Black Theodore Novels & Stories

“Bring her out, now.” The main entrance door opened, and Theodore stepped outside. He wore a white shirt with ink-colored jeans. Beside him was the doll baby he had cheated on Rhonda with. Even at night, she had bold red lipstick on and a short red dress. “Alpha Malcolm!” Theodore muttered maliciously as he slowly stalked toward me. “You’ve got some balls, coming into my territory alone to challenge me.”

"Hmph! What a cocky little brat!" Theodore harrumphed coldly. He knew that the young man before him was his target. Without any hesitation, he brandished his Thunder Whip at Adrian. This whip almost cleaved the space itself, leaving black traces in its wake. "Nice move! Unfortunately, you're still no match for me!" Adrian said before throwing himself at Theodore. "Now, perish!" "Let me see what your family is capable of!" Adrian swiftly dodged the whip's strike and rapidly approached Theodore.

I said. Dominic smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Brave words. Let's see if you can back them up. We've selected our champion." The massive doors at the far end of the chamber swung open. A figure entered, backlit by torchlight. Seven feet tall, broad as a door, covered in scars that told stories of violence and victory. Thorne Blackwater. I'd seen his photo on Luna's laptop. But photos didn't capture the raw menace he radiated. He moved like a predator, each step deliberate and deadly. His eyes found mine across the chamber, and something cold slithered down my spine.

the way he whispered those words near my ears were too unholy for a beautiful morning. “Vel.” Theodore’s gruff voice interrupted us and for a moment I forgot he was also here. His gleaming violet eyes looked at us from the distance as his arms crossed over his chest. Silver hairs looked wet. “We have a situation to handle.” His voice rumbled. Annoyed and impatient. That I rarely see him like this. Theodore’s most calm and observant brother of them all. Almost too sneaky that you wouldn’t notice him planning behind that smile of his till you feel the blade of his knife slicing your throat. If Ezra was deadly, Theodore was deadlier.

He pleaded. "Trust?" I asked, freeing my arm from his gentle grip. "That's too much you are asking for, Marlon!" "I'm not asking you to, I'm telling you to." He started, moving the chair closer. I tried sitting up but he stopped me. He knew something. "What is it, Marlon?" I asked, agitated and curious. "I know, black has been your brightest lately,..." "Just get to the point." I snapped, cutting him off.

As we approached, Thaddeus stepped forward from the line. He was a mountain of a man—easily six-foot, with broad shoulders that looked like they could carry the weight of a building. His black T-shirt clung to his muscular frame, tactical pants tucked into heavy boots. A faded slash mark ran from his left cheekbone down to his jawline, a permanent reminder that he’d seen hell and survived it. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but even so, his presence was a warning to anyone with bad intentions.

When I think of the mafia, I imagine a pierced tattooed guy with guns in every pocket and a horrible mean face but Theodore was the exact opposite. He wore a crisp black suit completed with a perfectly folded handkerchief in his pocket. His hairs were perfectly trimmed and he appeared like a proper gentleman. His face was calm and he was actually smiling at me. Hadn't I know what he was capable of, I would have never believed him to be someone with the inane disregard of human life. "Hello, Sofia," He smiled. "I have been dying to meet you," "Can't say the same," I muttered. "No offense, Theodore,"

“I’m just thankful to you.” “Black. I’m Black.” Black sat beside Grey and unbuttoned his shirt. “Done.” Blackarlito Munteriru Fufu C. Quizo—Black—was the middle child and the only son among three siblings. He was a famous model, gifted with looks that could make anyone kneel. His eyes were striking, his nose well-defined, and his smile could make people say yes to whatever he wanted. He was tall, with a perfectly built physique. “My pants. Please, man,” Grey ordered.

Progress. In the coming weeks, Damian found a way to reach my new number and hasn’t stopped blowing up my phone with texts asking us to meet. He swears he’ll give me the space I need and in the next minute, he’s doing the exact opposite. I swear it’s like that man is bipolar by default. “Then hear him out.” I flinch. “Jesus Christ!” I turn around to see Theodore standing behind me with a glass of wine in hand. He’s wearing one of those crisp white shirts and grey pants. It’s like he doesn’t know how to wear anything less than classy.

Then his action neatly stood up, where there is a trace of old state. If they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, he was still an Edmend Black who was ill for a long time and couldn't even blow the wind. Now they don't believe that the Edmend Black Gu, who was alive and kicking, was coming. This is really, like a miracle! Teddy Black smiled all over his face: "Dad, take a bath and change your clothes first." "I'll just wash it myself." Edmend Black is prosperous and confident in his physical condition.