Deadshot Novels & Stories

The lonely, yet stunningly beautiful death or simply Sebastian, ran his fingers through his long thick black hair. Bright citrine eyes surrounded by rich black lashes glance across the bare landscape. The year 1245 a.d. Sebastian once again is late to save his soulmate. He always finds them, male or female, moments after their death. He rubbed his eyes and kneeled down next to the young woman that had been crushed to death by a stampede of buffaloes. He gritted his teeth and cursed the fates.

Jo fired again, turning the would-be matronly murderer into black char. The other guy was down but not out. He lay groaning on the ground, holding his shoulder. “Damn, I missed,” Jo muttered, placing her thick black boot on his neck and ignoring his pleas as she fired into his head. “Not this time,” she said as the sole of her boot thunked on the dingy, off-white linoleum, skidding in the pile of ash that occupied what used to be the outline of the Vampire.

I think of the oath I swore at this grave with blood on the stone and a priest as witness, and I think of the authorization code in violet ink with the initial T, and I understand that the vengeance I wanted would have made me the same thing as the man who signed the order. I stand. I turn away from the grave. Serafina is still waiting at the edge of the grove, her hand now empty at her side, her eyes on my face. "Walk back with me," I say. She falls into step beside me without a word. We cross the grove together, past the olive trees and the dry earth and the place where the bullet came from an hour ago, and we walk through the gate into the courtyard where three capos are dead on the stone

Brothers shouted, coughing, dragging bodies out into the yard. The stench of smoke and blood filled the air, thick and choking. And through the chaos, I saw Knox standing by the gate, a gun in his hand and a smirk on his face. Beside him, men I didn’t recognize, Reaper colors stitched into their cuts. My heart dropped. He turned just enough for me to see the glint in his eyes before walking away, vanishing into the smoke like the devil himself. “Knox!” I shouted, but my voice drowned in the roar of the fire.

She just turned on her heel and walked away, her boots crunching through the spreading pool of blood like it was nothing. I couldn’t breathe. I Could Not Breathe. “What the fuck—” I gasped, stepping backward, nearly tripping over my own feet. “What the fuck was that?!” Hoodie Guy’s expression didn’t change. He looked at the dead man, then at the brunette, and finally, back at me. “Bad timing,” he told me quietly. “Bad—?!” My voice cracked. “Someone just—she just killed him!” He sighed, like I was overreacting. “Yeah. That tends to happen in situations like this.”

His eyes shone crimson as he licked his blood strained lips. "This". He held the glass. Leaning back into Stephen’s chest sniffing his neck. It soothed him. Relaxed him. "Good one Callum . It’s a deer. You sure you want this"? Saint reconfirmed. Callum nodded a yes and the next moment they all gasped when Saint took all shots bottom up. "Yumm". They all laughed looking at him enjoying the treat. "Someone taking lessons. Wow. It’s not so you Stephen". Suddenly the door opened to Zol and they all were shocked.

“Thank you, Asher. I’ll see you soon.” After the call ended, Asher leaned his head back against the couch. Mark Waters was dead. He couldn’t believe it. The idea of it made him feel numb. His body moved automatically, packing a duffel bag, putting his suit in a plastic garment bag, and loading his personal firearm. It was a 9mm, P90.

The man didn’t flinch. “Move.” Marco stood his ground. Raised his gun. A single shot rang out. Marco gasped and staggered, blood soaking through his shirt. “No!” my father roared. It was too late. Two more shots were fired. Carlo’s body jerked, then slumped. Marco screamed and dragged himself across the floor, reaching for him. Then another shot and silence. The faceless man stood over their bodies, unmoved. Then he turned and walked out, vanishing from the camera.

Dipping my hands in my pocket, I removed my phone and dial a number. "è fatto, vengo per i miei soldi" [It's done. I'm coming for my money] The pistol slid into the waistband of my trousers, a cold comfort against my skin. I pulled on my coat, a futile attempt to shield myself from the chilling reality that had just unfolded. The house was a macabre tableau, a silent testament to the violence I'd unleashed. My men, once a formidable force, were now mere echoes in the empty rooms. Their lives, extinguished with careless abandon, haunted the silence.

He paused deliberately, his eyes flickering ever so subtly in my direction. The room fell deathly silent. Everyone waited, holding their breath for the final pronouncement. "Murder." The word hit like a thunderclap, echoing in the shocked silence. Chaos erupted once more, the noise from the reporters deafening, while online, the live stream chat exploded with comments: "Sabrina is dead!?" "No way! How is this possible?!" "Murder? What is he saying? That Arianna and Charles killed her?" "OMG, this is wild!"