Futuristic Violence And Fancy Suits Novels & Stories

Valets in dark red jackets rushed toward the cars. Then a low rumble filled the street. A line of black SUVs pulled up behind us like something out of a crime movie. One by one, the doors opened at the same time. Men stepped out—black suits, earpieces, sharp eyes. They moved in perfect sync, calm in that dangerous way that told you they’d killed before. And they wouldn’t blink if they had to do it again. But one man didn’t match the rest. He got out last—black slacks, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled, and a fitted black waistcoat. No tie. No jacket. But somehow he still looked like the one in charge.

That suit. That suit! Aiden clearly has no idea at all how damn sexy he looks in it. He looks pretty hot in his battered leather jacket, in a rough-around-the-edges and slightly dangerous sort of way. It’s a look that tells the world that he can look after himself so don’t try anything funny. Aiden in the suit? That’s the look that says: you should never have underestimated him, because he has now outwitted and defeated all your goons, dismantled your secret mountain lair, stolen the blueprints to your secrets and strolled out of the front door with the keys to your Ferrari dangling from his finger, while the mountainside explodes behind him.

I think about how it feels to live without fear, and how strange it is that the man who embodies violence in this city is the one who gave me back my freedom. I think about how he looks under that impeccable suit he loves wearing. The clean lines, the way everything fits him like it was tailored with intention, hiding just enough to make imagining the rest impossible to stop. I picture his shoulders without the fabric, his bare chest broad and solid, built from years of discipline and violence held in check.

The black armored SUV tore flawlessly through the barricades, coming to a violent halt at the base of the tower. Lucian stepped out first. He wore a bespoke, pitch black Tom Ford suit, radiating a devastating, apocalyptic authority. He was not a CEO today; he was a monolithic shield of pure, unadulterated violence, his eyes constantly scanning the perimeter for any threat to his bloodline. He turned and offered his heavy, taped hand. Zara stepped onto the pavement, entirely taking the world's breath away. The untouchable Sovereign was armored in a breathtaking, razor sharp crimson pantsuit. She didn't look like a psychologically broken victim. She looked exactly like a god of war arriving to

I was yet to lose a fight against one of their kind. "You must have heard how awesome and gorgeous I am, I assume," I deadpanned, my eyes locking on his as I began to circle him. "Gosh, I never thought I'd become a celebrity, but here I am. I guess it can't be helped with all my unearthly charms." There was something unsettling about his sudden composure. I still didn't know what arsenal was hidden beneath that trench coat. I needed to be extra cautious. The abominations were usually fans of primitive weapons; swords and spears, but on occasion, I met those who carried firearms. No matter how talented I was, I was still human. A bullet could end me as easily as anyone else. I'd much rather n

However, others looked like your average businessman with a thirst for violence. In the centre of the room was a handsome man with a devils smile, casually eating an apple whilst lazily observing them. He was relaxed into a chair, yet he wasn't slumped, his body too muscular for that to happen. Wearing what looked like an a thousand pound suit he looked out of place among the rabble flanking him, yet there was a murderous glint in his eyes that told Faith he was the worst of the lot, he was just wearing expensive cologne to disguise the smell.

Lucas slid down my body, slowly, oh so slowly. I instinctively reached out to grab him, steadying him. He was incredibly heavy. Like a dead weight, he slumped in my arms with the knife sticking out of his chest. Blood continued to gush from the wound like a broken faucet, instantly staining a large patch of my white suit a bright red. It was my custom-made Armani suit, the only one in the world. Just my fucking luck. Lucas stared up at me, his earlier despair and humility vanished, replaced by a strange glimmer—like a fleeting moment of clarity before death.

It adds a touch of sultry sophistication to the overall. “Or I could be heaven for someone like me.” Vincent said nonchalantly. He was dressed in a simple black shirt and grey suit pants. The first three buttons were open and he stared at the tie in his hand, probably wondering if he should ditch it. “Even if it’s a cult, what’s the worst that could happen? We get sacrificed or get eaten.” “I’m not going anymore.” I quickly said and he laughed. “Bitch.” I rolled my eyes, “I give it ten minutes.”

The Negin is those of existence that is beyond this world knowledge, and this man in a dark suit is someone beyond it and know more than the discovery of this world that is consider forbidden yet. “Blood corps,” he turn to side way and reveal his somber yet deadliest of expression. “You once stole what is mine, and now is no different. I'll stop your gibberish and destroy the bloody order!” The bloody cops is something that is sensitive in corcerns of sounds and presence. They are shuddering this whole time and anxiously filling the darkness with pressure that toppled everything! But this pressure not even affected the man in dark suit and is only shrug to lifted the pressure and gone to sta

But this—this body, this build, the speed in my fists, the strength in my stance—that’s what makes me lethal. Guns can be taken. Muscles can’t. Reflexes don’t jam. I straighten my cuffs. Nod at the man in the mirror. Today, I wear a suit. Tomorrow, maybe blood. Either way, I’m ready. “Come on, let’s go say hello to my future father-in-law,” I joke and tuck the gun at my hip. But as soon as I step into the hallway, I freeze. The scent of roses—imported, no doubt—lingers like rot in the air.