Grey Morals Novels & Stories

“Grace, It’s just a rumour, I honestly do not believe that—“. Was she a Product of Favouritism?, Yes. Grace knew deep down that she was, Mr Black favoured her because he liked her, they had an odd relationship between them, Mr Black liked her a teen, It was an odd relationship that Grace was only now realising. Even though they questioned her Obvious Morales, they were questioning more, Especially how an Eighteen year old was having a relationship with a Thirty-four year old man. It was odd, Grace had been so stupid to believe that Mr Black had just pitied her, not with his kisses and touch to her skin that felt sinful now that she thought about it. This wasn’t right, nothing about their rel

Marilyn would never ask for trouble. Looking at her, Malcolm suddenly felt that he was evil. He involuntarily looked at the mole on her hand. It was exactly the same position and allergic reaction. When he thought about it, he was thrilled. It was as if he was possessed as he could only see her. He didn't like to drink, get close to women, or smoke. The only reason for living was to find Carolyn and let his mother come back to him. His dream was to make them live happily.

“Look at Walter White. He wanted to provide for his family.” “By cooking drugs.” “The world is not just good or evil. It lives in gray areas. Plenty of them. Maybe Diablo is your Christian Gray. Or your Walter White. Or some strange mix.” “So a bald drug dealer with consent issues. That is not comforting.” “Not that exact combination,” she says, unfazed. “Just good mixed with bad. Like everyone.” Breaking Bad frustration bubbles up. “Walter White was awful. He poisoned a kid. He watched a woman die and did nothing. He destroyed everyone around him.”

She looked at me shamelessly as she traced a finger from my shoulder and down, I swallowed. “He's so eager to please Knows the right frequencies Worships me slowly Tells me I'm his only They say he's morally grey What can I say? Grey's my favorite color” She opened the sunroof and stood up, screaming the lyrics, “Oh oh, grey's my favorite color Oh oh, they say he's morally grey What can I say? Grey's my favorite-” As soon as I entered the neighborhood, I turned the volume down and she sat back glaring at me, “Why is my knight so grumpy?!” She pouted.

Willa called. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Zeke demanded. We shrugged. "It's what happens when you're raised by a deranged, paranoid mother." Willa explained. "Yeah. Your morality gets kind of....skewed" I added. "Of course, we have our own code." she continued. "Oh, and what's that?" our 'dad' demanded. "Maim not murder." she started. "Chaos not cash" I finished as I threw down a smoke bomb.

I've never felt pride in either family. Acknowledging it is one thing. Embracing it? That's a different story altogether. The Greys… they represent a certain kind of coldness, a calculated detachment from genuine emotion. They value appearances above all else, maintaining a facade of perfection while their inner lives are often a mess of secrets and resentments. And the Bishops… their ambition knows no bounds. They're ruthless, power-hungry, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve their goals. I carry their blood in my veins, their history in my bones. But I refuse to let their values define me.

“You sure they have a hand in this?” Grayham positioned his hands on the counter. “It’s business, Miles. You either win or lose and trust me, intel on them is bad. Those people would go to the end of the world to get what they want.” For a moment, I looked away to reflect. Isn’t that how the rich operate? I mean going to the ends of the world to get what they want. As far as I was concerned, it’s what got us into this situation in the first place. Grayham was determined to level the house even though I protested by placing my life on the line.

Grey swallowed, his uninjured hand gripping his fractured arm as if it could shield him. "You think this is over?" he gritted out. "You think you won?" I stopped walking, tilting my head slightly. "Not by a long shot," I said. "Until I take back my company and render you completely useless, it’s not over." Grey’s chest rose and fell, his breathing shallow. His confidence had cracked. "You’re just… just a user," he spat. "A stupid, naive one." I smiled. "A compliment? Thank you." He turned away fully, “watch your fucking back Moore.”

“My unwed mother died when I was a baby, so my uncle’s family took me in. I had to work for my keep, so I was apprenticed out young. And one night I was coming back from delivering an order and some thieves jumped me. I killed all three of them. Standing there with bodies littered around me, scared out of my wits at what I'd done, but feeling a strange confidence in my ability to do it again. So I ran away and joined the army. Seemed the ideal profession for someone with my newly discovered skills. And I was constantly travelling after that, never met the kind of girl you settle down with. Lots of women, but, you know... you both just get down to business. It isn't especially romantic.” The