Novel & Cerita Harrison Ford Scar

Pathetic bastard! I dropped to my knees beside Scar who was already on the floor, groaning in excruciating pain. He was bleeding—bad. Real bad. The bullets had gone clean through his lower abdomen, just below the ribcage. The kind of shot that shredded the liver. The kind you don’t survive. And I hated to admit that, I hated it so damn much. Scar was my right hand man, he was the second in command and now he was on the floor battling his life, all I could do was watch.

I added. "Yes," She said with no emotion to her tone. "I am sorry about that, Scar, but it had to be done," I said. "It had to be done! Are you serious?" Scarlett was getting angry now. "Look, I've apologised; let's just move on, ok!" I said with a stern tone to my voice. OH, I do like it when Scarlett gets all angry. It makes her so sexy. She just sat there looking at me and didn't say a word.

Body not wanting to work properly as he dragged the rest of his dignity back to his room sleep it off. He was drenched in the alpha’s scent, completely coated and could’ve been mistaken as property if the situation called for it. Ford looked like he’d gotten into a filthy fight, bruises and scratches littered on his skin, stark contrast to his flesh. The bite mark was tender, it would take a while to heal. He lay there, curled underneath his blankets, Dallas’s scarf shamefully laying on his pillow. Ford whined, “Raze, why did I do this to myself?”

“Do whatever you want. Whatever helps.” He took my hand, lacing our fingers together. His palm was warm, calloused from years of fighting, but gentle. We looked down at Harrison’s body one last time—still, lifeless, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. No more threats. No more hate. Just a shell.

“I was hoping you would.” Lucas had already claimed the seahorse and was examining it with the intensity of a jeweler appraising a diamond. “Lloyd, did you carve these yourself? All of them? With your hands?” “With my hands and a very sharp knife and about three weeks of evenings.” “That’s so cool. Can you teach me? Can you teach me right now?!” “After lunch. Your mother’s making coffee and I want to drink it.” Harrison came out of the bedroom in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. The scar on his forearm caught my eye, a thin white line where the fracture had been.

I knocked softly. The door swung open instantly. Ford was standing there. He was shirtless. My breath hitched. His chest was a map of hard muscle and old scars. A tactical tattoo ran down his left arm. He looked like a weapon. "Hi, beautiful," he said, leaning against the doorframe. A wicked smirk crossed his face. "Couldn't sleep? Did you sneak over here just to see me?"

A scar ran across his forehead. He tilted his head slightly. “Make that motherfucker beg for death.”

“And now this? Of all men, you choose Harrison Ford?” “I didn’t choose him!” “But you certainly didn’t resist him,” Scarlett muttered. “That’s enough,” I snapped. Before I could react bis hand struck my face. The sound echoed in the room. For a second, I didn’t feel it. Then the sting bloomed across my cheek, sharp and humiliating. Silence. My ears rang. I stared at the floor. I had forgotten how hard he could hit. “Watch your tone,” Richard said icily. My fingers trembled at my sides.

As soon as he entered the cave, Darryl shivered and froze. A figure sat with his back against the wall—quiet and motionless—with a stiff expression on his face. It was Ford. The man's body was covered with scars, and his clothes had been torn into pieces. More than a hundred arrows were stuck all over his body—he looked bloodied too. However, the blood on his body had dried and turned black. He was dead—his body had already gone stiff. Ford had been dead for seven years already. The New World Emperor had taken Sawyer's suggestion to kill the man. The royal armies had released poisonous smoke and arrows at Ford—he had died a torturous death with scars all over his body.

His forehead creased in confusion. “We never got married.” It was just a simple four-word phrase, yet it was so inflicting. It was like a bomb exploding in his ear. It was as if a bomb just exploded in his ear. Fred scoffed. “Want some more?” He took the silence as a sign to continue.