2003 Captain Hook Novels & Stories

“You’re all bark and no bite.” Mason’s jaw flexed, color climbed up his neck. “I’ll fuck you up.” Kyle stepped in until their chests were almost touching. The height difference wasn’t dramatic, but the presence was. Kyle carried himself like someone who had never once lost a fight. “I don’t think that’s something you wanna say to your captain.” He reached out, grabbed the front of Mason’s shirt with both hands, and gave it two sharp little tugs like he was brushing imaginary dirt off.

I say defensively, not allowing him to use my words against me. I unfold the jersey to have a good look at it and his strong cologne hits my nostrils as the fabric spreads. It's a little bigger, probably his size. At the front it's written “HAWKERS” his team name and the “C” since he's the captain of the team.

Like they were afraid someone was listening. I understood. Daniel Carter was powerful. If he was guilty, he had the resources to destroy anyone who spoke against him. If he was innocent, he had the resources to destroy whoever was setting him up. Either way, people were scared. I made notes. I organized my questions. I built a timeline of the allegations. By noon, I needed coffee. The Blue Line Diner was exactly the same. Same cracked vinyl seats. Same faded neon sign. Same smell of burnt coffee and old grease. I stood in the doorway for a moment, letting the memories wash over me.

My eyes watched out for him, his face covered with the helmet but his name sticking out on the jersey but that was the problem, Easton wore the same name as well and it dawned on me that I should’ve asked what number he was. Luckily, I noticed him take off his helmet once and the number seven registered in my brain as he moved. But soon after I could understand why he was always with bruises. He took more hits and still moved through it like the champion he was. “Thankfully her bad luck isn’t destroying our score..” someone mumbled behind me and that was when I had enough and I turned towards them. “Would it kill you to shut up? Oh wait, actually it would be better if you died because I’m ti

Philip countered, holding his ground. Before the argument could escalate any further, the head judge clapped his hands loudly from the front stage to command immediate order. “Attention, designers! The evaluation panel has finalized the scores, and the top rankings are now live on the main display screen.” I already knew my name wouldn't be anywhere near the top three after making such a fatal technical error. But despite the ache in my chest, I turned my head toward the glowing digital board anyway.

Relief that she was walking around on her own and doing better, which calmed my nerves. “Coach Dante…” Janie began slowly as she made her way into the medical station, her eyes still flitting between both of us. “Does your team know?” Her voice rose so high that I flinched at its sharpness. “Does the team know that she has been seducing you, which is why you haven't fired her for trying to kill your captain's mate?” “Janie You're back and well.” Dante began to put some space between me and him before he leaned against the table behind him, his hands in his pocket with a neutral expression on his face.

"What did you say, you little..." "Enough." One word. Low, deep, and commanding. It stopped James in his tracks. The team captain walked in. Alexander Whitman, as the public knew him was a giant. He was six-foot-four of pure muscle, with jet-black hair and grey eyes that looked like storm clouds. He was the "Ice King," the man who never lost. He was also, Oliver noted privately, extremely hot. Alexander didn't look at Oliver. He looked at James. "Coach is waiting. Get your gear."