A History Of Violence Novels & Stories

he chuckled with a cocky smirk on his face, as if he won. Oh no. I played right into his game. Damn it! I smiled, “scared is rather a preposterous word. I’d say I am impressed by your sword skills.” Maintaining his faint smile, he lifted a brow. “Impressed? Ladies generally don’t like violence.” Violence was a word my whole life wrapped around, albeit I was always its victim. But I learnt one thing. It depends on how someone takes violence. Violence does two things: break one’s body and shatter their soul and life, or it crushes them into nothingness and then moulds them anew.

In the Moretti world blood and business were the same conversation. You didn't separate them. Couldn't. Every deal had a body attached to it somewhere in its history not always literally, not always recently, but somewhere in the lineage of how that deal came to exist there was a moment where someone had decided that violence was the most efficient solution available and had applied it and the deal had become possible as a result. My father's world worked the same way. I had grown up understanding this the way children who grew up near the sea understood tides not something you questioned, just something that governed the conditions you moved in.

Ruining Luciano’s party in the process. My doll’s fierce gaze reappeared in my mind, her voice drifting back to me. She had wanted to know if I would kill everyone who touched her, and truly, I would. The fastest and most effective way to get things done, in my world, was violence. Even the kingdom of God suffers violence, and only the violent take it. With a compelling force. I had just come into my bedroom and was cooling off with a glass of whiskey, after an intense punishment session with her.

Her eyes are flat. Dr. Preston, are you aware that your husband's family has a history of violence? That your mother-in-law was a murderer? That your sister-in-law tried to kidnap your daughter? That your cousin-in-law held a knife to your daughter's crib? That your husband shot a woman in a bunker? That the violence seems to follow you wherever you go? I grip the podium. My knuckles are white. My nails dig into the wood. Yes. I am aware of all of it. I have lived through all of it. I have survived all of it. I have survived them.

"No, I have not." My past was not one I spoke of, but I had my fair share of sexual partners. I had been raised to hide such affairs, but to take what I pleased at any moment. Sex was physical, an urge to find some release within a life of lies and deceit. Emotions have never played a part in my sexual endeavors. In my past life I had been known for two things, sex and violence. Now, my life solely consisted of violence. My third mistake happened just a day later.

Chuks shot Fani in the head with his own gun and threw it down beside him, then spat on his corpse. "Should we bury them, boss," one of Amin's guys asked. "No, Sam. Let the dessert have at them. Let Fakunle see the fate that awaits him," Amin replied as we turned, leaving the corpses there in the desert. Violence is a weapon, a very effective one. One used by the powerful to keep the less powerful down. Where we live, they unleash violence to get what they want, they use violence to remain relevant and powerful, but the worst part is that they use poverty to keep the masses in check, "a hungry man is more controllable, more obedient," they would say. But even a goat would bite when cornered

He lifted a brow. “The Russians were a bit late to the party, but they’ve debuted with a splash.” She shrugged. “Why should I care?” He ignored the question. “As you can imagine, there was a great deal of violence as each group protected its territory and sought to expand. About ten years ago, things got particularly violent. Even the feds in our pockets couldn’t turn a blind eye, so the heads of each family decided a truce was in order.”

“You mean when you slaughtered dozens of innocent people and kids? That’s what you call it? The Purging?” Viola gave a small shrug. “One of several names for it. Happened way before my time. Why should I lose sleep over a handful of shifter babies from three hundred years back? Come on. Do you sit around crying over the kids who died when Hannibal marched on Rome? Do you agonize about all the women assaulted when the Crusaders took Jerusalem? Or, more recently, do you get worked up over how prisoners were handled in the American Revolution?” She shook her head and pressed her lips together. “I didn’t think so. What’s done is done. No point in sobbing over things that can’t be undone.” I star