Jschlatt Guns Novels & Stories

Their fangs were bared, and Cadence couldn’t imagine that any of these creatures had ever lived peacefully in a building on the same campus she still called home. Behind her, she heard Elliott open fire, but from the amount of curse words he was uttering, it didn’t seem like bullets were working too well. They hadn’t been able to get their hands on any of the titanium variety, and these regular silver infused ones had not been useful since Holland had come back. With that in mind, she holstered her gun and pulled one of the grenades out of her pocket.

Each clean shot represented a pack member fighting through pain and weakness to protect their own. The black market arsenal he'd acquired over the years—fifty Barrett M82/M107s, fifty CheyTac M200 Interventions, fifty Accuracy International AX50s, fifty McMillan TAC-50s, and fifty Sako TRG 42s—now proved their worth. Enough firepower to wage a small war, and they were using every bit of it.

Now with the light, we can see where we are. "Where are we," I ask, turning to Chuck as he walks past me. Looking around, I see whole shelves lined up against the walls. On the shelves are an assortment of guns. I see many different kinds of handguns; basic pistols, some heavy-looking revolvers, and even a few peashooters. Beside the handgun are a bunch of blunt weapons such as wooden planks and broken pipes. After the blunt weapons are the big guns. I actually see a few shotguns lined up.

It's a special gun. You'll get it once you learn how to use it. Stay safe, my son. We love you. The gun has my name carved on it. Declan Serano

We grabbed everything our hands could touch. Alexander snagged two heavy, tactical pump-action shotguns and slapped bandoliers of red 12-gauge shells over his shoulder. Denzel grabbed three bolt-action hunting rifles and stuffed heavy boxes of high-caliber ammunition into his duffel bag. Vanya, Vanessa, and Jill frantically scooped up tactical knives, sidearms, and metal cans of military-grade fragmentation grenades from the lower shelves, stuffing them into their packs. "Back door! Out! Out!" Captain Julian commanded, his voice ringing with his old military authority despite his bandaged shoulder as he racked the slide of a sleek black pistol.

They saw hacking devices, highly optimized rifles, pistols, combat armor, and many more goodies. “Oh my God man, I think this is heaven,” Kalen blurted out excitedly, as he bumped his dumbstruck friend on the head.

I sprint across the debris-strewn floor, sliding on spent shell casings. "Hey!" I scream. The Reaper turns. The skull mask grins at me. I skid to a halt ten feet away. I raise the shotgun. It feels mile-long. The stock digs into my shoulder. The Reaper laughs. He starts to step toward me. I squeeze the trigger. BOOM. The sound is cataclysmic. It’s not a pop. It’s a thunderclap happening inside my skull. The recoil kicks me backward. I stumble, almost dropping the gun. My shoulder screams in protest.

Shit. My phone buzzed again in my hand as I moved towards the door. It was another message from Phoenix. It was a single word, but it sent a mixture of fury and anxiety twisting in my gut. I'd barely made it out of the bedroom when I heard the safety click. Killian was already in the hallway, his hair still slightly damp. He opened the hidden panel behind the framed mirror. Inside it were his babies. Beautiful death lined up uniformly. Twin custom.45s. A sniper rifle. Throwing knives etched with the Cross crest. And his katanas. Killian's favorite weapons.

And she began convulsing as she saw that it was me stood on the other side of the room. Unable to believe her eyes. Yeah, I had been unable to believe my eyes either. When I’d been beating myself up for weeks, believing that she was dead. “My name is Agron,” he stated. “I’ll be taking care of business today on behalf of the Don, who couldn’t be here to attend today, unfortunately.” Agron trailed off his sentence, folding his arms. “So, I hear that you’ve brought us the finest range of guns. AK-47’s, submachine guns, MG42’s, gatling guns, small arms…” He let out a low chuckle. “So, how much are you asking for them?”

Cleaner than a scandal. Sabatine didn’t waste breath on questions. He moved to a section of the bookshelf, pressed a hidden catch, and a panel slid back, revealing a compact arsenal. He tossed a sleek, compact submachine gun to Anton, who caught it with the ease of a man who had taken the lessons of Geneva to heart. Sabatine took another for himself, along with extra magazines and two flashbang grenades. “Voss’s team?” Anton asked, checking the weapon’s charge.