Novel & Cerita Garrett Watts

"Okay. Before I lose anymore brain cells. Let's talk about our guests from the other week." "You mean from The Holy State and Tolruga? I can only assume it's nothing but bad news coming from them." Garrett sneered allowing his disdain for the two countries to show. He was neither a fan of religious zealots, nor a country who would launch sneak attacks under a false banner. Though is moral compass had been spinning out of control since attaching his company to Christopher, he still felt a high sense of honor as both a noble and a Knight.

Garrett glared at me, eyes full of obsession and madness. "You promised you'd only be my wife. How can you marry someone else? Just once more, Rosie. Save me again, please? Your blood's the only thing that can neutralize the poison in me. I don't need much. Just, say… A pint and a half, okay?" I actually laughed out loud. Even in a hospital, they never take more than a pint. A pint and a half would leave me passed out, or worse. Garrett didn't care if I lived or died, as long as he got what he wanted.

her and her eyes scanned me up and down like a feral animal. I looked over at Tallon as I heard her gasp, “The vision. The witches have located her. They are using her soul!” At that moment Tyler went to take off, shoving Shay clear across the field. Where the fuck did that come from? I looked over and saw Benny going after her. He brought his hands to the center of his body and shot out a huge blast of electric blue fire that went hurling into Tyler’s direction. It nailed her square in the back as she went down with a thud. He knocked her out. I saw Emery running from the opposite side of the field as she lay there silent. We all took off in her direction and skidded to a halt as I knelt d

He never showed any leniency to men like that. "Who gave you the authority to deny her medicine at your own whim?" he asked coldly. "I'll deny medicine to whomever I want!" Garrett shouted triumphantly. "Young man, you're the director of the Pharmaceutical Administration. How could you speak that way?" An old man had turned to look at Garrett. He had his hands behind his back. The old man was Wyatt. He had been bored that morning and had been on his way to see Cillian when he decided to pop in to see Whitney on his way there and check on her condition.

She's perfect,' Berric, Garrett's wolf, remarked. Garrett's secretary was riding with Garrett and saw everything. It was clear that the boy caused the collision. Most of the time, Garrett just threw money at annoying people. He was walking over to write out a check, but Garrett spoke to him through their pack bond. 'Stay where you are. My little she-wolf has it handled,' he told him. Garrett's secretary frowned because this could be a PR disaster if it wasn't contained, especially since there was a lot of attention on him now.

I nodded, acknowledging his request, "Anything else, sir?" He snorted, settling himself behind his desk, "Yes, stop calling me sir or Mr. Astor. You've lasted as my assistant longer than anyone, bar Katie," his face soured at the mention of her name, lips curling into a snarl, "and you aren't doing any of the stuff she did to keep her job so you've impressed me. Might as well give you the privilege to call me Gunnar." I looked at him with a look of utter astonishment. Did he suddenly see the light inside the bathroom or maybe the ghost of Christmas future approached him?

"Why would Garrett be looking into their biographies?" *

I spat, my voice cracking with unfiltered, raw hatred. "I simply chose the winning side of the contract to ensure my own survival," Garrett admitted flatly, his voice entirely devoid of remorse. "Delivering the missing traitor's daughter to the modern pack regime is the final piece of currency I require to secure a high-ranking executive position and permanent immunity within the new alliance. To me, your family’s blood was just the necessary price of doing business, and you are my golden ticket to the throne."

“He told Raines he was going to the authorities. That he had documentation.” I looked at the window. Thomas Morgan. The stubbornness of him. The letter. The quality of a man who learned from being wrong and then did the right thing with the learning. “And Raines responded,” I said. “He made a call,” Reeves said. “To a man named Garrett who has been on the periphery of Raines’s operations for fifteen years. Garrett is a fixer. The kind of person who—” Reeves paused. “Who resolves situations.” The study.

Carter. *************************************************