Blood In Blood Out Toy 소설 & 이야기

I rushed to the first one, twisting the knob and pushing it open. It wasn't a way out but a storage room. The shelves were lined with boxes, dusty sacks, and piles of old bottles. I slammed the door shut and ran to the next. My chest tightened when I stepped inside. This room was different. The walls were lined with knives, blades, and small, short guns. A single chair sat in the middle, stained with blood. Both fresh and darkened blood. My stomach lurched. It was a torture room. I backed out quickly, my palms slick with sweat.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, casually wiping away all that had happened between us. The impact was terrifyingly potent. I felt a lump in my chest, and I doubled over, coughing so hard it felt like my heart was ripping apart. When I finally caught my breath, I looked at my hand, covered in fresh blood. Keith saw it too. His expression darkened, and he was at my side in an instant, his voice deep with concern. "What's going on?"

His voice was hoarse, and a puddle of blood had started to congeal on the floor around him. Fresh blood dripped into the puddle, his head sagging forward. “I’ve told you everything I know.” “I don’t know, Anan. Have you?” Blood was streaked across Wilder’s face, his hands looked like he’d dipped them into a bucket of blood, his hair was matted with it. His toenails lay in a bloody heap as did the ten severed toes. “I mean, I haven’t even started on your hands yet.”

The moment it slips from your grasp, someone else is already reaching for it. They say blood is thicker than water. They never mention power. Power makes strangers into allies... ...and family into rivals. I look across the table at my father. Grey eyes meet grey eyes. There's enough resentment in his expression to poison the room. I smile properly now. Power slipped from his hands... ...and I was the one who caught it. I have no intention of ever giving it back.

He just watched her, waiting for her reaction, the reaction of a grieving sister, not a newly-minted associate. The game had changed before it had even truly begun. He wasn’t just testing her cover. He was connecting her to the corpse. “A token,” Dante said finally, his gaze piercing through her carefully constructed mask. “To remind us all that in this family, nothing is ever truly lost. Or forgotten.” He picked up the earring, closed his fist around it, and walked out, leaving her alone in the silent room with the devastating truth echoing in the sudden, terrifying quiet. He knew. Not everything. But enough.

he says. "I know," I say. He hands the knife back to me, handle first. "Keep it," he says. "Next time, aim for the throat." Outside, the moon is rising—two days from full, heavy and pregnant with light. But in the portrait room, surrounded by the faces of women who had not been allowed to choose, I feel something shift. The bloodline is not a curse, I realize. It is a question. And for the first time, I am ready to answer it on my own terms.

The urgency behind Orel voice and my skin prickling with danger was what made my eyes to open. The scene before me was a dreaded one, Orel was bleeding for one shoulder while fighting sluggishly as if he was poisoned. A couple of warriors whose clothing and armory were not ours were attacking Orel, I took the scene before me within a second as I grabbed my sword and rolled away from my sleeping position.

Blood. To much blood.