Chucky Jake Wheeler Novels & Stories

[HAHAHAHA THE TOP DONOR IS A BROKE KEPT MAN. [This cuckold got wrecked. Lost his wife AND his money.] Jake's eyes turned blood red. The last thread in his mind snapped. With a wild roar, he lunged at Bruce on the floor. "I'll kill you, you lying con man! Give me back my money!" He didn't even get close. One of the suited bodyguards raised a leather shoe and kicked Jake square in the chest. Jake flew three meters back and slammed into the wall covered in chicken wire. He coughed up a spray of blood and bile and collapsed.

“Your fairy fucking godmother. I’m out front.” Three minutes later, Warren Clayborne walked to Jake’s truck and slid into the passenger seat. “You know, this isn’t suspicious at all.” “You’ll thank me later, but unlike my good friend, Hudson, I won’t ask you to suck my dick,” Jake said. “Hudson McClaren? Enforcer for Dominic Vittori? Yeah, I’m aware of your associates and the fact that everything I know are just rumors because they don’t get caught,” Warren said. “Neither do I,” Jake replied and grinned as he drove them back to the clubhouse.

“Especially with you chasing this guy with Luke and Fred.” “Jake is beeping in, I’ll add him.” I conference in Jake. “You got me, Fred, Dad and Ken.” “I just got a call from a guy calling himself Death Warrant. Says I’m dead by the next full moon,” Jake didn’t sound scared he sounded ready to kill. “Fred’s mate had been kidnapped and Ken was threatened as well.” I say. “Jake Athena can shift and defend herself. Get here and we will hunt this freak together.” Dad says.

“Yeah, right. If that’s a person, I’m the son of a monkey’s uncle.” Jake crouched, fingers hovering over the V-shaped wound. He leaned into the gutted engine bay. The damage felt wrong for a pole, wrong for a head-on, wrong for anything he’d seen. Too precise. Too surgical. “What do you reckon he hit?” Jake asked, eyes never leaving the metal. Chaz folded his arms. “Two-legged tree trunk. A pole. Back end of a ute. Take your pick.” He smirked, then saw Jake’s face and let it go. “You want the truth?”

"Yeah, I'll just have a Corona lite, and Jake, what do you want?" "I'll have a Cherry Coke with a large serving of Guac and Chips," He said from behind his menu, he may look the part of an innocent-looking young adult, but I knew better than to think that of him. We'd done so many jobs together, I've seen him at his best and worst, he was a man who would listen to the sounds of a rapist being tortured to sleep; Yet he was also the kind of man who would cry, if I even thought about being mean to Jameson, he's a hellhound and yet Jakey acts as if a couple mean words and a thwack on the head would be enough to kill the poor thing.

As Cherry continued to look at him with an arched brow, he added, "Her husband has a black belt in karate. She's got a cute little girl, and she's presently pregnant." As he spoke, Jake wore a wide smile, clearly enjoying the relief on Cherry's face. She glared at him, "You really enjoyed it, right?" she said in a low tone. Jake chuckled, feigning innocence, "What? Making you sweat? Or seeing you jealous? No, I really didn't enjoy it," but his laughter betrayed him. Despite the lurking danger, the last four days had been good for them, enjoying each other's company. They were aware that Jake would have to return to New York soon, pending Jerald's decision.

"I’ve followed your work in Zurich. The striker for Chelsea? The one who was supposed to be in a wheelchair? He’s back on the pitch. You did that." "I did my job," I said. "But my job requires a patient who follows instructions. You don't strike me as the type to take orders, Mr. Slater." Jake stepped closer, the scent of him hitting me like a physical blow. He smelled of cedarwood, expensive wool, and the faint, bitter tang of the painkillers he was clearly overusing. It was the same scent from the Diamond Club, the scent of the man who had called me trash and allowed me get thrown into the rain.

He made a move towards it, but Jake’s hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder. “Slowly,” Jake whispered. “We clear the area first. You don’t just run to your prize.” They moved as a unit, a three-headed creature of survival. Ethel covered the rear, her pistol a comforting weight in her hand. Jake took the lead, his hatchet held low and ready. They moved between the concrete pillars, dispatching two lone walkers with quick, efficient blows to the head before they could even raise a groan. The silence of the kills was profound, a testament to their practiced lethality.

As I dismount, I spot a nervous salesman that approaches me in the parking lot like a goddamn mouse trying to ambush a mountain lion. He reaches his hand out, and I shake it, squeezing firmly enough that he knows who's in charge here, my eyes never leaving his. His face blanches. "Hello, Sir. My name is Jake. C-Can I help you?" he stammers. The way he's shaking, I'm pretty sure he's going to piss his fucking pants any moment. "Yeah, you can actually. I'm looking for a car. Good mileage, very safe, comfortable, sexy. Can fit two...maybe three kids. I don't know, I haven't determined how many we're going to have yet. Oh, also has a wide trunk."

With a hint of doubt, Perry continues, PERRY WHITE: “We can't confirm if these vampire tales from the barflies are true, but there's no denying that all these deaths share one chilling detail: bite marks on the neck.” Just when I think it can't get any wilder, Perry reveals a shocking revelation: PERRY WHITE: The latest victim, Jake Houston, a bartender, met his tragic end just today, inside a car of all places! Police discovered Jake's bloodied remains in the back seat of a taxi during a routine checkpoint. Surely, the taxi driver must have useful information, right? Nope — his story was more bizarre than a cartoon character on a sugar high. He claimed some mysterious creature had burst int