Danger Street Novels & Stories

Jeremy and I were on our way back from the docks, and it had been a fucking bloodbath out there. The kind that twists your stomach, that coats your lungs with the taste of iron and fury. Our men had been slaughtered, torn apart with what could only have been a knife. Nothing else left wounds like that—deep, cruel, personal. It wasn’t gunfire. It wasn’t tactical. It was savage.

Despite her fury and contempt for him, I knew Sara wouldn't appreciate it if I murdered her father. I drove on toward the darker parts of the city where my men were waiting–hopefully with good information for me. I moved through the grungier streets and eyed all the miscreants lingering about. It was still reasonably early in the day, so it was mostly empty, but these kinds of people–people like Daren–didn't have much to fear or too much shame to be here. Here they were completely swallowed up in surroundings and other people that matched their level of disgust and worthlessness.

Tom asked Brandi as he drove through the streets, keeping his eyes pealed for trouble. “It’s a Van Damme movie, my first major studio film,” Brandi excitedly told Tom. “Wow,” said Tom. “Congratulations.” “Thanks!” Brandi replied, blushing a little. “See that car up ahead?” Tom asked her, pointing to a brown Cadillac that was weaving all over the road ahead of them. “Yes,” nodded Brandi. “He’s not driving very straight.” “Probably a drunk,” agreed Tom, flicking a switch on the dashboard in front of him and turning on the squad cars lights and sirens.

Two days passed by quickly, but there was still no sign of the package promised to send her. She was a little anxious, so she called Dunn, but found that the number was invalid. How could Dunn turn off his phone? Was something wrong? Deborah felt a little uncertain. After waiting at home for an entire day, she couldn't help driving to Maoer Alley. Maoer Alley was the place where she used to live when she was in poverty. It was the most chaotic place in San Fetillo. The largest gang in San Fetillo lived there. In the past, Deborah, an unmarried mother, dragged Lily around there and got to know a lot of mafia members with her cunning ways. Dunn was one of them. Taking drugs, doing drug traffic

Adrian’s thumb hovers above the screen. He should have his assistant reply. That is what a man like him does. He does not answer journalists personally, especially not journalists who have just described his life as a beautiful prison. He replies anyway. “Four is acceptable.” The answer comes back almost immediately. “How generous of you.” Adrian stares at the message for several seconds. Then, despite the article, the board, his father, and Celeste’s warning, Adrian smiles for the first time that morning. It is not a warm smile. It is not a friendly smile. It is the kind of smile that belongs to a man who has just decided the game will be more dangerous if he sits close enough to touch the

Clarissa leaned on the window and watched the buildings blur as the car sped past them. The change in scenery was noticeable as they moved away from Hydepark and into the 68th Avenue. The stark difference between the neighborhoods began with a decrease in the number of functioning streetlights, shady alleys loomed at every corner. suspicious looking persons milled around, always peeking behind their shoulders. 68th was well-known for housing the dirtiest and most dangerous slum in the whole of Chicago. Notorious for holding the highest number of drug busts per annum, infamous criminals made 68th their home. Ladies in skimpy and shiny clothes, who stood at street corners waved and leered at t

Two blocks down, the neighborhood deteriorated rapidly. The streetlights were shattered. Trash littered the gutters. Suddenly, a heavy wooden door to a dive bar banged open. A drunk man stumbled out onto the sidewalk, yelling incoherently and waving a glass bottle in the air. The drunk staggered directly into Aria’s path. Damian slammed his foot on the brake. He reached for his door handle again, his blood running cold.

The redhead woman giggled waving her hand as if what I just said dint matter and it was just a normal thing killing people there. “Nah it is fine, we are used to this kind of shit, this won’t be the first time someone got killed there. I mean the place is full with mobs every night and all kind of shady deals happens there daily so something like that was bound to happen, right?” I frowned at her words and it did make sense, she was right all kind or shady people were there. It was a place for the underground people. I looked down at my steak licking my lips. It smells divine and I felt really hungry now, all that stress and thinking was making me very hungry so I just dug in without waiting

she yelled in tears. “So you'd stop looking at her like—” “Like what?” I growled, cutting her off. “Like she matters!” She widened her eyes, heaving heavily. “She. Fucking. Does. Matter. Fernandez,” I whispered so low she flinched. I kicked the door to the warehouse open as it fell, dust covering the air. Cracks from the ceiling showed streaks of light on the concrete floor. Red paint hovered all over the wall with hay around. “Certainly not hereeee,” Cairo sang.

The cab stopped, and I quickly got in, and told him my house address, ushering him to drive fast as I was in a hurry. The cab ride was a blur as my mind flashed back to the event of the night before. I couldn’t quite remember his face as I was drunk, and drugged, but his eyes hunted me. The stormy cloud eyes with hints of blue were an unusual color I had never seen before. The cab pulled up to my apartment building, I paid the driver and climbed out. I started up the stairs, my mind elsewhere, when I tripped and nearly fell. For a split second, as I caught myself, I was transported back to that night. “Thorne,” I whispered.