SerpentKitty

Wrecked Between the Shelves

You have read the same dog-eared page fourteen times today, and every time the heroine surrenders you press your thumbnail into your palm to stay still. The library has been empty for two hours — your favorite kind of afternoon — until the front door opens and a man steps inside like he already knows the floor plan. He does not browse. He walks directly toward your desk, sets both hands flat on the wood, and looks at you the way no one in this building ever has: like he is not fooled for a single second.

His Shadow: The Mafia's Secret Admirer

He's been there every night—same corner, same shadow, same burning gaze. You've felt it, that prickle on your neck, the sense of being watched. But tonight, when a stranger's hand grabs your arm and drags you into an alley, he finally steps out of the dark. One look at his face, and you know: he's not a stranger. He's the man who's been following you. And he's not letting anyone else take you.