Dixon Gregg Novels & Stories

The lantern flame between them guttered once, throwing brief shadows across Dixon’s scarred face and making the older man’s eyes look almost black. “You’re a madman,” Skye said quietly, the words barely louder than the wind rattling the shutters. “This isn’t strategy. This is suicide.” Dixon leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He studied Skye from the corner of his eye, that faint, knowing half-smile still playing at the edge of his mouth. He didn’t speak right away. He simply waited, patient, predatory, letting the silence stretch until it felt like a physical pressure against Skye’s ribs.

I hastily stood up from the seat, my bone made a funny crack sound as I bent over to pack the papers in a file so I could store it in a save for the next day. “I can see you're done with your task.” a voice that I knew so well beamed from the exit. “That voice…” I gasped and slowly turned around to see warrior Dixon, the man behind my task leaning his back against the wall with a bottle of booze and two glasses in his hands. “W-Warrior Dixon, how long have you been standing there?” I asked, dropping the papers on the table. “Let's say, I have been standing here long enough that I could not remember,” he smirked, gently moved away from the wall and started taking a long stride towards me.

Damn it! In an instant, Dixon wanted to spit out a mouthful of blood. He was beaten up so badly and it was on the account of the other party. Were these people demons? “F*ck you! I’m the vice president of Leisure Entertainment! If you do this to me, aren’t you afraid that Mr. Snell will pursue this matter with Heath?” Dixon made his last desperate attempt. Hearing these words, Geoff laughed and stepped directly on Dixon's chest. He said coldly, “Do you want to complain to Heath?”

I promptly responded, my voice steadier than I felt. "Very well. Mr. Wyatt, you may begin." Gregory Wyatt stood up, buttoning his suit as he did. He was tall, probably in his late twenties, with neatly styled dark hair. He radiated the confidence of a man who has never lost a battle in the courtroom.

Last night she wasn't as glowing as this, her smiles got him off-guard. No wonder was absolutely trapped in her love. Who won't love someone like her? Expect him cause he's gay. “Ignore him.” he pulled her into a hug. “You woke up, don't ever do this again.” he warned. “I promise. Where is Dixon?” “He left a while ago. To the hospital. His father is in there badly sick.” “Oh!” “Come seat. I'll serve you breakfast.” “I want meat. The crave is driving me crazy, cow meat. Fresh one.”

“How do you want to handle this?” Dixon asked, seeing Gibbon approach the building. He had ridden in on a shabby 12-speed bicycle, which he didn’t even bother to secure to the bike rack. Despite being at least fifty pounds of muscle heavier, he was easily recognizable. He was about six feet tall, shaved head, with a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, just like in his mug shot. “We’ve got to be careful,” Watson replied, not taking her eyes off of the mark. “I don’t want to risk tipping him off that we are here and having him take off on us.”

Theodore echoed my opinion. “The river should remain Blue River’s territory in its entirety,” Alexander challenged, though I’m not sure if his opinion would have swayed that way if it wasn’t for his son’s outburst. Dixon left himself until last on purpose, always calculated. It now hitched on his decision, but instead of drawing it out he sided with the majority, “Neutral.” I see his game from a mile away, but he’s not going to win the majority where he wants. “Then it’s decided,” Theodore boomed, “anything else?”

Their table was loaded with glasses of beer. “Caelan, did you manage to find anything about the Dixon family?” asked Darryl. “Hall Master, I’ve checked about them. The head of the Dixon family is Timothy Dixon, he has a son named Donoghue Dixon. Besides that, Timothy Dixon also took in four stepsons and named them after natural phenomena, Zephyr Dixon, Nimbus Dixon, Levin Dixon, and Volt Dixon. Pfft. Volt Dixon? Darryl almost spat out the tea he just sipped.

Jeff Greg had idly stretched it out and arrogantly positioned it onto Joseph Willard’s seat at some stage in the aisle, obstructing his way. because of the tool, Ryan Dixon modified into forced to try to do subjects that he greater regularly than now no longer wouldn’t do. He understood that Jeff Greg competes for no half of in this, besides for the fact that he turned into irritated with him, he couldn’t facilitate however revel in anger closer to him. Ryan Dixon appeared down at him for a flash in advance then ignored him and got ready to step over him.

I can see a small cut above his eye, and I know those tend to bleed a lot. "Dixon Connor, arrested last night for criminal damage. He had the misfortune to have a small amount of methamphetamine in his pocket when they searched him. He was tagged for one count of possession of a narcotic and three counts of drug paraphernalia, making it a felony arrest. His father is Don Connor, the main pastor at First Methodist in Paradise Valley, which also happens to be the church I attend. At Don's request, I went down to see Dixon this morning. As you can imagine, he was jumpy. What surprised me the most is that he's scared shitless."