Gotham Jerome Valeska Novels & Stories

"I'm not in the mood for a useless conversation, Luna. If this is not important, let's talk some other day." Jerome turned around to exit his office with his head down. Afraid that he wouldn't look at me anymore, I ran to him and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. I thought that he would escape from my warm embrace, but he stayed and even held my hands. "I chose the right path, didn't I? It wasn't my fault that Jazpher opted to do those immoral deeds to Yuki, right? I wasn't the one to be blamed, right?" Jerome consecutively asked, and I felt a change in the way he breathed in and out; he's crying.

Viktor stared into Jerome’s eyes, unflinchingly as he whispered back. “Whether you directly held the spear or camped with those who did it…” Jerome shrugged “It makes no difference to me… the meaning is the same.” His lips curled sinisterly as he continued to whisper “And I am a Zumerong, I pay my debts in full. You will get your due.”

"Born on March 15th at 2:17 in the morning. He weighs eighteen pounds, he's learning to sit up on his own, and he has your eyes." The silence stretched between them, heavy with shock. Valerie could feel Rick staring at Jeremiah, could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind as he processed this revelation. Finally, she closed the car door and turned to face him directly for the first time since revealing Jeremiah's existence. Rick's face had gone completely white. His eyes were wide with shock and panic. He looked like a man who had just had his entire world shifted off its axis. "If you want to be part of his life," Valerie said in a calm and final voice, "you know where to find me.

"It's Jerome…my pimp. He's the one who hooked me up with Pastor Adrian." Well, that would explain how Jerome knew where to find her. If Vargas couldn't use the gargoyles to get her, Adrian would use humans. Rhychard wondered what Vargas offered the preacher that would have caused him make such evil decisions. How could Rhychard have allowed this man to fool him for so long?

I challenged, hoping to gauge his true intentions. Jerome met my gaze head-on, a steely glint in his eyes. "Forgive me, Alpha Kael," he said, his voice laced with a dangerous calmness, "I can tolerate your aggression towards me, but I will not stand by and watch you disrespect Axella. She is my lifeline, and nobody, not even a powerful Alpha, gets to cross that line."

Jeremiah continued, gesturing lazily to the men seated further down the table, “Allow me to introduce the ones who matter.” A man with a scar running from his jaw to his collarbone lifted his glass slightly. “Xavier Morelli.” Next to him, a dark-haired man with an air of quiet lethality tipped his head. “Kayne Orlov." And then the youngest one, who looked at me with almost a cocky smirk but his pale blue eyes told a tale of unhinged madness. And yet still somehow he appeared less dangerous than the man on my right. “He is my youngest brother,” Jeremiah said, his tone quite soft.

I was just about to fold myself into the vehicle when I halted, glaring Victor dead in the eyes as I questioned, "How can I be certain that you don't plan to do anything to me?" Victor huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose as his features twisted in a pensive mask. After a minute or two, he began signing, "Message your friend. Tell her you're with me. My name is Victor Silva. If she doesn't hear from you in the morning then she should file a charge against me." Silva. Hispanic decent. His tanned skin suddenly made a lot of sense. I fished out my phone from the pocket of my trench coat and opened a chat with Erica.

He wasn’t moving. Vale grabbed my wrist. “We need to go.” “What—what just happened?” “Later.” He pulled me through a side door into a narrow hallway that smelled like rust and rain. My legs felt like jelly, but fear was stronger. Outside, the storm hadn’t let up. Rain hammered down as we ran through the alley, puddles splashing under our shoes. I could barely keep up with him. “Who was that?” I shouted over the rain. “Division agent.”

Lucian Vale. Seraphina Devacruax. Serena Rivera. Dominic Keene. Roth Vos Vivian’s breath hitched faintly at that last name. Roth Vos — the late-night comedian turned actor, turned PR nightmare. He hadn’t been near Vale Studios since his very public implosion last year. She didn’t know what Vale was planning, but she knew this: bringing that list of people into one ballroom was like trapping wolves in a mirrored cage. Her phone buzzed again — same anonymous sender.

Rosalyn spoke in such a calm tone, repeating her words, balancing herself despite the shaking ground. Elias stepped in front of me instinctively. Xavier’s wolf exploded forward, gold bleeding into his irises, dominance slamming into the floor so violently even Elias staggered. “Valerie,” he gritted out, voice low, feral, lethal. “Behind me. Now.” But I couldn’t move. Because her power, Lisa’s power, rolled through me like ice water and wildfire intertwined, crawling up my spine, into my lungs, into the marrow of my bones.