Bruce X Vance Novels & Stories

The memory of the salt air now felt like a mockery, a reminder of a boy who believed a sunflower and a heartbeat could stand against a hurricane. Toby stared at the man sitting across from him. Arthur Vance looked like a man who had been hollowed out by the same fire currently consuming Toby. Once the Chief Financial Officer of Laredo’s primary holding company, Vance was now a specter in a threadbare suit, his hands trembling as he clutched a glass of cheap whiskey.

"Give me a name, or I start taking fingers. And I’m a very patient man when I’m angry." "Vance!" Gnash shrieked, the name tearing through the silence of the shed. "The name is Arthur Vance! He’s the one who put the hit out. He’s the one who told Silas where you were heading." The world seemed to tilt on its axis. My breath hitched, a cold, paralyzing weight settling in my chest. Vance. I knew that name. Arthur Vance wasn't just a powerful man in Blackridge; he was the head of the hospital board where I worked. He was my father’s oldest friend. He was the man I had called 'Uncle Arthur' since I was five years old.

Vance had an intuition that if can stay in touch with the armored-man, he could be pretty useful in the future. Vance Sullivan was the son of a famous business tycoon, Bryon Sullivan. The Sullivan family was famous for being the one of the leading force in the metal producers and suppliers. Vance Sullivan was destined to be the owner of his father built Ironworks Company. This was the biggest reason Creed was hesitating to tell Vance his name. He was already aware of Vance's identity. Creed just wanted to be careful around him.

Calvin staggered backward, crashing against a side table and coughing violently as he tried to claw air back into his lungs. Vance turned his back on him completely, his lethal gaze dropping back down to the trembling woman kneeling on the carpet. "Explain yourself, Beatrice," Vance commanded, "Or are you going to continue sealing your lips?"

"Adrian doesn't use the front doors when he has nothing left to lose. He looks for the cracks in the foundation." Before Marcus could reply, a low knock echoed at the suite door. Vance pushed it open and stepped inside, bringing a sudden wave of heavy, suffocating presence into the room. He was dressed in a sharp, impeccably tailored black tuxedo that broad-shouldered him to perfection, his dark hair slicked back from his face. His eyes immediately locked onto Noah through the mirror. Vance crossed the room, stopping just behind Noah. In the reflection, the contrast between Vance's imposing, rugged build and Noah's cool, polished elegance was striking. Vance reached out, his large, warm hand

That was arithmetic. The second name I recognized down to the marrow of me, and the recognizing stopped my heart for a full beat. Vance. Beneath it, in Marcus's crowded, terrified, honest hand: Terrence Vance, head of house security, St. James. Meets C's people at the Doraville lot, 2nd Tuesdays. Paid through the trucking front. Gave C the club schedules. Gave C the routes into the compound. Gave C the ramp. He's the one, K. He's the leak, he's been the leak for years, and I couldn't tell you because he'd have known I told you before I finished the sentence. He runs your door. Watch your door. M.B.

"The probability of a temporal rupture manifesting exactly at this coordinate, carrying a couple with high-tier bio-signatures... the math is exquisite." Dominic stepped in front of me, his body rigid. The wound in his side was still bleeding, staining his shirt, but he stood like a king whose crown had been stolen. "Who are you? What is this place?" Vance laughed. It was a light, genuine sound. "I am Dr. Alistair Vance. And you are in the cradle of the future. Come now, don't look so hostile. You’re exhausted. Your cellular structure is screaming from the phase-jump."

I heaved out a sigh and grabbed my car key. The engine hummed as I started the car, and Vanessa stared out of the window, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights, but her thoughts seemed miles away throughout the entire drive. As we pulled into the driveway, I turned off the car. Without a glance, Vanessa unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car angrily. I watched as she stormed into her into the house angrily and I took a breath. I will have to handle this later. I went to search for Bruce and found him reading a book in his room. I knocked at the door, and after walking in to gain his attention, he looked a little shocked to see me.

Vance crushed out the cigarette, shifted gears, and pressed down on the accelerator. To him, the thirty-day agreement was nothing more than a buffer, a chance for them to adjust to each other again. He had even postponed all executive meetings after two o’clock in his secretary’s schedule, just so he could be home at five for the beef Wellington she would cook with her own hands. The Maybach roared away toward Bradford Group headquarters. Vance did not know that on the dim, damp escalator descending into Charing Cross Station, Rebecca had already taken out her phone again.

Tracy was trying her best to appear at ease. Vance was wearing a pair of golf shorts and a short-sleeved golf shirt. He had age spots dotting his frail-looking arms, and his hair, what little was left of it, was neatly combed to the side. "Thank you! Why don't you come in and sit down on the couch in the other room so we can get to know each other a little better?" Vance led Tracy into a large, high-ceiling living area with textured, gold-brown walls and a mix of paintings depicting English country life and portraits of people who Tracy thought must be his relatives. Tracy looked around in awe. She and Jim had a wonderful, affluent life, but Vance's home was in another category entirely. 'He