Infamous Zeke Novels & Stories

Before he founded THEM, he was apparently quite a notorious serial killer in his own right. Back when he recruited me, I asked him if ‘Zeke’ was short for ‘Ezekiel.’ He shot me a particularly hateful glare, which only goaded me to continue further. “Ezekiel,” I said, “kinda sounds like Easy Kill. You look like you’d be an easy kill, to me.” “I wouldn’t count on it,” he replied quietly.

He clearly had this coming. "At last, i agree to my faults. I may have pushed too far to have you lash out like that, but i was only doing this for your good", Zeke continued in his soft, syrupy voice. Taking the blame while also pushing the faults. "You want my influence in bringing down the Gu conglomerate, but you don't have any thing of worth to trade for it". Zeke raised his hands as if balancing some scales, with his right hand above the left, clearly signifying some imbalance.

And he wanted to get to know his son. Zeke aka Bishop likes to plan and strategize. He learned it from his special ops training. He's very smart, and he plans out the club's maneuvers. His shades were one of his signatures, he always had them on. He often joked that they allowed him to observe without someone knowing he was doing so.

“Be clever like me, Zach. Seriously, why would I want us to eat in our enemy's house?” “I don't know the answer, because your head thinks beyond my imagination”. Zach simply stated. “Look at me, Zach”. “I am already looking at you, Zeke”. “Those men underestimated us because we're only kids. Unfortunately, they don't know what we're truly capable of doing, Zach”. Zeke explained, before he continued, “There was once a day I hacked the information concerning Mr jerk's mansion. I also hacked the mansion’s structures and even acquired the mansion's original sketch”.

AZURE I stood there, trembling with disbelief, unable to accept the harsh reality before me. Zeke, my mentor, my friend, my guiding light, was gone. A haze of despair clouded my mind, pushing me to the brink of madness. "No, no, this can't be real!" I muttered, my voice choked with anguish. "Zeke, you can't be dead! You were supposed to be invincible!" In a desperate attempt to jolt myself back to reality, I raised my hand and slapped my own face, feeling the sting reverberate through my palm. But the pain was nothing compared to the torment within my shattered heart.

Zeke laughing, goofing around, people cheering. Then the screen shifted. The music changed. “Zeke Evans,” my voice said. “Known for his charm, his leadership, and his ability to win anyone over. But that wasn’t his true name.” “Zeke Evans,” the voice-over said. “Or should we say… Ezekiel Evans Jr. Lillard.” The crowd quieted. Zeke’s smile froze. Images appeared: A yearbook photo showing Zeke's name, old newspaper headlines. “Son of Ezekiel Lillard, former business mogul and head of an underground syndicate.”

he vowed through gritted teeth. “That is easy. I will cut off his dick, and make him chew it raw,” Zeke said while he curled his fist tightly to a ball. This was no longer about him. This was about everyone he loved involved. This man was messing with the wrong person, and he was going to remind him of his place. Six feet under the ground, that is.

My father’s agitated voice yelled out to my mother and suddenly I felt a hot slap on my cheek. “What did you do, bastard?!” he snapped at me. Bastard? He has never referred to me as that before. I wanted to speak and tell him that I was not the one who lit the fire. That I did not know how it came to be. That we were dancing and it happened so suddenly. That... But I could not say anything. “Take Zebulun to the dungeon. He is responsible for the death of the Luna Queen.” What? I wanted to yell that I did no such thing.

"I am Alpha Ezekiel, this is the Bloodhound pack. And you are a rouge in my house, surrounded by my warriors, and my pack of 1500 men. You're not the one with the power here, I am. So when I ask a question I except it answered. Now. Who. Are. You?" I clenched my jaw in frustration, he was right. I had no power. No choice. He could do anything to me right now. And I wouldn't have any help or any way to stop him. I nearly reached at the thought. I was fucked. Royally. With that in mind I responded to his question; "Cecil." "And where did you came from? Are there any more like you?" He fired the questions in quick succession. "The East Coast, I travel alone and have not come across another fema

Zane uttered smugly as he sat down in the chair opposite her desk, promptly perching his expensive shoes on top. “What the hell do you know about “these things” anyway, Smith?” She retorted as she shoved his feet off the end of her desk. Zane Smith was a fixer, Reaperr’s fixer, and he was as dangerous as a live grenade. In any other situation, London would have tip-toed around him, giving him a wide birth to do his bidding, but, she could feel the noose around her neck, and this time, not in a good way.