Brock Lesnar Wiki Novels & Stories

"Mr. Lesnar, do you have any proof that you are the owner of this card?" "I don't have to prove anything to you. You are just a janitor." Mr. Lesnar replied. "Maybe I should confirm with the bank to know who is really the owner." Anabel said and took out her phone. They were surprised when they saw she was holding an iPhone 16 Pro Max. "She must have stolen this one as well." The HR mumbled. Anabel was about to call, and Mr. Lesnar broke the card. "How dare you break my card!" Anabel yelled and he slapped her across the face. This is the second time she was receiving a slap. "How dare you shout at me! You thief! You don't have respect?"

Adrian’s sudden remark shook Samantha so much that she rushed over to cover his mouth, hoping he would not say any more. But it was too late to remedy the situation. Quite a few people turned over to look at Adrian, while a huge frown spread over Nelson’s face. “Who are you? How dare you speak to me that way. Do you have any idea who I am? The boxing champion of the underworld is my brother!” Rick Kramer, Nelson’s little brother, was indeed the boxing champion of the underworld whose influence far exceeded Nelson’s.

He was known for his cutthroat ways when dealing with the enemy, and that could be anyone from a rival company CEO to a newspaper reporter. He'd spent the better part of the last ten years building up his portfolio to what it was today, and he had the bank account to prove it. He hated to lose at anything and always took pride in the fact that he never entered the ring unless he had all the ammo he needed to win the battle. But this shit had sideswiped him, and he didn't know the first thing about treading these particular waters.

As Brock began to count, Zayn looked at him as if he was looking at a jester. Finally, Zayn still refused to move even after Brock counted to three. Brock’s expression grew even more twisted, and he cursed at Zayn for not taking the easy way out of the situation. Then, he walked over and intended to let his fists do the talking. Based on Brock’s movements, there seemed to be some resemblance to Muay Thai, thus proving that he had trained in martial arts before, so an ordinary person would not be an opponent for him.

I ask playfully. He shoots me a sideways glance. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see, princess.” A smirk tugs at his lips. I’m starting to learn that there are a few different versions of Brock. There’s this one- my personal favorite. The one that’s sarcastic and snarky. The one who likes to play and laugh. Then there’s the broody guy that shuts down. The intense one. The one who is so crippled by his past that he can’t move into the future. And then there’s the one that’s completely devoid of emotion, like a goddamn robot. All business all the time. That last one scares me a little. He’s hard and ruthless- I feel like he could watch the life drain from someone’s eyes without flinching.