Bruce X Vance Mga Nobela at Kwento

Parker ranted at him while reaching his hand to stand him up. "What do you mean near death?" the guy asked while rubbing his butt. As he stood up full on his legs, he got taller an inch than the two boys with a little less muscular bodies. Vance had paler skin than the rest and golden brown hair. His green eyes were as mesmerizing as some magical stone. He was dressed in a half sleeves blue T-shirt showing off his biceps with black jeans and a pair of sneakers. He had a pendant on his neck, and his fingers were filled with rings.

"Though I must say, the 'revolutionary' look suits you. It adds a certain... ruggedness to the Thorne profile." It was Xavier Vance. Julian’s cousin, the man who had managed the Vance family’s "Black Budget" and the only person with enough Thorne-Vance blood to spoof the island’s security. He sat with a glass of 50-year-old Macallan in one hand and a gold-plated tablet in the other. The Corporate Standoff "Xavier," Julian growled, the God-Slayer shifting slightly on his shoulder. "I should have known the sharks would swim south when the water got bloody."

Inside the glass car, the silence was thick, heavy, and resonant. Vance stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his black tailored jacket thrown over one shoulder, his white dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His broad knuckles were bruised and split from the violence of the docks, but his face remained an unreadable mask of absolute, terrifying victory.

"I thought if I had the most money, the most power, the most secrets, I would finally be safe. But the game was the prison, Avery. You didn't just destroy the asset. You let me out." Vance stepped into the corridor from the outer entryway, carrying a fresh bottle of water and a first-aid kit. His dark eyes darted from the black screen of the terminal to the two of us. He stopped, letting out a heavy, tired breath, and set the kit down on a steel crate.

"Come in." He stepped through the doorway with a leather portfolio tucked under one arm‚ wearing that tight formal smile he always had when something was on his mind. Tall. Grey at the temples. Wire-rimmed glasses sitting low on his nose as his eyes swept the office once before landing on me. Vance had been a Blackridge elder since before my father died‚ one of the most respected voices on the pack council‚ so when he showed up unannounced it usually meant he had opinions he wanted heard. "I hope I'm not interrupting‚" he said.

Marcus edged closer. "That's not possible." "Harold would have been just a kid." "Precisely." I revisited the article. At its conclusion, I found a photograph. Two executives engaging in a handshake. One was the father of Evelyn. The other... An older gentleman with the same piercing blue eyes as Harold. The photo's caption read: Victor Vance, Founder of Vance Holdings. Marcus slowly raised his gaze. "Harold's dad." I sensed the final piece of the puzzle slipping into place.

Alexander's voice was flat, but the warning was clear. Vance let out a theatrical sigh, retracting his hand without a hint of embarrassment. "See that, Lisa? See how stingy he is? I cannot even touch your hand!" Alexander guided me into a seat, his hand never leaving my waist. "Vance Sterling," Alexander introduced coolly. "He runs defense tech. He talks too much, but he is reliable enough." "Hey! That is cold, even for you, Knight! Don't ruin my reputation in front of your wife!"

“I simply wanted to discuss with you that I want to introduce my fiancé to you, but in hindsight, it can wait.” Xander’s expression remained without shifting as he spoke. “You called me over for something minor?” Bruce smiled apologetically. “I didn’t realize it was so insignificant until now. I guess I was just so excited, and I made an impulsive decision out of it.” Xander let out a sharp breath, clearly annoyed. “Then don’t waste my time again,” he said, turning away. “Get out.” Bruce bowed slightly and left without another word, disappearing down the hallway.

“Killing me is not going to make her want you, but if you want me dead so bad, a knife this small wouldn't cut it.” Vance looked around, but mostly at my face and then Xavier's. He walked towards Xavier, completely closing the gap between them, “if I wanted you dead, I know exactly how,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He slowly dropped his eyes from Xavier's eyes to his bleeding arm and then at my face. I saw the look in his eyes–it wasn't guilt at all. It was rage and disgust and Vance confirmed it by walking out on us.

"You brought the metrics?" Vance smiled, a cold, bloodless movement of his lips that didn't reach his dead eyes. He reached into his overcoat and pulled out an ultra-thin, military-grade slate tablet. He didn't hand it to Francis; he set it flat on the rusted oil drum, directly over the leather ledger.