Dr Doom Face Without Mask Novels & Stories

With a firm grip, the man intercepted Natalie's whip. He was tall, with a buzz cut and a mixed-race appearance. A scar ran from his forehead to his cheek, prominently marking his face. In his blue eyes glinted a dangerous light. "Let go!" Natalie demanded, but despite her efforts, the whip remained immobile in the man's grasp. Her expression twisted with anger. About to strike again, Natalie paused as Carl spoke up, "Doom, release her." At his words, the man, Doom, slowly loosened his grip.

"We have your face on CCTV at the scene of the murder!" Drex leaned back, a mocking smirk on his lips. "That’s not me. Look at how skinny that guy is! And where would I even get a doctor's lab coat? He’s probably one of the staff from Mediyoung Company." “But we have the recording! It is clearly your face!” “Hahaha! And in that recording, I somehow vanish into thin air? That’s incredible! I wish I could disappear right now and get away from you two,” Drex laughed.

But I really wanted to see him. I missed him so much that it hurts even though I wasn't deserving of his presence after wrecking his life. My eyes darted to the red envelope and a pique of curiosity hit me. Grabbing the paper, I tore it open and smashed the red bead in it to reveal the face of my next prey. The image beagn to form slowly. First, a jet black shoulder length hair with various grey strands, peering dark eye balls inserted into a slightly wrinkled eye socket and a vicious grin.

She just watched the blood spread across the floor, turning the ancient dust into a dark, sticky mud. "Is it done?" Abram’s voice was a low vibration from the shadows. "It’s done," she said. Abram pushed off the pillar, his legs shaking, his breath a ragged whistle. He crawled toward her, his boots dragging through the mud, leaving a trail of gore behind him. He reached her feet and collapsed, his head resting against her shins. He looked up at her, and for the first time, the mask of the predator was gone. This was "Face 3." The Truth. A raw, terrifying vulnerability that made his scarred features look almost fragile.

Zion asked without thinking. Roy walked over to the table and sat down. Then he raised a hand to the side of his face. Winter’s breathing caught for a second. Zion turned his head as if looking somewhere else, though the corner of his eye stayed fixed on Roy’s movements. Roy pulled off the black mask, revealing a face where two-thirds of the skin was covered in harsh scarring.

My heart slams against my ribs, stumbles, and completely stops. Dominik. He’s strapped to a heavy metal chair bolted to the floor. And there isn't a single inch of him that isn't covered in bruises and blood. The sheer, catastrophic scale of his injuries is paralyzing. The Donna mask I’ve been wearing for the last two hours shatters into a million pieces. The tactical, clinical detachment incinerates, leaving behind nothing but the terrified, desperately in love woman underneath.

Doom has always been theatrical, but tonight he’s outdone himself. The room stills when he enters. Alpha Doom doesn’t walk — he glides, silent, commanding. His hair is raven black, his eyes sharper than the edge of a blade. When he looks at me, I feel the weight of that stare settle across my shoulders. He raises his glass slightly, wordless greeting, before turning away to welcome another Alpha. “Everyone’s watching you,” Mira murmurs. “They should,” I reply, forcing a small smile. “I’m the Luna who walked away.”