Buck X Tommy Novels & Stories

The Reverend’s eyeballs righted into place. Their hearts seemed to flatten with the concussion, stop dead inside their chests for an instant. Air exited lungs. The lights near the red-brick shelters and along the bike path flickered and went out, came on again. Tommy saw an opening and crawled for it, drew himself up and clipped the tomahawk out of Salt’s grasp, hurling it away. He turned in surprise, saw his war ax flip end over end into the blackness as Tommy attached himself to his leg, grappling to pull him down.

I could keep myself safe, but what would I say to Rick if something happened to his son? Tommy was a great guy. He was almost seven feet tall, his dirty blond hair always disheveled, his brown eyes ever cheerful, his smile wide. And he was always ready to come to anybody’s aid. We fought and made peace, trained and ran away to the mountains... So many adventures, so much fun, so much laughter.

Harvey gave a faint smile and looked at Margie. “What? Are you going to be unreasonable now?” “Harvey, hand us the original footage and we’ll spare your life!” Margie softly scolded him. In the middle of her speech, five killers wielding watermelon knives walked out from the inner parts of the box. “Harvey, you don’t have to resist. These people are infamous killers in Buckwood, you can’t get out of this alive no matter how many tricks you have up your sleeve!” Tommy threatened him.

' Tommy asked, coming over and taking a seat on his bike next to mine. 'Yeah, brother I'm fine'. I was closer to Tommy than any of the others, including Ron, but I just couldn't risk talking about this here. I pulled out my packet of cigarettes and offered one to him, he took it and we sparked up, waiting for the other guys to come out so we could leave.

"He is a credit to you and your Luna." "Timon - Pumbaa", Damien snapped, frustrated, waving between himself and Tommy, who stood beside Ab's, "Great, now we are all introduced. Can we get this show on the road?" "Why do I have to be the warthog?" Tommy grumbled, trying yet again to defuse Damiens's anger. "I mean- if the t-shirt fits..." Damien smirked sarcastically, raising a brow at Tommy; relief spread through me, knowing Tommy's wit had the desired effect. Damien seemed to have cooled down a few degrees.

“You better start talking or I'm gonna shove of fucking hearing device so far up your ass, you would hear the sound of your small intestine as it produces shit.” “I—I swear, I know nothing, Vex–” “It's Jordan.” “Sorry. Jordan. I—” “Free him, Jay.” Tommy's voice wasn't so difficult to recognize after having heard it for over two decades. He's also the only fucker that choose to freestyle with my name. The younger guy sitting next to me had that redeeming look upon spotting Tommy walking towards us. Alas, he'll live this day without a scratch. Tommy strolled over like he had all the time in the world, not rushing, not panicking—just calm in that way that made me want to break something. Even i

Mitch smiled at Ronnie then said, "Ronnie, this is Tom Miles, an old deputy but a new one starting today." "Nice to meet you, Tom." Ronnie shook his hand, a tall, muscular built man, cowboy hat in hand. "My pleasure," Tom answered. "Before you get too besotted, Tom, she's a deadeye shot and catches the runners every time. I'd tread softly around her if I were you." Mitch poured more coffee and handed Tom a cup. Tom's eyes went from Mitch to her and back again. "Oh, I see what's going on here, Mitch, and good for you. It's about time, old man." Tom placed his hat on the front desk and sat on the corner.

another added with a sneer, "she's finally realized what she really is—garbage sorting through garbage. Like attracts like, after all." Their laughter grew louder, but I kept my focus on the pile in front of me. There. I spotted exactly what I'd been looking for—a length of lightweight titanium alloy that would be perfect for a crossbow frame. "You know what I love about this?" Hughs continued, clearly enjoying himself. "The symbolism. Here she is, literally digging through trash, which is exactly where she belongs in the food chain." "It's poetic justice," one of the bikers agreed. "Finally, someone who knows their place in the world."