Knuckle Dragging My Life Away Novels & Stories

However, every of my punches were just like a fluffy bear slapping against his hoarse hands. “You can't do better than that?” He smirked, increasing his pace on how he drags me. “Let me go, you dog!” I yelled but it's like every of my cries was oiling his energy. As he continued to drag me, my bare feet grazed the floor and I could felt my nails scratching the ground as he furiously dragged me. A great pain surged through my feet when my left thumb got curled beneath one of the metal chairs. “Brandon please!!” I yelped loudly when the pain surged through my already weakened body, but my cries fell on deaf ears, and without waiting a bit to know what exactly happened to me, he angrily dragged

"If I remember right, you've still got one scratch card left, don't you? Don't come crying poor to me. I'm not falling for that! If you're so capable, do what you did when you got into college and won all those scholarships. Use your luck!" The call cut off abruptly. When I tried again, her phone was off. The single remaining scratch card in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy. I did not dare scratch it. I was terrified it would be another loss. When the semester started, my weight had been normal. Now I was severely malnourished. At five foot five, I weighed only 73 pounds. Blue veins showed through my skin. There was not a trace of color in my face. When I got back to the dorm, no one w

Blood sprays across my cheap wallpaper. Mick stumbles back, crashing into the coffee table. Glass shatters. Drakon doesn't stop. He grabs Mick by the throat and lifts him off the ground. He slams him against the drywall. Plaster dust explodes into the air. Mick claws at Drakon’s hand, his legs kicking uselessly. He’s choking, eyes bulging. "Please—" Mick gasps. Drakon shifts his grip. He grabs Mick’s right arm—the one that touched me.

Cursing and weeping, I curl in on myself, trying to cradle my ankle, my bitten flesh. I want to live... I want to live...

My body, deprived of the comforts of the apartment and the structured existence of the city, was screaming for surrender. I began to drag myself. It was the only way. I dug my elbows into the mud, pulling my body forward an inch at a time, the heavy, wet weight of my suit acting like an anchor. It was agonizingly slow. Every inch forward felt like a mile. I was a broken clockwork toy, my gears stripped, my casing cracked, dragging myself through the debris of my own transformation.

The man dragging me stopped, I thought he was going to remove my feet from the opening but he glared at me as he forcefully hauled me out of the place. "No!!!....." I screamed in pain as my skin got torn by the sharp edges of the small openings, and he dragged me out. Blood was spewing out of the affected area as he kept dragging me to God knows where despite my cries and pleas. I feel fucking worthless………

Which means . A boot comes around the dumpster and kicks me hard in the face. I see it just in time to tuck my chin and take it on the nose—I can’t afford dental work. My elbows are braced in the window frame, but I raise my forearm to block my face. It doesn’t make much difference. The next kick just drives the back of my hand into my crushed nose and sends fire up between my eyes. Add a broken finger to my tab. I’m still kicking at the guy downstairs, harder now that I’m in pain. I manage to shake him and scramble up onto the pavement, crawling like a soldier under razor wire, my nose gushing blood between my hands.

I can't comprehend that they are gone too. I tear my eyes away from the gruesome scene around me, the pressure around my neck escalating. Desperation fuels my struggle to free myself, nails digging into his hands in a futile attempt to loosen the grip, even if it means drawing blood. His hands remain unyielding, a vise around my throat. With each passing second, my access to air diminishes, and my lungs plead for oxygen. The struggle for breath is becoming more desperate by the moment.

"How dare you touch my girl?" Kral lets out a low growl and suddenly stomps his other foot down Nick's throat. He was strong enough to splash the dust off the ground. His boots set off his cold eyes. The throbbing blood vessels in Nick's neck wriggle like worms at his feet, and Nick struggles to stay alive, waving his remaining arms in the air. His lips turned purple, like a fish left in the desert, and he opened his mouth in despair, hoping for a chance to live. Kral just stares at him expressionlessly, like a hunter bleeding his prey, letting blood spill from Nick's struggle and stain his shoes.

My knees threaten to buckle, but I hold myself up. What the hell just happened?