Hop X Victor Novels & Stories

His knee bounced a steady rhythm, and his fingers twitched like he was texting in his head. Finally, the door crashed open with all the subtlety of a SWAT raid. Victor stepped in, hood up, eyes fever-bright behind thick glasses. He carried a battered laptop under one arm, cords snaking out of his backpack like intestines. He nodded at Grant, then at me, but didn’t speak until the door was locked and bolted behind him. “Sorry I’m late, Alpha.” Victor’s voice was higher than I expected, almost reedy, like he’d been running on nothing but nicotine and adrenaline for days. “Had to lose a tail.”

“I felt perfectly fine until last night. I had one drink at the bar, then everything became hazy. I woke up this morning feeling like I’d been hit by a truck.” There was a brief pause before Victor spoke again. “Was anyone with you?” My fingers tightened around the phone. “Yes, a lady I met during our first meeting.” Victor groaned. “A lady?” “Yes, it was nothing of that sort, she was here for business too” I said “I know,” victor cut in, his voice low. “So you both had a drink together?“ “Yes” I answered slowly “but that’s besides the point, Harrington’s company is reconsidering everything.”

He walked slowly towards them, his face unreadable. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith," he added in a gravelly, low voice. "Or should I refer to you as Isabella and Xander?" Xander did not recoil. "You can call us anything you like. It's you who has been probing our lives. To get right to the point, who sent you? With his hands flat on the table, the man slid into the booth across from them. "My name is Victor. I work as a private detective. Charles Hammond was the one who recruited me. Does anyone recognise the name?

He missed that father, throughout his life. The father who did all for him, to make his wish come true. He misses that man. First tear dropped to the ground, his legs started moving faster, he was doing the exercise at an immense rate. Alexander Volkov, age 53, found dead today. Cause of death: suicide. Time of death: around 3am in the morning. We found a blade near his dead body; he has slashed his wrist. According to the post-mortem the time of death is 3am but still exact time cannot be identified. Please collect the dead body by tomorrow, or we must bury the deceased under the name of the hospital.

Even if some of them made a lot of losses on this round’s bet, they would do better for the next. “As an act of grace on my end, I will give everyone one last chance to vote correctly from my standpoint on the top-ranked item. The vibrator drill is a non-negotiable third. Depending on how the negotiation with Wanda's Love Accessories Incorporation turns out, I may or may not be able to hook it up to the donation function.”

Tyler starred at Xavier in shock as he raised his glass. "To Maya and Xavier forever." Everybody chorused. Xavier grinned. They have sold their lies to the smartest people he knew successfully.

"Hugo, talk to me. Is Victor secured at the hub?" Hugo voice came through the static, sounding like grinding stones, hollow and completely broken. "He's dead, Dom. Victor is dead." The whole underground room froze. Lina hands stopped dead over the mechanical keyboard. Alexei's grip tightened so hard around his heavy steel pipe that his knuckles cracked. "How the hell did they get to him?" Dominic's voice didn't rise, but it dropped into a dangerous, icy whisper that made the hair on Noah's arms stand up. "It was a heavy anti-material round," Hugo said, a dull explosion echoing behind his feed. "Takahashi's shooters blind-fired right through the secondary ventilation shaft from three hundred

Teeth nipped, tongue invaded, and Alex moaned into it despite himself, hands fisting in Victor’s shirt. “You’re mine,” Victor rasped against his lips, loud enough for Marcus to hear. “Not his. Not anyone’s. Mine.” He spun Alex around, bending him over the edge of the desk right there in front of his half-brother. Papers scattered. One of the damning photos fluttered to the floor. “Victor—wait—not here—” Alex gasped, but Victor was already yanking his jeans down, exposing him completely. “Here,” Victor snarled. “Right in front of him. So he knows exactly who this ass belongs to.” He spat on his hand, slicked himself quickly, and pushed in with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt in

This bitch should be here by now. “Are you expecting someone?” Victor asked, smiling wide as he poured himself another glass of champagne. The golden liquid bubbled and fizzed loudly, foam rising fast. He had just finished a huge, secret sale to some anonymous guy right here. Cash probably bulged thick in his pockets right now, making him feel untouchable. “What drug did you sell this time?” I asked, leaning forward. The sticky table clung to my elbows. “Just some really high shit,” he said, smirking like I was some clueless kid he can play with. “High enough to kill.”

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.