Knuckles Quotes Mga Nobela at Kwento

It's a deep cut in-between my thumb and index finger and it's bleeding heavily. It's also bleeding from other tiny cuts on my palm. "I know you're angry but can you control your emotions and try not to be rash next time? You need your two hands to fight and beat your knucklehead brother you know!?" He says when he's done treating and bandaging my hand "I don't need my hands to fight a knucklehead. I'll beat his ass even if I'm blindfolded with my two hands tied to the back..." I reply testily

I watched the smirk fall from one of the brother’s faces, but another guy called Knuckles had the guts to stare me down. “Who believes this crap? She’s a wolf-hybrid, can’t you smell it?” Knuckles spat with contempt. In a split-second reaction, I lunged forward and swung a punch at his jaw. I must have made that fucker see stars because his eyes rolled to the back of his skull, then I hauled him upright by his vest, bringing us nose to nose. “You wanna say that again? Go on, I dare you?” I goaded, hoping he would repeat it.

With his eyes downcast, Antonio crouched, gripping the gang leader’s shirt, his fingers digging into the fabric. He leaned in, his voice insouciantly calm. "If you make it home alive," he murmured, eyes gleaming with menace, “Dile a Vincenzo que Knuckles va por él.{Tell Vincenzo that Knuckles is coming for him}.” The man gasped for breath, but Blade didn’t wait for a response. His fist slammed into his face—once, twice—until the repeated blows opened a wound, sending crimson gushing down the man's face.

"Do you have any problems or issues that I might be able to assist you with? I'm here for more than just paperwork, you know." "It's nothing worth mentioning. I was just stressed out by some work pressures piling up," Lukas replied curtly, though both of them knew deep down that it was a complete and utter fabrication—a flimsy excuse at best. "As for my knuckles... I accidentally punched the wall so hard it actually cracked the plaster—clumsy of me."

I wouldn't be surprised if several of the bones in my knuckles are cracked. Nino circled me. "You're good but you seem a bit rusty." Understatement. I am rusty. "Your kicks are strong," he assessed. "But you need to gain more muscle in your arms. You punched me a while ago and it tickled." "My punches don't tickle," I defended. "They tickle, Dylan and I almost heard it squeak too, like a rubber duck." My teeth clicked in annoyance. I'll show you.

I struggled in vein till I heard him say, “Fighting with rage will get you nowhere, you’ll lose your intellectual advantage and get your ass kicked” My cheeks flushed in defeat. He was right, I lowered my eyebrows and caught something unexpected. His hand clasping my fist had a bruised knuckles, must’ve been from all the punches to Lucious teeth. I was hesitant at first but eventually gave in to my conscience. “You’re hurt, let’s get it treated” I uttered fixing my gaze on the spot and Nicklaus withdrew his hand.

Once she was settled, the RN walked out. "How are you?" I asked. "Tired. You? Dr. Lockwood said he would look at your knuckles." I looked at my taped fingers and said, "One is broken, but he just buddy-taped my pinky and ring fingers. together." "Is that gonna be enough?" "It has to be; nothing else can be done." I knew I had to explain the condition of my knuckles. Thankfully, Lockwood had unknowingly helped me come up with an excuse.

Can he take a hint? “Neither am I.” What the hell is that supposed to mean? He seems to freely give out a massive amount of attention to anyone with two arms, two legs and a head. When I don’t say some desperate reply that one of the girls that circle him would say, he starts questioning me. “With pain comes strength.” Is he stealing a page from his friend's playbook by quoting my tattoo that runs down my inner forearm? “Is that a mantra of yours?”

I snort. What a cliché quote some or other happy drunk motivational speaker concocted when he was at a loss for words. It must be the same asshole who suggested grabbing life by the horns, that winners never quit, and that everything happens for a reason. “Well, keep on dreaming, girl.” Cause that dream is not gonna happen. Luckily, that’s Axel’s shit. Not mine. I fake a smile, “Cheers!” and throw the alcohol down my throat before I bite into a piece of lemon. The sour taste causes goosebumps on my skin.

He pulled out a heavy set of brass knuckles—the kind the rich kids kept for 'protection. ​"You want to play the hero, Vance?" Jax asked, sliding the cold metal over his fingers. "Let's see how you look with your jaw wired shut." ​He stepped toward me, the metal glinting. He was done talking. He was ready to finish this.