Yellow Raincoat Killer Novels & Stories

Michael, Killer's brother was helping us by hacking into the road cameras and a bunch of other stuff that I was still learning. Now here we were, and Harley was inside the Walmart buying chocolate. And I was currently feeling all kinds of sick. I kept getting nauseous, Killer said it could be the riding but Rest insisted something far more permanent than motion sickness. “Begs, want something while I'm in,” Winner winks at me, and Killer hits him on the back of the head, before he continues loading his 9mm. I drop my head down and smile as I zip up the white overall I was given with a logo on it.

"I wanted to help the cops find Zara. You believe it or not but I admired Mrs MacIntyre. I've seen this man dressed in a hooded black coat walking with Zara here in this township. I thought that if I dressed like him and wandered around the crime scenes and places she summoned Hunter at, the factory for example, she might mistake me for him and come to me, and then I'll catch her and turn her in. It's stupid but it did seem like a good plan to me.... So you see, I bought the exact same long hooded black coat and a mask." "That day Zara called Hunter to come to the factory, I heard about it from Shawn since his brother was there. I still wished to help catch Zara so I followed your troop stea

The doors swung inward without a sound, and two men stepped into the amber light of the hearth fire. The first man was striking, possessed of an energy that practically vibrated through the ancient room. He was dressed in a remarkably modern, tailored charcoal coat over a linen shirt, his dark hair cropped short and his eyes flashing with a bright, hazel amusement. Despite the undeniable aura of a lethal apex predator radiating off him, his face was set in a wide, jovial grin.

To walk out and prevent any kind of untimely death or go into the shower with the mindset that I might get caught and killed. The house was so big anyway, and he probably wouldn't notice, right? I was both physically and emotionally exhausted, and a warm wash felt like it'd solve every single one of my problems. I loosened my hair and let it cascade down my shoulders, rubbing my thumb on my chin to contemplate. Without hesitation, I stepped and stripped, taking off my worn-out and dusty clothes. The water against my skin felt like a blessing, washing away every grime of weariness and exhaustion from my recent struggle— I reduced it to the lowest rush to lessen my chances of getting caught.

“But you survive because of me.” Adrian snarled, shoving her back. She slid with the grace of someone who had trained her entire life for this moment, landing light, balanced, ready. “Do you know why I wear gray?” she asked suddenly, circling him. Adrian’s jaw tightened, blood dripping down his arm. He didn’t answer. “Because it is the color of hunger,” she murmured, voice low, almost intimate. “Never black, never white. Always in between. Always consuming.” Her eyes darkened. “Like my obsession with you.”

A young man was walking down the street head rocking back and forth to the beat of the music playing through his ear buds. If his bleach blonde hair didn't draw in your attention, his clothing and accessories would instantly reach out grabbing hold of your eyes sucking in your attention. Gaudy on a street level, for one who was as young as him he wore a sheep skin bomber coat, and was adorned with several gold chains, diamond stud earrings, and had custom engraved rings spelling KILL across his knuckles in solid gold, even his sun glasses were custom the trim too was gold with diamonds imbedded. While some of the younger generation probably were envious, especially to the older generation h

And they prohibited most of the abilities that make me a demon from usage. I nickname the man Jerk, although my clairvoyance told me he is a regular human nicknamed Jackal. I don’t know what business he has with Scarlet, but she is allowing him to flip up her skirt under the covered table, which I can see from the table behind. His left-hand glides down her skirt and feels her bare bottom. She is wearing a lacy thong that matches her bra and while seeing the lace gives me a reaction; I am jealous that someone else, instead of me, has his dirty fingers touching her intimate parts.

He had been a promising kid, fast with a blade and loyal to a fault. Now, he was a corpse. In a bid to humiliate him, they sat his body upright, his head lolling back against the chair, his eyes wide and vacant, staring at nothing. "My God, Uncle. Look at his chest," Nathaniel whispered. I stepped closer, my jaw tightening until it ached. Stefan’s designer shirt, once white, was now a deep, matted crimson. But it was what was pinned to the shirt that caught my eye.

My mind was still spinning and my cock was still half-hard. I got out of the car, walked into the house, and headed straight to my room. I needed to wash everything off—the confusion, the guilt, and the lingering images of Zara’s naked body. I took a quick, hot shower, letting the water beat against my skin until my erection finally started to go down. I dried off fast and got dressed for work: a crisp white shirt, dark navy trousers, a simple black tie, and my black leather shoes. I grabbed my lab coat. It was already 8:15 a.m.