for the hairpin and went straight to the bride's room.

He is not making this easy. She turns sharply to look at him—her jaw tight, her expression incredulous—and there it is. That grin. That look. God. He’s smirking at her with that maniacal smile—the kind that makes him look feral and otherworldly. It's the kind of expression that belongs to someone ancient and merciless, someone dragged out of the pit of hell just to destroy her. That grin of his, stretched with wicked glee, framed by his tousled dark hair and the low light casting shadows across the hollows of his face—it makes her stomach twist in ways it shouldn’t.

The thought made him snigger. Wes turned the gun towards Jack. “You got a sorry for my baby girl, smiler?” The expression on his face changed. One moment he was serious and tortured, and the next he grinned. Lips ripped back, revealing the shine and polish of dentures. The loose skin around his mouth stretched taut. His eyes drew to thin slits surrounded by crow’s feet. The laugh that seeped out of him was wheezy and full of spite. “Now this is a smile,” he said.

"What is it like?" A grin formed on his face.