Gear Guilty Novels & Stories

Joan zoomed past and picked up a much larger gun which seemed to scare the shit out of him. "Not that" He chuckled darkly before taking it out of her hands. "I didn't say be a fucking terrorist, That's a 13mm Gyrojet and we don't use that for shooting around here" He croaked and with a shrug of her shoulders, she turned away from him.

Diego nodded excitedly, "GJ. Do you know what that means?" Shin shrugged, not understanding. "It's the brand name of the manufacturing company. Damn it, how am I supposed to know what it is? You're ... the staff who supplies the weaponry." Diego smiled widely, "GJ. Gardner, James. James Gardner. Your gun was made by James, senior." Shin was silent, seemingly trying to process the information. But after a few seconds he squealed, "Wait a minute! You mean James ... made my gun? He-"

STRIPPED WITHOUT A TOUCH Arthur stepped out of the car after Lila, his shoes crushing the gravel underneath as he took in the compound properly this time. The tattooed men he had noticed earlier were still there, scattered around in loose groups. One stood by a Harley Davidson, the side of his jacket folded back just enough for Arthur to see the handle of a Glock tucked into his waistband. Another sat on a crate by one of the buildings. He held a sheathed knife as he slowly grinned, revealing a silver-plated tooth tucked between tobacco ridden ones.

I say, tossing a small, encrypted earpiece across the counter. Kir catches it out of the air and presses it into his ear. "Go into the bedroom and close the door so we can do a comms check," I say, tapping the mic clipped to my own shirt. "I hear you," Kir’s voice rumbles back a few seconds later. Even through the cheap audio compression, he sounds incredibly calm. He comes back out, checks the slide on his Glock, holsters it at the small of his back, and pulls his jacket over it.

Through the frosted glass doors, now open to allow a group of finely dressed women through, were two security guards. Both were massive, broad shouldered, and oozed intimidation. Identical suits in one solid shade of black spanned their chests and torsos. Each wore an earpiece with a thin wire that trailed down their necks and vanished beneath their lapel. The only difference between the two of them was that one had a full head of hair, whereas the other did not. Instantly, I knew which one had snared Hakeem’s attention. The guard without hair turned his head, his eyes tracking the women through the casino. A sea of cobalt stars circled his skull, trailing upwards where they dwindled by his

I considered the firearms, running my fingers along the sleek, deadly curves. Mark leaned back in his chair, dark eyes appraising me coolly. "The Beretta 92FS is always a reliable choice," he murmured, tapping the sleek black pistol with a calloused finger. "Accurate, lightweight, and packs a punch. I've also got the latest Glocks—polymer frames, high magazine capacity. Perfect for your men."

he said. "gun please." she said, and Gavin grinned and handed a silver-coloured Smith and Wesson SD9/40 Glock over to her. "Here you go. I got this custom made for you." He handed her the gun along with silver bullets. Karen collected it squealing with joy. "Do you have golden bullets too?" She asked, and Gavin arched his eyebrow. "Got you covered on that one too." And he handed her golden coloured Smith and Wesson SD9/40 Glock with golden bullets too.

Her ears began to tingle as blood rushed back to them. After the last two kids in front of her entered, she swung her backpack over her shoulder, placing it with a light thud inside the plastic container that Mr Weaver held out. The portly security guard looked as sullen as ever, his dark blue uniform failing to hide the paunch that hung out over his waist. His bushy mustache had droplets of rain in it and his shirt clung to him from being wet. Georgia wondered how his balding head never froze in weather like this. Red faced and leering at her as usual, he said,

I can't help asking. He removes a sheath with a small knife from his hip and slides it into the leather ties of the arm guards. "Several will fit comfortably and won't inhibit your movement. Never rely on one weapon; you always want backup." His lesson intrigues me so much I forget I'm all but naked. Then he turns me to the side and his breath runs across my shoulders through my hair. Suddenly, I feel every bit of my unclothed state. He doesn't seem to notice the goose bumps that pepper my skin as he attaches the other arm guard.

"The car is⁠ armore‌d. Bul‌letproof​ glass. Reinforced chassi​s.⁠ Marco is⁠ s‍taying in the driver's sea‌t​. D‍o⁠ not o‍p‌e⁠n the d‌oor for anyone but m​e o​r Giovanni." He reached i​n⁠to t‍he bag and p​ull⁠ed out a smal​l​er gun. A com⁠pact Glock. He⁠ handed it to me.⁠ "Do yo‍u kn​ow how t‍o use this‍?"‍ ​"Point and shoot," I whispered, t‌he metal c​old and heavy in my hand.⁠ "‌Sa⁠f‍ety is o‍ff," h‍e said. "If a‌ny‍one trie⁠s to op⁠en that door‍, you‌ empty the c⁠lip. Do you understand?"