Blood Mercy Mga Nobela at Kwento

In the Boss's world that was the ultimate betrayal but Phantom had been too priceless to lose so he kept him on the team and he did not regret it. Until that last assignment that had sent him over the edge. "I need a new start." The Boss nodded his understanding. "We all do. There is no redemption for men like us up there," he pointed skyward. "We make our redemption here on earth." He puffed his cigar again. "I didn't know what to expect when I met you again but I can tell you you were not supposed to leave this ship alive. But you have a good reason. I'll keep you alive so you can find your redemption."

Taken from far away, probably by someone with a telephoto lens who shouldn’t have been there. He’s on a balcony. In a wheelchair. His face is turned away from the camera but I can still see enough. He looks like a ghost. Like someone who’s already dead but doesn’t know it yet. I did this. My brother did this. I close my eyes, and I can see it. The crash. The sirens. Lily’s face on the news. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. My voice breaks. I don’t know if I’m apologizing to him or to Lily or to myself.

“After that, Mercy refused to pay me. She abandoned me like I was trash. Then she hired someone else. Someone worse. Someone I hope you never meet.” I looked back at him. “They call him Ghost. He’s deadly. Cold. And not just in action. He’s the kind of man who drinks blood before a job. A real monster. He never leaves a witness behind.” His jaw tightened. I could tell he was trying to control his anger. “I know this is hard to believe,” I added. “But if you want proof… I’ll take you to her. To Diana. She’s safe. I made sure of that.”

“We're done here, let's go check on the patient, call your girl up, find out how far she is, Venus needs to get an I.V up.” Mercy washes up her hands while she talks to me and I pull on my cut and rip the rest of my sleeve from my arm off. Mercy used to be a nurse for the military before she decided her life belonged in the field, not caring for the injured. She became our eyes and ears, got a shit straw of luck when her in-tel got her sister and team dead. Now she hides her pain and hurt behind her nosy ways and optimistic but lethal attitude toward life. She is one of the few of us in the club that has retired from the special ops. And maybe the only one who didn't let that life alter the

“When he rejected me, I held on. I refused. I still feel–feel just a glimmer of what was there. How do I move forward? I can’t accept this! I can’t accept that he’s going to die, and I did nothing.” Her words settle in my chest. The memory of storming back to Endova when I got the news that Ryan was dying rushes back, clouding my senses. I know how she feels because I felt that same fury. That same hurt and desperation. Mercy walks through the door without knocking, Freya close behind. I silently nod for them to come in, having called them through the mind-link for backup a few minutes ago. But Mercy’s face is pale and wan as she allows Freya to skirt past her, carrying an armful of precious

his voice echoes, the ringing sound of his firing gun following. Blood splatters from the bullet hole in Emilio’s head, staining the marble floor as it quickly pools beneath him. Suddenly, a string of chills shoots down my spine, but it’s not from the gruesome sight before me, the sound of a familiar voice meeting my ears. Stepping back, I snap my head to the side, looking up at the top of the staircase where Mercy stands with a terrified look on her face. It’s as though she’s seen a ghost, her face as pale as the day I took her from the hospital.

And still I held back, shaking, my teeth hovering at her throat, knowing that one heartbeat more would damn us both. Somewhere, in a softer part of the world, a siren complained about a different man’s mistake. The sound dragged a thread through my hearing that caught on a nail of memory: the boy in the alley the night before, the way his breath had paused when mine continued, the way my mouth had refused to stop until my will had arrived late. I have learned too many sermons to pretend I don’t know the text of this one. Mercy is not nice. Mercy is breaking yourself where it matters to save someone else’s music.

I thought of Eric, the gay man I knew. As I recalled him, my vision blurred. The empty space in front of me darkened and twisted, creating black holes. The holes distorted eerily, expanding and contracting in a strange rhythm. I stared at them, narrowing my eyes. When I pressed my hand against the man’s shoulder and trembled, they were all faces. The faces swirled like black holes. Staring at those chilling holes, I raised my hand and rubbed my eyes. When I blinked again, the black holes filling my world were gone. I was still being carried by the man, and the background was the old corridor. My face paled as I searched my mind.

I mind-linked to the pack, voice a thunderous growl in their heads. We cut through them like scythes through wheat: mercenaries falling in heaps, limbs torn, throats ripped. One begged for mercy—"Please, I have a family!"—but mercy was a luxury we couldn't afford. My claws slashed his abdomen, spilling entrails into the mud. Another unloaded a clip at me; I dodged, pouncing to crush his skull under my paws, the crack echoing like gunfire.

Swiftly flicking his cigarette, he forcefully turned the steering wheel in the opposite direction, causing the car to spin in circles around the girl. On the other side, Hiya, with her heart pounding, witnessed a black Mercedes approaching rapidly. Overwhelmed with fear, she clasped her hands over her ears and shut her eyes tightly, anticipating an imminent tragedy. In that moment, she believed it was her last day in this world, facing an inevitable and untimely demise.