The Thriller Collection Read online

  The Thriller Collection

  Psychological Thrillers and Crime Thrillers Box Set

  S.W. Vaughn

  Contents

  The Thriller Collection

  About the Author

  BREAKING ANGEL

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  More Books By S.W. Vaughn

  About the Author

  Preview: Devil Rising

  THE LIFE SHE STOLE

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  About the Author

  More books by S.W. Vaughn

  Preview: WHAT SHE FORGOT

  TERMINAL CONSENT

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  More By This Author

  Preview: KILL SWITCH

  DEADLY MEASURES

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Preview: THE BLACK DIRECTIVE

  The Thriller Collection

  Three full-length psychological thrillers and crime thrillers from S.W. Vaughn

  BREAKING ANGEL

  THE LIFE SHE STOLE

  TERMINAL CONSENT

  Bonus novella: DEADLY MEASURES

  Thank you for picking up The Thriller Collection. Please subscribe to my newsletter to be the first to hear about new releases and special promotions.

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  The Thriller Collection, copyright © 2019 by S.W. Vaughn

  All rights reserved.

  Breaking Angel: Copyright © 2009 / 2017 (revised edition) by S.W. Vaughn

  The Life She Stole: Copyright © 2018 by S.W. Vaughn

  Terminal Consent: Copyright © 2016 by S.W. Vaughn

  Deadly Measures: Copyright © 2017 by S.W. Vaughn

  All rights reserved.

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  MORE BOOKS BY S.W. VAUGHN

  House Phoenix series

  BREAKING ANGEL | Book 1

  DEVIL RISING | Book 2

  TEMPTING JENNER | Book 3

  SHADOWS FALLING | Book 4

  WICKED ORIGINS | Stories & Novellas

  More Thrillers

  WHAT SHE FORGOT – psychological thriller

  THE LIFE SHE STOLE – psychological thriller

  KILL SWITCH – crime thriller

  TERMINAL CONSENT – crime thriller

  THE BLACK DIRECTIVE – crime thriller

  DEADLY MEASURES – a prequel to The Black Directive

  About the Author

  S.W. Vaughn lives in “scenic” Central New York, with its two glorious seasons: winter and road construction. In addition to House Phoenix, she is the author of several thrillers and fantasy books, including two urban fantasy series under the name Sonya Bateman: The DeathSpeaker Codex, and the Gavyn Donatti series (Master of None / Master and Apprentice) from Simon & Schuster.

  Join the mailing list to receive email notifications when new books by S.W. Vaughn are released.

  If you can’t beat them … change the game.

  Gabriel Morgan never heard of the Organization. Until they kidnapped his sister.

  Now, to save her, he has to join them.

  Forcibly enlisted as a fighter in an underground arena with billions at stake, Gabriel must become someone else in order to survive and win the ultimate prize: his sister’s life. So when he fights, he is Angel. And though the cost of winning may be more than he can afford to pay, he has no choices left.

  Because in this ring, there is only one rule:

  Don’t lose.

  “A must-read for anyone … I loved this book
from start to finish.”

  --on Breaking Angel

  “Unexpectedly brilliant … a hybrid of Kick Boxer and Fight Club.”

  --on Breaking Angel

  Chapter 1

  Beneath the glimmering surface of New York City, the night had teeth. They’d bitten Gabriel Morgan more than once in the six months he’d been here. Tonight, as he stood before yet another rundown bar in Brooklyn and steeled himself to enter, he expected to bleed again.

  Not far from his feet, a used condom decorated a patch of brittle weeds jutting from a crack in the concrete. Cigarette butts, crushed plastic cups, and the occasional spray of brown glass littered the sidewalk near the entrance, where a dented aluminum-backed sign above the door proclaimed Bottoms Up in neon letters. They buzzed and stuttered, and the ‘tom’ section flickered on and off at irregular speeds like a strobe with a coke habit.

  Gabriel grimaced and set his gaze on the door again. The names changed, but the landscape stayed the same. A typical stench loaded the night air: smoke, cheap beer, vomit, sweat. The usual sounds battered the inside walls and escaped to assault his ears. Bass-boosted music mimicked the beat of a heart. Between thuds, raised voices became a torrent of tumbling words, while the intermittent scrape of a stool chair fought through the general din.

  A hundred bars like this one lay behind him. If he had to, he would search a thousand.

  More. He’d search more.

  A lead from a two-bit dealer at a fight last week had brought him to this bar. The dealer had assured him tonight’s entertainment would point to the organization. But he’d heard the line before. It no longer inspired hope, only a grim determination.

  The bar door burst open. Gabriel moved aside to avoid a collision with a couple who looked ready to drop down and screw on the sidewalk. A hooker and her john. The john had a hand thrust down the back of the hooker’s scrap of a skirt. His fingers clenched and kneaded beneath the tight material, lifting the edge enough to show the curves of her ass as she dragged him by his belt buckle.

  They paused, and the john kicked the door closed behind them. A few stumbling paces later, he bent to her neck. She squealed and jumped. He laughed against her skin, nuzzled harder, and her mood snapped in a flash.

  “Hey! No marks, I told you. This is prime real estate.” She pushed his head away.

  The john laughed, a thick rasping sound. “Whatever, babe. I’ll just mark you where nobody can see.”

  “Yeah, I bet you will. Big man.” She grabbed his crotch and squeezed until he gasped. “You gonna — Hey, what do you think this is, a peep show?”

  She was staring right at Gabriel. He held his hands up, backed a few steps and gestured to the bar. “Sorry. Just headed inside.”

  With a sneer, the john stepped in front. “They don’t serve soda in there, kid. You heard the lady. Get lost.”

  “Do you own the place?”

  “No, but I know who does, and he don’t want scrubs like you here. If you’re legal age, I’m Lindsey fuckin’ Lohan.”

  “I’m going in. Excuse me.” He tried to sidestep the pair.

  The john laughed and shoved him hard enough to make him stumble. “I said you’re not. And don’t bother try to palm off a fake ID on me,” he said. “Turn your ass around and go home.”

  Gabriel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he held back. He’d already spent half a dozen nights in jail over the last six months thanks to his temper. Hadn’t minded much, because at least he’d been fed there. But tonight he had to get in that damned bar. One way or another.

  “What’re you waitin’ for? Beat it, kid. This bar is for big boys.”

  The hooker stifled a giggle and put a hand on the john’s arm. “Cortez, c’mon. I’m getting bored. Let them handle him inside, honey, okay?”

  Cortez. Not a common name. It seemed he’d heard it somewhere, maybe even from one of the dealers he’d talked with. His mouth went dry with anticipation and he reached in his jacket for Lillith’s photo.

  Before he could pull it out, a knife blade pressed against his throat, and he froze.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, kid. You have no idea what you’re walking into here.”

  He met Cortez’s glittering gaze and tried not to breathe. “It’s just a picture,” he said as evenly as possible. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “I ain’t seen whoever it is, and neither has anyone inside. Now take your hand out, slow, and you better not have anything in it unless you’re looking to wear a red necklace.”

  The hooker sucked in a breath. “Stop it,” she whispered. “Let’s go. We’re gonna be late.”

  “Hang on,” Cortez said, not looking away from him. “I want to make sure this puta gets the point.”

  Gabriel removed his hand and spread his empty fingers. “Happy now?”

  The knife pressed harder, then Cortez lowered the blade and it disappeared. “No, I ain’t happy. I better not see you again. C’mon, Jess.” With an arm around the prostitute’s waist, he led her away.

  Gabriel stared after them, then turned to the bar, pulled open the door and slipped inside before he could talk himself out of it.

  The lights had been dimmed to a mellow glow. Hoping not to be noticed yet, he shuffled away from the entrance, spotted the bathrooms past the dartboards on the far left wall and made his way over. The raucous crowd paid little attention to him.

  Glad to find the bathroom empty, he glanced in a mirror and ran a hand over the stubble coating his cheeks. He’d been staying at a YMCA for the past few days, after he couldn’t come up with fifty bucks for another week in the sinkhole of a room he’d been renting over on the Lower East Side in Manhattan. The grand he’d come to New York with hadn’t lasted long.

  He’d discovered a few ways to make a fast buck since, none of them pleasant.

  He braced a hand on the sink and pulled out the photo he’d been trying to show the asshole outside. The woman frozen in the worn snapshot shared his coloring. Jet-black hair, warm green eyes and honey-gold skin. Lillith Morgan — his sister, his world — gone without a trace. If he didn’t find her soon, he’d have to resort to those unpleasant alternatives, because he wasn’t leaving this damned city without her.

  Where are you, Lilly?

  The picture back in his pocket, he ran the hot water in the nearest sink and scoured his face and hands, combed wet fingers through tangled hair. Nothing he could do about his bloodshot eyes, or the hungry look in them. He’d spent too many long nights at places like this, begging strangers to help him. For his trouble he’d received derision, humiliation and jail time, but precious little in the way of information.

  He grabbed a small stack of brown, grainy paper towels from the shelf above the sinks, dried off and scrubbed at his hair until it stopped dripping. There was a dark stain on his threadbare shirt — one of two he owned. He rubbed at the spot with the towels, and it faded a bit.

  A glance back in the mirror had him shaking his head. Despite the growth shadowing his face, he supposed he still looked young, even for his actual age. Twenty could get him in most places, but not all of them. He’d paid a small fortune for a slick license fudge that even the cops had never questioned. According to the DMV, he was twenty-two. He had to be if he wanted to find Lillith.

  The wad went into the trash on his way back out, and then he searched the bar for indications of his next goal. The location varied from place to place. Some had guards, others just a locked door the barkeep would let spectators through, if they knew what to ask. Occasionally the setup proved a bit more sophisticated, with metal detectors and stone-faced men in dark suits.