Brooks Wanted Poster の小説・ストーリー

I was surprised that they did not have missing patches of hair for how much they were pulling . “Bitch, you wish you had half of what I’ve got! He told you he left me .Ha ha.In his dreams. I left him because was an idiotic loser who could not earn to save his life! You just were the fool who took my second hand good.” Brooks’ date shrieking, raising her voice higher as if that would help her win the argument. All the people gasped looking at the red face Brooks who stood in the side. Well , someone’s cat is out of the bag.

Reporters crowded outside my gates, hoping somebody inside would slip and give them something. I refused to let a single word leave this house. I knew he was watching. But fuck it... why hadn't he called yet? What the hell was he waiting for? It had been what? A whole fucking day? I didn't know anymore. This is killing me. "Anything?" I asked Brooks, who had taken over Peter's position while he fought for his life in the hospital. Without looking up from the satellite feed streaming across his tablet, Brooks slowly shook his head. The untouched plate beside him had already gone cold, and disposable coffee cups were stacked beside his chair like trophies of a battle nobody was winning.

News about him has been non-existent, so I imagine he has been killed. Soon, the whole place is emptied and I am alone once more, standing underneath the sunset. I want a drink to drown out the pain and hopelessness I feel, but I feel like too much of an intruder to do that. “Miss Houston?” I hear a voice I recognize as Brooks’ say beside me. I look at him. Brooks is a bit old. He is an Olympic sharpshooter that Howard had recruited. He has a bit of a piratical look about him, with a scar running down the side of his rugged face.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Ms. Rivers. Didn't you personally agree to accompany Mr. Storm to pick out your wedding outfits?" Brooke just looked at me in fury. "Wonderful, Theros, just wonderful! You'd better submit the proposal for Storm Group to me before you go home today!" I had only just received the task yesterday, and she was already asking for it today. Moreover, there were less than two hours left until the end of the work day.

Jonah said, "Oh thank god you aren't cooking. I want to be able to talk to the girl before I die. I laughed and said I want wings. Why are you taking us out? What is this for? Brooks smiled at me and said, "I want to take you two out to eat and You'll know more in the next day or so. Oh and Crystal, here I found this in my car"

The number they'd been tracking. "Yep," Sanders whispered. "This is it." Brooks wasn't finished. He bent again, his light slashing across the floorboards. He reached, hesitated, and then extracted a thin, creased picture. His brow was furrowed. "What is it?" Sanders demanded, angered at being kept in the dark. Brooks stood up and put it in his hand. The picture was wrinkled, the corners rough — a woman with a sharp grin, eyes oddly defiant. In sloppy script on the back, a date and a time—tonight's date.

However, on the other hand, after realizing something, their excitement fades and is replaced by worry. What did they do to warrant this unannounced visit? They've never had anything to do with Forest Hills so why is Brooks here? And looking at the powerhouses he came with, did he perhaps come to cause trouble? Seeing the worried gazes of the Douglases, Brooks says with a calm smile "I came in peace, my brothers and sisters! I'll go straight to the point, I came here today unannounced to side with you on your quest to defeat that punk, Lucien Wood. However, I have a little request to make before I can side with you and join you on your quest. Just a little."

"Moreover, my offer to make you my second in command in stands." Aaron’s glance flicks to the folder, then back to Brooks. He doesn’t open it. Violence is still thrumming in his limbs. Anger gives him a kind of clarity that fear can’t touch. But Brooks is patient, and patience in a man like him is a weapon in itself. “You want me to join you,” Aaron says, making the accusation into a question. “I want you to choose the winning side,” Brooks says. “I want you to be an asset. I want you to be someone who can be useful to the new order we’re building. You are worth more alive and cooperating than you are dead or used as a martyr.”

"I'm not running from anything." Brooks hummed low, as if he didn't quite believe me. "Right. Of course not." The room seemed to shrink, as if the walls had closed in on me while I wasn't looking. Brooks was a master of moving around people, pushing them, poking at their defenses just to see where they would crack. And currently, I could see that he was having the time of his life. "See, you know," he thought, his voice dropping slightly, "I don't know, how much of you is really you? And how much is just whatever Tristan permits you to be? Tristan can be quite controlling."

There was a caption below the picture saying "Carson Wells going Brokeback." The people on the hallways were laughing when they saw the poster and I could see some of Carson's manslut's friends shaking their heads in disbelief. I heard heavy footsteps up and ahead and like the crowd parted like the red sea. In the middle was Carson charging at us looking all flustered. In his hand, he was clutching a poster of himself. Here we go. "Ambree! You did this, did you?" he snarled. Ambree just smiled innocently, "What do you mean?" she said. I was watching from the