John Marston From Red Dead Redemption Novels & Stories

With my eyes closed, I took in a long drag, allowing my tension to get wrapped up in the smoke before slowly letting the smoke curl its way out of my mouth. My name is Carlito Santo-Maria. I love to address myself as the god here in Draymoor. No one dared question my authority, not even the cops. I can unapologetically say, I am the law. In this game, you know your territory and try not to trespass, but in my case, I think I have stepped on a bigger toe. Striking a deal with Marcos Gonzalez was like striking a deal with the devil. There was no room for failure. Marcos was in charge of the western states, of which Draymoor was part. He was the big fish. A man whose name could sink ports and c

Their howls died into silence, leaving only the rasp of our breathing, the stink of blood, and the broken bodies around us. Marek appeared at the treeline, flanked by his hunters. His grin was wide, proud, almost admiring. “You bleed well, rogue,” he said. “You fight well. Maybe too well.” His eyes gleamed as they fixed on me. “Let’s see how long that lasts.” And I knew — this was only the beginning.

Ghost opened the third file. And the room went silent. A photo appeared older, grainy, but unmistakable. A man in his late fifties, dark eyes, sharp jaw, the kind of presence that radiated danger even through a screen. Ghost read the file aloud. “Hector Marquez. Age fifty‑eight. Former El Jefe of the Marquez cartel.” Shamrock let out a low whistle. “Jesus.” Salvatore’s expression hardened. “I thought he disappeared years ago.”

Markus said, grinning. He'd performed the same action on more than one occasion. I trusted Markus more than any of the other men I employed, all of the hired security personnel. Markus' qualifications were much more significant, his background in the Marines and a stint with another crime family made him invaluable as far as I was concerned.

Mara couldn’t stop staring at the glass. The red letters dripped slower now, thick as syrup, refusing to obey gravity the way normal condensation should. I never left, Red. Elias-9 stood beside her, unmoving, the black in his eyes flickering again like bad reception. “We need to open the door,” he said. “No.” The word tore out of her throat. “Mara, if that’s” “It’s not him.” She spun on him, furious, terrified. “It can’t be. You’re him. You’re the one they built. You’re the one who just said pomegranate inside my head.”

"Tell me more." Maria swiped through the tablet, pulling up more detailed information. "Derick Edgar is ex-military, Special Forces. He's skilled in combat, specifically hand-to-hand, weapons, and tactical strategy. He's trained in multiple martial arts disciplines. Intelligence suggests he's also an expert in counter-surveillance and threat assessment. Richard Dawson specifically recruited him to protect Jems Dawson.” "And you think he's the one who took out our men at the school shootout?" Don Emilio asked, his eyes still on the dancers but his mind clearly focused on Maria's words.

I wash my face to remove the dried tears and come out of the rest room. Margie's face is red, "can I call the sheriff now, will you please tell someone?" My eyes dart to the handsome stanger and shake my head at her, I try to smile, "Margie, I fell and face planted, you know how clumsy I am." I turn towards the guy in the booth, "have you ordered?" He nods and before he can say anything, headlights hit me from the front of the diner. I turn on my heels and head to the kitchen. I see John, Margie's husband, cooking the order for the guy already , I yell out to him, "hey John, morning." He grunts and continues cooking.

They even took Chris and Jared’s stepmother and Chris’s mate. So we called in the cavalry. Gods. Wolves. Supernaturals. Everyone. I’ve been riding with Kanati—the first Apache hunter turned god—and his translator, Kamama, ever since. We’ve had backup from two other Elite: Micah Laoch, son of Carl, Richard, and Lauren Laoch from the Artemis area, and Jai Vlk, son of Liam, Bhakti, and Sandra Vlk from the Blood Moon area. At first, our mission was to find the kidnapped supernaturals. But that changed fast when one of the Riding Hoods turned traitor, helped kill almost all the others, and freed the captives.

Paul said. “Yeah, being convicted for something you didn’t do, especially an assault charge, can fuck a man’s head up. Poor Ghost. He was a Marine, the baddest jujitsu motherfucker they had. He served our country and they sent his ass to prison,” Marty said. “But, enough about the matchmaking, let’s get to this sexy thing next to me.” “Get your hands off me,” Jackie sneered.

The team was hand-selected by Colonel Benton-Jones, and Archer was there to lead the Tactical Team into missions that were kept out of the public eye. “You alright man?” Johnson asked Archer, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Huh? Yeah. Sorry.” He shook his head. Johnson sat back on the chair, he was tall in stature, his black hair was shaved short on the sides but long on top. Johnson was one of the drone operatives, someone Archer trusted with his life. Observant down to the millimetre, he valued him as a mate as well as part of his team. His confidence oozed out of him, he had the ability to changes someone’s mind with one word or look.