Chained Hands Tl Smith Novels & Stories

she said as she walked to the bathroom. Chelsea grabbed her hand and asked, "What did cripple do?" "He made me..." Sarah tried to speak, but an image of the disgusting toilet popped up. Chelsea grabbed both her hands and asked her to take small breaths. "He made me clean his toilet, and I pressed a button, and all the shit went in my mouth, eyes, and hair," Sarah cried out. Chelsea's jaw dropped as she let go of her friend's hands. "I had to puke and take a shower, but I can smell it," Sarah went on.

There was no way that big shot would come to a small clinic like this. Jackson's action surprised Charlie even more. Jackson knelt down before Mr. Smith, begging for his help. "Mr. Smith, please. Please treat her hands. I don't want this to be the biggest regret of her life!" Jackson could not leave Serenity's damaged hands untreated. Serenity still had her career as a lawyer! And her children… She would need these hands to hold them. Jackson could not bear to see Serenity lose her hands. If she were to lose the senses of her hands, she would never be able to use her hands to caress his face again or rub her hands against his to keep him warm again.

He dealt Sloane another strong punch. “Thousand Quick Hands!” Sloane was infuriated. He roared as his hands transformed into numerous big hands that attacked Chase. He was one of Eastern Ocean’s Eight Heavenly Masters and had never suffered such humiliation. He was shocked and angry about it. However, it was soon before his proud attack was obliterated by one punch from Chase. Chase’s punch was just as powerful as before as it hit Sloane hard on the chest. Sloane fell to the ground from the punch and crashed hard into the earth, creating a hole in it.

“Hell, no!” She wasn’t able to run as I hold her arms tightly, but before we could get in line. I was stunned to see a familiar building walking toward us. It’s like the world stops spinning and everything was in slow motion, as he neared us. He was wearing a plain white shirt, hovering his well-toned body, flexing his masculine and plain black shorts. The Grandmaster Chime watch was reflecting on his left arm as the sunlight strikes it. “We are doomed now, Jada,” Trinity whispered.

On the table was her white envelope purse with thin silver chain hands and lying beside it was her phone. Tamara’s phone screen lighted up with a chat message and she pressed her lips together, nervous as she noticed the sender’s name, Dedan. His profile picture showed a formally dressed handsome guy standing relaxed with his back against a glass door. Picking up her phone from the table, she opened the chat application and her eyes took in his message with anxiety: Tell me again that you do not have a boyfriend. Why was he demanding that assurance again? She wondered. She had already told him several times that she was not in a relationship. Maybe he was the suspicious kind of man.

On the fifth floor, the door slid open to reveal a narrow corridor lined with faded carpets and dim lights. Room 512. She stood before the door, fingers trembling as she knocked once. No answer. Her hand pushed the door open. Inside, the room was dark except for a single lamp casting a pool of light near the window. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the city skyline—a man whose presence filled the room with an unspoken threat. “Nathan Vale?” Jenna’s voice was barely more than a whisper. He turned slowly, a slow smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You must be the courier,” he said, voice low and smooth.

This tone gave me a chilly feeling I never wanted. So, I chose the latter. I tried to move away from him, but he caged me with his arms. I tried to wiggle free, but it was like an ant trying to move an elephant's feet. "What did you eat these years, huh?" I questioned him, feeling a little tired after wrestling a little with his one hand. He might find it funny because he laughed, but it wasn’t funny for me. I tried with all my strength, yet I failed to move one hand, no matter how hopeless I was.

I say with a whole lot of sass. Turning back to my brother I finally see that it was his hands that he got free. His ankles, however, are still attached to the chains on the walls. He looks almost ridiculous as he tries to remove the hammer from his chest while balancing on one hand connected to the floor. I take slow measured steps toward him as I whistle my song of the day. Let the torture begin…..

Silversmith looked content, a gleam in his eye of pure glee. Out of nowhere, Klara’s hand half transformed and shot up plunging her black claws up through the soft tissue of his jaw. Silversmith’s eyes widened, his breath gargled. She jumped onto the cot behind him with so fluidly it was as if she’d been training since being a pup. Her hand keeping him upright and still… but not dead. “At least I know whose blood is on whose hands now,” she growled. A breath wooshed out of Marc and he instantly put a hand on the guard, Dan’s, shoulder, stopping him from interfering.

His fingers twitched instinctively, a useless rebellion against the iron cuffs. “First, the hand,” one torturer murmured, watching the blood run between Rowan’s knuckles like black ink in water. “It’s personal. Nathan will know immediately.” Rowan gritted his teeth, taste of copper coating his tongue. He wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but every movement only deepened the pain. Muscles burned. Nerves screamed. Every second stretched into a lifetime. The other torturer leaned close, whispering like a lover delivering poison.