Johnny Cash Flesh And Blood Novels & Stories

Zeyric roared, a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated agony crashing over his mind as the bond faithfully mirrored every single broken bone, every bruised organ, and every drop of blood pooling in Thalen’s lungs. Zeyric hit the ground hard, clutching his own chest as an identical, blinding pain ripped through his ribs. His heart stuttered, skipped a terrifying beat, and then raced wildly, threatening to tear his nervous system apart from the inside out. "Get up, you arrogant bastard, you don't get to save my life and then bleed out on the steps!" Zeyric sobbed, coughing up a mouthful of copper-tasting blood as he tried to drag his broken body toward Thalen.

I stood up slowly then found myself in the middle of corpses. I remembered the previous ordeal, I was too surprised to say anything, the shooter was just a boy, one I had known, my own brother Ikem. They had gotten to him turned him into a machine only bent on destruction. I saw the fear written in his face, the terror of the blood he had shed, his eyes coloured of marijuana.

In fact, I would go as far as to say it’s my favorite sound, second to Paetyn’s laughter in the rare moments she gives it to me. Johnnie’s head lolls from side to side. Both dried and fresh blood mar his battered and bruised face. His eyes are swollen to the point he can’t see my fist flying in his direction, and gashes litter his cheeks and nose. His dirty clothes were better off before I got my hands on him, and I would say he’s getting close to being unrecognizable. And I haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.

Five years ago, the Franco family threw cash in my face, forced me to break up with their daughter, and ran me out of Blackhaven like a stray dog. Five years later, I came back as the Don of the Raven Syndicate, the most powerful mafia organization in Europe. But the Franco family had already been set up and destroyed, their old stronghold burned to the ground. In an abandoned slaughterhouse, blood ran across the floor. Isaac, the insufferable prince of the rising Leoni family, tilted Marcella Franco's chin up with the toe of his expensive leather shoe. "Franco trash. Kneel and beg me. Be my plaything, and I'll toss you a scrap of food." Marcella's hair was a mess and her clothes had been to

His body melted like plastic, flesh dissolving into a pulsing mass of meat and flies. Then, silence. I sat there, lungs burning, ears ringing with the phantom echo of my scream. My body shook violently. The power had left me drained, trembling, raw. BANG. The sound tore through the stillness. My head snapped toward the car. The trunk had been blown clean off. Inside, a man stood, shackled in chains. He flexed his wrists, the iron clinking softly. His eyes flicked from me to the pile of flesh and buzzing flies, then back again.

The headboard cracked, dust rained from the ceiling, and Jesse screamed into the pillow as Marcus fucked him like the world's redemption depended on it. Their skin slapped against each other's as they moaned each other's names. Marcus leaned down, biting at Jesse’s shoulder and whispering filth between thrusts. “You like this? Being used like this?” “Fuck yes,” Jesse sobbed. “Use me—wreck me—I want all of it—” Marcus pounded harder, faster, until Jesse was a trembling mess under him. Jesse’s cock rubbed against the mattress, every thrust sending jolts of pleasure through his nerves.

I was still stuck in the same cycle: washing dishes at the diner, counting every penny for Mama’s pills, pretending my sister, Carmen didn’t exist. The meds were almost gone. Mama’s cough was getting worse. She barely got out of bed now. Her hands shook when she held a spoon. Sometimes I found her staring at the ceiling like she was counting how many breaths she had left. I needed money. I needed it fast. Bad. So when Carmen showed up at the diner one evening, all sweet and sugary with a fake smile on her lips, I should’ve known something was off. “Need a ride home?” she asked, popping her gum. “Feet must be killing you.”

My heart was still pounding against my ribs, but it felt slow and heavy now. Andreas was leaning back against the seat next to me. His eyes were closed, and his face was very pale. He had a clean bandage on his side, but I could see a small spot of red starting to show through. He looked tired. He looked like a man who had lost a lot more than just blood.

There would be no punishment for the people who laughed and had signed papers and went to sleep as my family burned. When I stayed there, I would be walking farther into the jaws of the monster. I sat up and embraced my knees; my fingers tore into my flesh. My heart was still weak. My hands were still too easy to shake. I was not as strong as him. I was not made to find my place in this world of guns and blood. But I was tired of running. I got weary of being small and frightened and powerless. “I should have died without making a noise,” I said to myself. "They were wrong."

Chapter 6: Shadows in the Rearview I woke up tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, my heart pounding like I’d just run from a hit gone wrong. The dream lingered, vivid and unwelcome—Ethan’s face, those warm hazel eyes looking up at me, his lips brushing mine in some dimly lit room that smelled like fresh paint and rain. His hands on my skin, soft and unscarred, pulling me closer while I whispered things I’d never say aloud. It was bullshit, all of it. A fantasy my mind cooked up to torture me, because in reality, touching him would be like dragging an angel into hell.