Holden Cross Novels & Stories

Not that I was yucking it, but he wasn't my type. He was on the skinnier side, not too skinny but not as bulky as the others. The only thing he had on them was his height. His blond hair whipped around in the wind as I waited on Skye and Haley to come out of the store. Holden had a good jawline and looked good in the suit that Maddox made him wear. But there was just something about a tall, muscular man, and Knox was that man for me. Haley and Skye came out of the store, and Holden opened the door to let them in the SUV. He closed the door behind Skye, heading to the passenger side of the vehicle. He got in, and my driver pulled away from the curb.

"Sir, give me a lottery ticket!" Patrick York darted past me into the convenience store like an arrow. When I heard him breathlessly rattle off that exact string of numbers I knew by heart, I instantly understood: he had been reborn, too. Clutching the ticket, Patrick turned toward me with a smug grin. "Oliver Hutchinson. Sorry, this one's mine." I shrugged, completely unfazed. "I wasn't planning on buying it anyway." He clearly did not believe me. With a sharp scoff, he shoved the ticket into his bag.

Evren wrinkled his nose and spoke before thinking. "You reek of blood." The man nodded as he grinned. "Sorry, I did wash my hands but I do admit sixty seven kills at once would leave a bad smell." Impressive, Evren almost said but he nodded instead. The man extended his hand towards Evren. "I'm Holden, your future commander. Nice to meet you." Evren eyed him, looking him over before his gaze dropped to the crevices of his fingernails. They were stained with blood.

Inside was a cramped office, overflowing with industrial cleaning equipment and the sharp scent of bleach. Moturanyo stepped in tentatively, her eyes darting around. "Wait... how do you have a key to this place? You aren't staff here." Kingsley turned to face her, his silhouette framed by the harsh fluorescent light. "Moturanyo, you act as if you have a shred of sense. You act like you know me, but you don’t even know my full name." He stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating. "My name is Anderson Kingsley. Does that mean anything to you?"

he asks. “Doesn’t have anything to do with the accident,” I say. “Hey, Rex and Red!” Holden cries out. “Lines?!” I tick my head to the side. No. “I’m good,” Blaise offers. I don’t know how he’s managed restraint all these years. Never doing much more than drinking beer and smoking weed. Holden shrugs, then huffs a line of coke, sending his dark-haired companion into a fit of laughter.

It would be best for everything to develop naturally. Holden went to Sean's house early in the morning the following day. He was working the afternoon shift that day, and he did not have any operations scheduled as well. After he had breakfast early in the morning, he left the house in his car. It took him an hour and a half to drive from the upscale neighborhood downtown where he was staying to the Ford family's luxurious mansion in the suburbs. He had to go through several places along the way, and one of them was the largest train station in South City.

"Miss Rosie, you don't look too well. Should I ask my driver to give you a ride?" asked Corinne. She was not worried about Rosie since she used to hurt her. She just did not want the Holdens to get into trouble should anything happen to Rosie on her way to Anya's house. Holden Group's share price needed some time to recover to its previous height, and it was best not to let another scandal happen to throw a wrench into the whole thing again.

Adler’s came down the hall, and her usually brisk voice sounded cautious as she spoke with someone. “Mr. Blackwell,” Mrs. Adler said, appearing in the doorway, a bit flustered. “Mr. Cross is here.” He didn’t just enter the breakfast nook but also took it over. Damon Cross was tall, around six-three, with a lean, muscular build that hinted at a violent profession. He wore a plain but expensive gray suit that revealed a shoulder holster when he moved. His hair was cut short, his face marked by scars, including a thin white line through his left eyebrow. His cold, pale gray eyes currently scanning the room that included exit points, sightlines, and everything, including Sloane with the same det

Ethan said, stubborn, but the edge in his tone didn’t mask the hesitation. “You already did. That’s why your answer’s wrong,” Marcus said simply, like the truth of it should have been enough to make Ethan submit. Ethan froze, pen hovering over the page, and for the first time in the session, really looked down at what he’d written, letting the words and numbers sink in. Slowly, deliberately, he crossed something out, admitting, even if only to himself, that Marcus had been right. “…okay, that one doesn’t count,” he muttered, almost under his breath, almost unwillingly.

“Don’t mention the kidnapping lightly. I need answers. “Why did you transfer money to the kidnappers?” Harold and Margaret’s faces drained of color. Isolde laughed. She held my arm, eyes gleaming. “Your family really knows how to scheme. “Stage a kidnapping, cash in on a life-saving favor from Cassian, and shamelessly try to make him marry your disgusting daughter!” She covered her mouth to hide her grin. “Of course, I have no problem with second marriages in general, I just have a problem with one particular person.”