Eight Crazy Nights Old Man Novels & Stories

WOOOAAOHH"" On that time Jate Woods didn't know where to go, in a deep thoughts while walking on the street. His well suited attire is now like a like a beggar that don't have anything. After walking along the street he met an old man who's more than 83 years old, the old man fell off the ground and Jate quickly helped him and have him sit in the wooden chair. "Are you okay?" Jate asked. The old man nodded. "Thank you grandson."

“Actually, I think I can help you.” I frown, confused. “How so?” “Something tells me you care little for subtlety so I’ll just go straight to the point.” Shoving his beefy hands into the pockets of his pants, he drags his eyes down my frame in a leisurely stroll. “You approached my… colleague earlier, which is quite shocking considering he’s probably twice as old as you are, but the fucker turned you down. I assume what you’re looking for is a wild night and I’m more than willing and capable of giving you that.”

-POV Derby The take-out cartons from the Thai place on 45th Street were scattered across the low glass coffee table, alongside three different printouts of the revised shipping manifests. It was almost ten at night. The cleaning crew down the hall had already finished their pass on the executive wing, leaving the forty-second floor in that deep, absolute quiet that usually signaled it was time to leave. Instead, I was sitting on the edge of the plush leather sofa, my legs tucked under me, laughing so hard my chest actually ached.

Not to Sterling, but to the arrogant, untouchable man I was eight years ago. I picked up a shard of glass from the floor. It cut into my palm, and blood began to flow. The pain brought clarity. The contract is over, Lucian. You spent eight years building this hell. Now enjoy an eternity in it.

Jeslyn whispered, tightening her embrace as she rested her head against his chest—her safe place. The neon lights of the nightclub pulsed in time with the pounding EDM beats, creating a surreal world of sound, light, and chaos. At the dimly lit corner of the bar, Jefran slouched in his seat, an almost-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot and glossy—not just from alcohol. “Another one?” the bartender asked, his voice nearly drowned in the thumping music. “Just pour. Don’t ask questions,” Jefran muttered, handing over his empty glass.

The old man's sticky eyes flickered and immediately turned into a sinister cold light: "That Lucky Potent can only be mine." "Yes, master." The black mist cleared, and the old man standing in the study, strictly speaking, was no longer human. There were scars on his back, and only after they were stitched up did he speak, his voice coming out through the door. "Get ready, we're going to the Cromwell's villa." The butler, who had been standing outside, replied with a pale face and a trembling voice, "Yes." In the distance, the night grew darker and darker, until it was ten o'clock at night.

That was when this cold-looking man walked up to me and took a seat right beside me, and soon we were engaged in a good conversation. "So, how about you? How's life treating you?" he asked after he told me about his business, his wife, and his kids. "Oh, just little blows here and there, but I'll be alright," I said and chugged down my fifth shot for the night. "Oh, definitely, you will be alright. More shots?" he asked. "Yes, please," I said, feeling a bit dizzy, but I didn't care. I just wanted the night to feel less painful for me.

It about to get ugly with this old man! * *

"Wanna play soccer with this old man later?" The boy stared in confusion. "Are you sure you want to play? You do not seem strong enough to play." Grandpa Nolan burst into laughter and so did others. "This senile man still has some strength in him, little boy." He turned to Erin. "Granddaughter, when is his next birthday?" "In two months. He'll turn six." She replied politely.