Knuckles X Sticks Novels & Stories

With a smirk playing on my lips, I decided to take a shot in the dark, figuratively speaking. "Look time no see, Piero," I remembered this fuckface. "You were the one who helped Massimo to unload smuggled the guns." He sneered at me like he was a venomous snake about to spit. "It's Pietro, you dumb fuck." I couldn't help but chuckle darkly at Piero's correction. Even Enzo seemed to be enjoying the show. I retrieved the brass knuckles from my pocket, feeling their solid weight in my hand. The knuckles were crafted from gleaming, hardened brass, reflecting a polished sheen as they glistened under the light. Their intricate design showcased a rugged elegance, boasting four individual finger ho

He had the look of a man who spent a lot of time in the gym, kissing his bicep as he lifted weights. They walked up to face each other. The knives were gone, replaced by two escrima sticks. The wood a blondish-yellow color. McCaddin had a heavy-looking wooden club. He hit his open hand with the club in true thug style as he lifted his chin trying to stare Cass down which couldn’t be easy seeing as she was a hair taller than him. A sneer spread across his lips as he said something to her that Dannie had no doubt was something nasty.

Nora P.O.V My gaze landed on the table of weapons again. I needed to choose carefully for this round. The knife had served me well, but against their best, I would need something faster, something that would give me an edge. My fingers hovered over a pair of brass knuckles before I picked them up, the cold metal biting into my skin. This would work for me.As I strapped the knuckles onto my hands, I watched as the others armed themselves. Some chose heavier weapons but I knew that strength alone would not get me through this.

And then he’d crossed his skinny-ass arms across his fuckin’ Metallica tee like he was ready to throw down or something. Punk ass poser. His knuckles hurt. He opened his eyes and held his hand in front of his face. Yeah, he’d punched something. Fingers scraped. Knuckles swollen. Black and blue and sorta yellow and, fuck me, red? Broken? He flexed his fingers. Nah, this was a wood punch, not concrete. Not flesh or bone. Wood. “It’s shit,” he’d screamed at Spike, his fists clenched. Fuck counting back from ten. “It’s fucking shit, man. I just want it fixed. It’ll take two fuckin’ seconds!”

"I... I can't... breathe..." Marcus, the team’s bulwark, roared. The veins in his neck bulged like thick, blue cords. He tried to raise his kinetic shield, but the device sparked and whined, its internal gyroscopes screaming against the pressure. CRACK. The reinforced alloy of his knee guards splintered. The giant of a man was forced down to one knee, the stone beneath him spider-webbing outward.

The pad of Gunner's thumb was wide and rough. Rough in the specific way that came from years of gripping a stick and throwing punches, calloused and broad, and entirely unlike the careful softness Khyle might have expected from someone tending to an injury. It scraped, just barely, against the small split skin of his lip, a contrast so stark between the size of the touch and the size of what it was touching that Khyle's whole body seemed to recalibrate around it.

"But I'll probably leave those in the other places in there." Even from a distance she could see him swallow. He averted his eyes and went to an equipment booth on the right side of the hall. "You have clearly never seen a real fight." "No." At least not that way. "If we're attacked, you won't last a minute." Oh, how flattering. She was about to reply something rude when he took an object from a pile and came back to her. “So we have to make sure that you have the opportunity to escape during this time. This is a palm stick. ”He handed her a small metal stick that had grooves for her fingers and protruded just above and below from her closed hand. “A knife would be too dangerous, you would o

In his hands, was his favorite toy of all. It was a stick is a foot long and about three inches long, it had a mix of nails and razor blades covering the surface. I tried to swallow the thump in my throat from forcing myself not to cry. I am all too familiar with what he does with this. My hands started to tremble so bad, that the cuffs that held my arms above my head started to clatter against the table.

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.

he matched her eyes in sincere gaze, emphasising on his words as if he'd keep his promise till end, "I swear to god I'll cut that tongue out, understood?" He spit the threat as it's fear evidently slid in her eyes, widening in response. His finger swiftly left her lips to hold her tiny her face in a single hand, gripping her cheeks, making her lips form an unintentional O. Her arms helplessly held his wrist hoping to get free as his hold only tightened, hurting her jaw, "Understood?" he softly asked, sharply contrasting his brutal grasp.