C Thomas Howell Outsiders Novels & Stories

Wells, you've got a line of women waiting to be your bride. Thomas's reaction was swift and fierce—he grabbed Chloe by the hair. Chloe's scream sliced through the air, "Sorry! I'm so sorry, Mr. Wells, I shouldn't have said that!" "You! If it weren't for my plan to push Rebecca away, I wouldn't bother with you or your sorry bunch. You really thought you were the queen bee of the Wells family, didn't you?" Thomas spat out the words before releasing her hair, sending Chloe crashing to the floor.

Thomas had just been thinking how sweet and obedient his sister was, but hearing her blame him for a man's sake felt like a pair of scissors stabbing his chest. Women favoring outsiders - wasn't this exactly what Selina was doing now? "If you're worried, go check on him," Thomas said sourly. How could Selina know what he was thinking? "Then Thomas, you rest well. I'll come check on you later." Selina took the medical kit and left without looking back. Leaving Thomas staring at her departing figure, his heart growing cold. Just moments ago he'd thought of Nestor as an ally, but now immediately relegated him back to the enemy camp trying to steal his sister.

Fuck, it was hard because my babygirl loved and trusted this madman. I exhaled hard through my nose and shoved him back against the wall one last time before releasing him. I watched him cough and sputter. “You know, Zella's going to hear about this-” “Do that and I'll do worse things to you,” I hissed. “Your saving grace is Zella, Carmichael, but that grace will expire because there's a line and I know you're going to fucking cross it.” “We used to drink wine together, you shit head,” Thomas wheezed. “Can't believe you could ever treat me like this. All for what? A couple of billion dollars that you can afford?”

The third thing required a longer accounting. Thomas — the younger of the two housekeeping staff, twenty-four, originally from somewhere in the west of Ireland, a quality of directness and humor about him that I had found, in the months of peripheral observation, to be genuine rather than performed — Thomas had the habit, when our paths crossed in the mornings, of a brief exchange. Not long. Not the extended social conversation of people with leisure for it, but the kind of exchange that was specific to a large house where staff and residents moved through the same corridors at the same hours — a comment about the weather, a remark about something in the news, once a brief and genuinely funn

Thomas replied. Odell pursed his lips as his expression went cold. "Spencer Weiss, Will Sanders, Jonah Campbell, Ivan Lachman..." he unhurriedly listed a string of names. Then, he asked, "You know all these people, right?" Thomas replied without changing his expression, "No." The corners of Odell's mouth pulled down coldly. "But they all claim that they know you." Thomas's gaze flickered. After two seconds, he replied, "I have some shares in Carter Corporation, and they're all shareholders of the company, so it's not strange that they know me."

“You should check it out sometime. I will give you the name of the place.” “My mother is Okanwan, not really Japanese,” Thomas says. “Though many people believe it to be.” “Why don’t we ever visit her?” Rhett asks. “I am a disappointment to her and my father,” Thomas admits. “I did not become a lawyer or doctor. I chose real estate development, which disappointed them.” I hope both Thomas and Rhett can see the parallels in how Thomas is behaving towards Rhett and change that. It is the most civil any dinner has been in over a week.

“Please, Thomas.” Thomas sighed, a long, wheezing sound. His gaze swept over Given, taking in the fresh bruise blooming on her temple, the bloody lip. A flicker of something—discomfort, pity, passed behind his eyes. “I don’t want trouble. I don’t want to go to jail.” “You won’t. She is strong. She will clean well. Just the house, like we said.” Thomas stared at them for a long moment, the moral calculation almost visible in his hunched posture. Finally, he turned and shuffled back into the dim interior. He returned a moment later, holding a single, crisp one-hundred-dollar note between his fingers, as if it were contaminated.

He looked downward and walked away. "Who is he? Can he read blueprints?" a foreigner asked Liesel. "He's just a laborer." Thomas heard Liesel explain casually. The foreigners chuckled mockingly before making fun of him. Liesel did not stand up for Thomas and merely smirked. Thomas turned to look back in despair. He didn't care if anyone else looked down on him, but it truly hurt him that Liesel looked down on him. Thomas walked ahead quickly, not wanting to see Liesel's reaction. He hurried away as if he were trying to escape. Once he reached the truck, he sat on the cart and unhappily scratched his head.

Hell No. “Ashley Williams, what a naive girl you are! I thought I would help you escape, and then you would hand over the corporation to the police. I knew you were not as weak as Nathan thought you were. If I were him, I would be against you. The first time I saw you, I knew you had no atom of friendship in your eyes. Your family story—guess what? They are all fake.” Thomas ridiculed coming closer and closer to her. The pistol in his hands pointed so close to her body that any shot would land on any part of her, irrespective of whether he wanted it there or not.

She looked half-dead. The whip-thin man watching this from the side chuckled. "No need to get so violent, Carl. Look at the pretty face you ruined. She won't be worth as much now." "I needed to take my anger out on something," Carl, the chubby guy, snapped as he cut a menacing look in Thomas' direction. If it weren't for Thomas, they wouldn't have to resort to using such backwater roads to get rid of the women. However, Thomas paid no mind to Carl, crouching by the side as he munched on a sandwich.