John Marston From Red Dead Redemption Novels & Stories

the man muttered. Colton walked to the ground demarcation, stopped beside Lora, pointed his revolver at the target, and fired. He fired six times in a row, and they all hit the red part of the target. Ever since he'd been a Marine on some missions out of the country years before, the man had been known to be a good marksman. - "Don't worry. I'm not trying to steal your job" Lora joked. - "Talk less and shoot more. We're not leaving here until you're able to keep silent"

He was lazy to respond to Evan, which was his nature. "Tomorrow I will meet Roy Erwin at an event. I'm sure he will come to me. So tomorrow night I will come alone. Jonathan will look after Markas. And carry out his plans for tomorrow. And that's all for tonight. Get some rest." Morgan got up from his chair and headed for his room. "Good night." Morgan left Evan and Jonathan there. The two Mafia strategists were silent, Jonathan was busy with his mobile phone at the moment, while his wife was missing him.

I noticed him using his left hand, his right hand bandaged, barely. Then, with brutal ease, he drove his forehead into the man’s nose. Blood spurted. Another cry, but muffled. The drunk stumbled back, clutching his ruined face, before bolting out the door, leaving a trail of blood and curses. I stood frozen, chest heaving, back pressed to the wall. Marek turned to me slowly. His ice-blue eyes swept over my uniform, lingering. Hunger flashed in his gaze. “Well,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “It isn’t red.”

### Red Red knew what was coming, but still nothing could prepare him for the lancing pain it brought him to hear Misha fucking Lars. He knew he should’ve just run off, as far away as he possibly could within the infernal collar’s range, and busy himself fastidiously with hunting down some decent fresh meat. He needed to feed. He needed to KILL something. He meant to do all this noble and responsible things, he really did, but instead he found himself coming closer. The proverbial moth to the motherfucking proverbial flame. Like a man in a dream, he drifted slowly and inevitably closer to the sounds and smells of the incredibly unlikely couple fucking. He crested the final hill between them

“I can’t be seen in public. I’m still a dead person.” “What do you mean?” “I’m supposed to be dead.” This again. “He faked his death.” “Then how are you going to get married if you’re dead?” “I don’t have a death certificate. They didn’t find my body.” He chuckled. Terzo looked younger when he smiled. Who would have thought this man in front of us was as dangerous as the most wanted criminals? Maverick saw me staring at her brother. She may hide her smile, but I could see it in her eyes.

While sitting there, she turned her attention back to Zeke and the red-haired Highwayman. Their heads were close together as Zeke talked to him and after another minute, Red slapped Zeke’s broad shoulder and sat down again. One of the other MC guys handed him a beer – and that was it, really. The sense that absolutely nothing had happened intensified as Red threw his head back and laughed and swigged his beer, Zeke nodded at him and a few other guys, then turned and headed back to Jo.

“I’m guilty as charged. I took the raspberry leaf. And the willow bark. He couldn't breathe and I didn’t know what else to do. I know I deserve to be put to death for stealing from the pack. Just please let my son live. He’s innocent.” I look up from her, my gaze sweeping across the pack, across the elders, and finally landing, like a physical blow, on Vorlag. His face is a mask of stunned disbelief. The smugness has vanished, replaced by a dull, confused flush. He looks like a man who just realized he brought a knife to a war of ideas. “This,” I say, my voice ringing with a cold, clear authority that needs no volume, “Is the so-called ‘Redmaw spy.’”

"Hey, Red! I think you need to come up here." Red kept my IDs and pocketed them. "We'll talk more in a minute," he said. Then he quickly put everything back where it went in the safe. "Come on," he instructed, walking back toward the bar. I anxiously followed. But my anxiety only doubled when we went out front. Standing there was a man in a cowboy hat flashing a badge. A U.S. Marshall. "Hi," he said to Red, removing a pair of mirrored aviators. "Were you the bartender working here on Sunday night?"

Like that show Dexter. I mean, it does kind of fit. Maverick seems to kill people for fun, but he has a code. He doesn’t kill women—well, unless they’re really evil—and he doesn’t hurt kids. And he likes to hurt the ones who are deprived the most. So does that make him bad or good? Like an antihero, or am I just thinking that because I am starting to really like him? Which is insane. “Marley’s sleeping? They left the door wide open.” Isaac whispered.

he added worriedly. Jao's group stopped, and Jao looked behind him. Among them, a man stepped forward—Marvin, a skilled doctor who refused to stay obedient under Derrick's tyranny. The sole survivor of the family of doctors living in the Red Moon Pack. "I'm here," Marvin said quickly. "Take me to him," he added. Without wasting time, Carter led him back to the battlefield where Arthur lies.