Knocking Boots Novels & Stories

My eyebrows shot up. “I told Clara not to pressure you,” I said. “You didn’t.” Kiara cut me off with a shrug. “They bribed me. With boots.” She gestured toward the back wall. It was lined with boots—black, purple, navy. Some ankle-high. Some knee-high. One pair of ridiculous thigh-highs. “Also,” she added with a totally straight face, “creepy lockets.” If a necklace looked like it might whisper threats in Latin at night, Libby had selected it.

Marko asked, his voice cautious. I let out a low, guttural growl from the back of my throat. I tore my heavy wool coat off my shoulders and threw it onto the floorboards. I marched straight over to the glass coffee table. I raised my heavy black boot and kicked the thick glass top with all the strength left in my legs. CRASH! The thick tempered glass shattered into thousands of sharp, clear cubes, raining down onto the dark rug with a deafening noise. The heavy wooden legs of the table snapped in two, collapsing into the mess.

Who was he? His movements were swift and precise yet cruel! He wore army boots. The soles of his army boots were thick and hard. With one swift kick, the greasy, lumbering man fell to the floor. He raised his foot again and crushed his heel into the other man’s face. “Puh…” The greasy, lumbering man’s lips split from the force of the kick. Blood splattered across the floorboards of the hotel lobby that were originally so brightly polished that light reflected off of them.

The boots were reinforced at the toes and heels, offering both protection and an added edge in hand-to-hand combat. Claud just stared at the outfit, eyes wide open. This outfit was more than a cloak. It was like a super suit. “So…” Tara asked. “What do you think?” “It’s perfect.”

I reached out and pulled the boots inside, closing the door behind me. The boots were made of thick, dark, smooth leather and lined with soft fur. These were the kind of boots that would keep my feet warm even in the deepest snow. They were new, or almost new, and they looked expensive, and they had been left there sometime in the night by someone who had not wanted to be seen. There was no note, no message, and no sign of who had left them. But I knew.

Far from it, she whined, her voice trembling with feigned pain, "Ow, my ankle hurts!" "Dad, Siena's foot is hurt!" Henry shouted. "Check on her!" Daniel hesitated, looking at Kimberly with concern, but she forced herself to stand still. "Don't worry about me," she said evenly. Daniel faltered. "I'll check on her and come back fast." Kimberly shook her head, finally finding Margaret in a quiet corner of the ballroom. Margaret gasped at her state. "What happened? You're a mess, with blood on your clothes."

"Just checking the freon levels on the secondary cooling unit. We had a pressure drop on the main board." I didn't lower the stick. I scanned him from head to toe. The navy uniform fit him tight across the chest, straining against thick muscle. My eyes locked onto his feet. "You check freon levels in standard-issue tactical combat boots?" I asked, tightening my grip on the stick. "Usually, the union guys wear steel-toed work boots. Yours look like they belong on a private security detail." The man’s smile didn't reach his eyes. He tossed the rag onto a nearby utility cart.

KEISHA Knock! Knock! Knock! The rhythmic sound echoed through the hallway as I stood outside Celine's door, my knuckles rapping against the wood with a sense of urgency. Each knock seemed to reverberate through my bones, amplifying the anxiety coursing through my veins. My breath formed wisps of mist in the chilly air, my skin prickling with goosebumps from the cold.

She says as she hands the heeled boots over to me. “Kendra, I have not worn heels in years. I am going to fall and break my arm in these.” “Noel quit being so freaking dramatic and put on the boots. They will go great with that outfit, and besides, it is not like you won’t be able to sit down.” She rolls her eyes at me, still insisting that I wear the boots. I sigh but finally give in.

Kathy ducked beside us, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. BAM! A massive, steel-toed combat boot slammed into the upper panel of the wooden door. The sound exploded like a gunshot in the enclosed room. The wood groaned, cracking down the center, but the metal barricade held its ground. BAM! A second, more violent kick followed. The door finally gave way with a sickening splintering sound. A jagged, gaping hole was kicked right through the center of the door, sending wooden shards flying across the top of the examination table.