Danger Force Stories Novels & Stories

Stephen Brock. The man continued spreading lies online almost daily. Interviews. Fake stories. Anonymous articles painting himself like the victim. At this point, it wasn’t even about heartbreak anymore. It was revenge. And honestly? I was tired of being quiet. One afternoon Amelia walked into Sebastian’s office holding a thick folder while looking unusually excited. “You’re going to love this.” Sebastian looked up from his laptop calmly. “What is it?” Amelia dropped the folder dramatically onto the desk. “Evidence.”

he orders and I sigh, going into the story. I tell him everything; about the gang, the drugs, the smuggling that I used to do, the rape attempts on Sophie, the threats and in the end about the murder of Greyson. Without realizing, there are fucking tears streaming down my face by the end of my cheerful fucking story and they multiply at the disappointed look on coach's face. "Goddamn it, son, you're much worse than I thought." he sighs then sits down next to me. "I mean, it was self defense, but there's no way to know if the jury will buy that."

Months had passed since the final fight. The danger was truly gone—Fabian’s evidence had torn apart the network hunting him. No more late-night knocks, no more chases through the woods. They had returned to their small cabin, fixing it up together. Fresh paint on the walls, a stronger door, and a bigger bed that saw plenty of use. Fabian’s wounds had healed into new scars, and the haunted look in his dark eyes had faded, replaced by a quiet peace he was still learning to trust.

"I hate you." "I don't care." He pulls me up by my arm and drags me. "Let's go." I struggle from his hold. I can't go with strangers. I've got a life. A life to take care of. A life to build and concentrate on after this messed up relationship with Collins. Not one problem to the other. My heart beat quickens. Frightened, frustrated, uneasy, unrelaxed, list it all. With all these feelings working at the same time, I bite his hand and quickly grab the flower vase nearby and hit his head.

The Death lord trailed off and in less than five seconds, the little finger of the infiltrator was cut off by the Death lord. "Ahh!" The man screamed in agony as his finger got cut off. The pain was extreme that his vain were visible now. His cries had woken up his partner whose eyes widened when he saw his friend finger been cut off. The Death lord held unto the already cut finger of the infiltrator, "you see this, I will definitely gift this to your daughter personally, what do you say?" The Death lord asked. "Please...please...I will speak," The man spoke in pan and struggle. "One down, nine more fingers to go," The Death lord said with a smirk on his face.

Connor had this stupid cocky attitude right up until he touched me, and then suddenly he looked at me like I mattered. Which is… dangerous. Because now my brain won’t shut up about him. I change into pajamas and catch sight of the mark on my neck in the mirror. “Fantastic,” I mumble. I should probably be embarrassed about it. Instead, I touch it lightly and grin. Connor McLeod—campus hockey god, certified menace, probably responsible for half the university’s emotional damage—left a hickey on my neck and somehow rewired my personality in one night. That feels medically concerning.

Pain shot up my spine as I landed, my hands gripping the edges to steady myself before they could see how much it hurt. “Sit still,” one of them barked. I didn’t respond. Just took in deep breaths Like I’d done a hundred times before. But this wasn’t like before. This wasn’t some drunk man in a hotel room. This wasn’t a con I could walk away from. These were trained men. Dangerous men. And somewhere out there— Fort was still bleeding. The thought made my chest tighten. Calm down I needed to calm down. A chair scraped across the floor.

Dangerous. Patrons and staff of SubTerra used only one word to describe Jon Moretti; dangerous. He was one of many dangerous men who walked through the clandestine establishment, and yet Jon Moretti was the one they warned her about. Career criminals, thieves, arsonists, gang members, murderers… the club was a prestigious hub, built specifically to give these menacing people a place where, ironically, they could feel safe. A place they knew police officers wouldn’t be barging through the door to arrest them, thanks to a low-key business agreement between the owner, Frank Muscovado, and some crooked government officials with the power to sweep the booming business under the rug.

My legs protested the stress I’d put them through but I knew I didn't dare slow down. The front door soon appeared in sight. I sprinted the last few metres with joy in my chest. Risking a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw Mr. Hanson suddenly giving up the chase. I’d barely turned my head back before I felt something hard strike me in the back. Whatever it was, it had so much weight that it knocked me down instantly. I was given no time to process before Mr. Hanson appeared by my side. The triumphant smile plastered across his face was my last memory before slipping into unconsciousness.

Another man stepped in front, blocking the exit, his face was shadowed but his grip was like iron. “Let go,” I snapped, kicking at his shin, but he didn’t budge, his partner was closing in. I was terrified. At that moment, I remember Kade and Damien's warning not to go out alone. But I was stupid. I wish I had listened. I wish they were here. My screams drowned by the club’s roar. I clawed at the hand on my wrist, my nails drawing blood, but the second man grabbed my hair, pulling hard. I was trapped, my heart pounding like it would burst.