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Read Online Books/Novels:

Notice

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

K. Webster

Language:
English
Book Information:

I didn’t notice her before…but now I do.
The shiny strands of gold in her silky brown hair.
Tiny crinkles between her eyebrows when she frowns.
Her passion for neatness.

Once I focus on her, I can’t take my eyes from my newest obsession. Ever.
I need to know everything about her.
Her past. Her present.
The way she takes her coffee.
Exactly how she smells after a spritz of perfume in the mornings.

She’s perfect in every way and I was blind.
But, God, now do I see.

I notice the organized way she arranges her clothes in her closet.
How she visits the same market each Saturday.
The sounds of her breathing as I lie beneath her bed in silence.

Violet is mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.

***WARNING***
Notice is a dark and unusual romance. Extreme sexual themes and violence in certain scenes, which could trigger emotional distress, are found in this story. If you are sensitive to dark themes, then this story is not for you. If you aren’t into super obsessive stalkers, then this story is not for you.

Books by Author:

K. Webster Books

My past has not defined me, destroyed me, deterred me; it has only strengthened me.

—Steve Maraboli.

Warning:

Notice is an edgy, dark, and unusual romance. Extreme sexual themes and violence in certain scenes, which could trigger emotional distress, are found in this story. If you are sensitive to dark themes, then this story is not for you. If you aren’t into super obsessive stalkers, then this story is not for you.

February 24th, 1990

Eyes on the target.

Always.

I don’t have to watch my back because Bull has it.

Always.

Sniper and spotter.

Two best friends since the seventh grade.

“Target is heavily secured. On my command,” Gunny says in my earpiece.

I blink but don’t move from my position. I’m ready to put the 7.26 by 51 mm bullet in the skull of the Crown Prince’s most trusted advisor, Ahmed Hakim. A man whose ties with Saddam Hussein are so thick you’d need a chainsaw to cut through them. My target is enemy number two under Hussein. A traitor to the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. On the United States’ and my own personal radar.

But the fucker is always hiding behind a wall of men. Armed and dangerous men. Five times over the past week, I’ve had eyes on the coward but have been told to stand down. The shot has to hit and eliminate the desired target. Injuring him would be considered a failure. Hakim has to die.

“That motherfucker hides behind the big guy every time. If we had the time, we could take out both. No sweat off my goddamn brow,” Bull murmurs. He chews on his gum but wisely remains quiet. The constant sound of his chewing is what helps keep me grounded. I can focus because of its consistent smack—a little trick we learned at the academy we both attended in high school. A year after graduation, and we still work better as a team than apart.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

I’m in position and have been for the past four and a half hours, long before people arrived for the ceremony where the Crown Prince is speaking. I’ve already established a good shooting position. Flat on my belly with my rifle pointed downrange at my target, I’m sighted in and ready to fire.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

A cool breeze skitters across the back of my neck. Sweat is trickling down the side of my temple, but I don’t dare move. Instead, I’m calculating the wind not just up here from my position on the top of an abandoned building, but also where my target is. The wind causes the black hair of a teen girl sitting on one of the chairs to slip from her hijab and blow in the wind. She’s not just any girl—she’s the sixteen-year-old daughter of the Crown Prince. Despite Hakim being a pussy who hides behind the security, his eyes never leave the Crown Prince’s daughter. Adara. Pretty, young, vulnerable. Hakim clearly cares for her, and that’s saying something for the selfish prick.

Click.

I make an adjustment to the windage turret.

“Elevation?” Bull questions as if I’d forget. I never forget.

I double check the elevation turret, but it’s where it needs to be. Bull doesn’t require an answer. He knows how we work. When I’m in position, I don’t speak. I don’t move. I hardly fucking breathe. Any movement could affect my shot. I’m the best goddamned sniper the Marine Corp has for a reason.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The wind dies down, and I ignore the ache in my thighs. I have to piss but I’d just as soon take a leak in my pants before I moved. From my position on my belly with my legs spread apart to absorb the recoil of my shot, I always become uncomfortable.

And yet, I still don’t move.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

My thighs tingle and my shoulders ache, but I tune it out.

Focus.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Ceremony begins at thirteen hundred hours,” Gunny reminds us all. “Nobody blinks until I say they can.” The dig is at me. Gunny hates that I came straight from the academy and earned myself a Lance Corporal position despite being eighteen. I’ve since been promoted to an E-5 Sergeant at the young age of nineteen. I’m disciplined, hard-working, and an extremely skilled sniper thanks to Dad’s insistence I attend military school at Hargrave Military Academy since I was thirteen. Gunny can kiss my ass.

My hold is firm on the pistol grip but my thumb is loose. Another drop of sweat rolls down my forehead and my heart does a patter as it nears my eyebrow.

“Bull.” My word is yet a whisper, but he hears.

Carefully, my best friend takes his finger and wipes the sweat away, so it doesn’t slide into my eye. He does it gently and makes sure not to touch my scope. Then, he’s back to staring at our target through his binoculars.

I blink several times and run my mind through every position of my body. I make sure my rifle isn’t canted. My cheek is rested against the butt stock and my eye stares down the scope to Hakim.


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