Ghostface Stu Macher Novels & Stories

He asks. I nod and say, “Have any tips?” “Come on,” he says and gestures for me to follow him. He brings me over to a ring near the betting box where a tall, extremely mean looking guy covered in prison tattoos is going through combos with a slightly shorter dude with gigantic arms. “The tall one goes by Machine. He’s the favourite to win every time he shows up. People love him. He’s ruthless and brutal and he likes to toy with his opponents to give everyone a good show. His showboating is where you will get your opportunities from.”

He did not greet me when I entered. He never wasted manners on theatre once the audience had arrived. “Carter,” he said. “Don.” I stopped three feet in front of him. Not submissive. Not challenging. Measured. The kind of posture men trust because it tells them what they want to hear. Useful. Controlled. Yours. Marco lifted his head at the sound of my voice. One eye was swollen shut. Blood clung to his teeth. “Please,” he rasped, and I almost admired him for trying. “Don, I didn’t sell anything. I swear to God, I didn’t—”

Each time I turned the wrench, I saw Saint’s face. I remembered the way his eyes creased when he smiled and once, he had told me that , “Machines don’t lie and only people do.” Now with the set up, I remembered it and it made even better sense. It was easy for me to fix a machine cause if I did it right it would pick up but men… they only tell you the truth when they want to. I didn’t hear Luca until his reflection appeared on the tank beside me. His hair was wet and the collar of his cut stuck to his neck.

The Stokes siblings took seats beside him keenly witnessing how he attached a few chips with circular shape on her head, forearm and in between the crook of the elbow that was attached to the machine with blinking lights which he had just taken out from the bag. " Okay Stella, now I will ask you a few questions and you will answer me. But remember, you have to answer me positively with no cleverness. A single false reply and a wave of shock will be given to you by this machine. So be careful ".... The expert announced, Stella who in tears, blinked her eyes severally attempting to understand the guy's words. He was dressed in formals and specs rested on his nose. There was a microphone in his

The weirdo did not look like a shaman at all. He was wearing bright pink feather coat. His hair was tied into bright blonde pigtails and he wore a large neon pink hat on his head. He also carried an Armani bag pack over his shoulder. The guy looked more like a middleaged fashion designer than a shaman. Joonjae was not too fond of the guy but he had no choice. Undertaker was the only shaman who was daring enough to agree to Joonjae and Chaerin's ghost marriage. Moreover, Undertaker was equally determined to bring down Park Haewon. He would not disclose his reasons, but his agenda did not matter to Joonjae as long as their goal was the same.

Jack rolled onto his side, propping his chin on his hands, his blue eyes fluttering with a soft, residual pink hue as he watched Marcus. "You were amazing today," Jack whispered, his melodic voice dripping with absolute adoration. "When that machine charged... I froze, Marcus. I was right back in my father’s house. But you didn't even blink. You just stood there and caught the world before it could hit me." "That's the job, Jack," Marcus rumbled gently. He finished wrapping the tape into a tight coil, slipping it into the pocket of his dark grey combat rig—right next to the heavy, hidden metallic token etched with the number 89.

I am going to torture and kill this piece of shit. Once we arrive at the abandoned factory, Ghost gets off his bike to open the back of the van to be kicked on the head. I can’t help but laugh as Rover jumps out of the van and starts running naked. I watch with my arms crossed as Ghost curses, removing his helmet and running after Rover. If he weren’t going to die today, he would’ve just signed his mortuary needs. Kicking Ghost is something no one has ever stayed alive to tell the tale. “You could stop fucking laughing and help me carry this piece of shit inside,” he says as he walks past me with Rover over his shoulder with his ass exposed to the world to see.

Saxon didn't expect him to agree so quickly. He raised an eyebrow, a hint of caution in his calm eyes. He suspected that Mr. Marcus had some ulterior motive. "You agreed so readily?" he questioned. "What's wrong with that?" Mr. Marcus smiled, exuding an extra touch of elegance and a hint of domineering power. "If the Mafia and the First Terrorist Organization go to war in North America, Ghost Gang would appreciate your assistance, and in return, we would reap the benefits. For Ghost Gang, it would be a great advantage."

He looked over his shoulder and smirked. “My dear mate, did you take me for one of those gutter-wolves who disturbs the peace with a scarred muffler? This machine has a silencer. I have no desire to be a nuisance to the territory.” The Vyrus actually belonged to Lucas Grant—it was a racing predator designed for the elite. My face flushed hot as I inched backward, tightening my cloak to hide my racing heart.

He spoke with gritted teeth, a dark expression looming over his features. "H-he pushed me against the wall and uh- I-I banged my head against it really bad and he t-threatened me while grabbing my n-neck." I managed to explain as I made no attempt to hold the tears that are streaming down my face. I don't fully fathom why I am even crying right now but I am just letting it all out. Around Asher, it feels safe to let it all out. He stepped closer, making me flinch. The look on his face, the tone of his voice, everything screamed Asher Lancaster, the merciless mafia, who wouldn’t waste a breath before wiping off the existence of anyone who even dares to mess with him.