Gabe Morales Novels & Stories

Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze darting nervously between them as her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Alexander’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. He didn’t recognize the woman, but her demeanor was almost painfully shy. “I… My last name is Morales,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been waiting here for you for a long time.” “Morales?” Alexander repeated, his expression hardening. “Yes,” she said quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I came here specifically about the Morales family’s situation.” Her cheeks deepened into a crimson hue as her gaze flickered nervously up to Alexander’s face. He stood under the warm glow of the lobby lights,

But she felt as though she wouldn't be able to say anything. He was the cause of this genocide, without a doubt. He certainly wasn't there to save them and the fear and terror clouding Milene's vision reassured her beliefs. She suddenly understood that Madoxe was the mand chained up to Milene, who surely came before her. She understood why the villager didn't stop the fire, they couldn't. She suddenly understood the pull she had to come here, to witness this atrocity. This was her mate, this was what he did. This misery came from his command, he dictated all of it. She hated that it didn't terrify her that much.

That's the power the Morris hold in Italy after Dante Matthews of course since he literally runs the whole of Italy with his underworld connections all over the world. "How do you know that she was the best cook in the whole Morris legacy since you weren't always alive to taste every one of your great grandmothers' food." I joked. He smiled and put me down on my feet in front of my door. "I just know she was and I don't need to prove it to anyone." he replied, " Can you walk inside without falling on your ass, Sab?" his cheerful mode turned sour all of a sudden which made me frown. "Jackass," I mumbled in my mouth " Are you a bi-polar or something? What happened to your mood all of a sudden?

They shouldn't have. Because Albert Morrison wasn't hero trying to save people. He was quantum physicist who'd learned to stop caring about collateral damage. And that made him the most dangerous person in the room.

She stops and motions everyone to duck. “What is it?” Damien frowns. He cannot see anything ahead except for a few Black Jack members who seem to be on guard. But there is nothing there. “Shh!” Moira hushes him. There is a figure heading towards the guards and they recognize him instantly. “Morales?” Damien frowns. “What is he-” Morales steps ahead and suddenly disappears. Damien is stunned. Is this magic?

"That person’s dead! He died two years ago without leaving a corpse! He's surely dead! Even if he is alive, it's impossible to kill those soldiers at the same time! It must be a coincidence, and their journey was delayed for some reason!" Morris kept repeating these words to himself, and he did not even know how horrifying his demeanor was now. His originally slanted face became more and more distorted as if he was a ghost struggling out from hell. Not only that, but the shadow in his heart still traumatized him from time to time, especially in hellhole prison when the figure that melted into the darkness slapped his head almost to pieces. "B*stard!" Finally, Morris roared into the sky, and

she purred. I lifted my glass in appreciation before glancing toward the main opening. If the accounts were correct, Senator Morales would announce his candidacy at precisely nine p.m. He was a man of many things, including a static regimen. I could appreciate that, even though he was a true lowlife. I'd been given the opportunity to see pictures of his extracurricular and very kinky activities. The asshole was a true pig.

he groaned. "Shhh! That’s just water, not oil. But I can pour oil next if you don’t tell me who ordered you to kill me," I warned him. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he replied. "Wrong answer," Agent R said and poured oil on the lower part of the man's body. "I’ll ask again—who ordered you to kill me?" I repeated. I saw him flinch in pain, then finally speak. "D-Danica Morales. She ordered me to kill you so she could fully have Dave Mondragon Santiago to herself."

He is utterly unredeemable and only cares about his scientific explorations, which are totally devoid of, as he would put it, ‘sentimental attachments to a subjective notion of morality’. The Dirt had manifested a concentration camp mass grave straight out of 1940’s Europe from which the herd of zombies had emerged, looking like the animated corpses of concentration camp victims. That was his ‘personal dirt’. That was the Dirt’s judgment on him, whether morality is subjective, as Dr. Schnell veritably preaches, or not. He said more than once that since there is no such thing as objective morality, that the Dirt’s judgments on people were based on the personal sense of morality of whoever sta