Leatherface Novels & Stories

I tried my hardest to wiggle out of his grasp but the hold he had on me was to tight to escape. "FUCK! STOP!" I screamed in between my cries. "Here you go again with your fucking cursing." He said as he lifted the metal off of my left ass cheek and moved it to my lower back. "JUSTIN! Please stop!" I yelled desperately as tears freely left my eyes. He lifted the metal off my skin and I turned my body around, wincing in pain while doing so. Justin whispered something in Dylan ear causing him to burst out laughing before he dug into a drawer and pulled out a whip.

His gravelly voice thundered, the sound echoing off the walls of the pub. He narrowed his eyes to the sound of a gun cocking on his left. “Move an inch and you're dead man.” Threatened a short, bald man with full black beards. Levi sized him up in disgust. He seemed to be with the biker gang, judging from the same insignia tattoo that covered his right arm. He was dressed in an all black outfit, including his black boot. Levi just groaned in irritation. “Let's try an easier question then.” He said crackling his knuckles. “Who amongst you is a werewolf,” and he heard them as they began muttering in shock within themselves.

He fought down a smile. Liv's breaths came quickly as her eyes locked on his body. He had muscles she hadn't even known existed. He was like a marble sculpture, all hard planes and valleys, veins popping out from his extraordinary muscles. When his thumbs tugged down his briefs, her breath caught in anticipation, but he shifted before Liv could even get a glance at what was under the black cloth. She jerked in surprise. Between one blink and the next, he'd gone from a muscled Viking warrior to a huge, white wolf. He was so large she thought he looked like one of the Dire wolves from Game of Thrones.

I was teased and tormented most of my childhood, but like my parents had drilled into me dont show any emotion and always log it away for another day. I have spent most of my life plotting and planning the death of almost every pack member. Especially the dick of an Alpha Dylan Fairway the newly appointed Alpha and his perfect whore of a Luna Ashley. They make me sick, she has fucked every man in the pack and he likes to take credit for others work I should know.

Across the street, the lineup gleams like a mafia showroom — a neat black-and-charcoal sports car, a black bike glinting with chrome teeth, and a new hulking black Jeep that looks like the one we came in. And in the middle of it all — Jackson — looming. His back is to us, broad shoulders coiled, the air around him vibrating like heat off asphalt. He looks less like a man and more like some ominous god of wrath dropped onto a San Francisco sidewalk, voice sharp enough to cut steel. Clearly, tearing into the two poor souls caught in his storm. One is big — wrapped in black leather, wearing the same frown lines as Marco, head down. The other is … tiny. Almost comically so. Helmet tucked under o

he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I'm sorry,” I whispered, but his glare hardened even more, causing me to flinch back. He moved two stepped closer and tucked his hands into his pockets. He squinted his eyes slightly as I struggled to stop myself from locking eyes with him. The silence went on for a minute, then he let out a loud sigh and nodded once. “You're telling the truth,” “Y… yes sir,” I responded. “It wasn't a question,” he clipped, slipping his hands from his pocket and stroking his chin. “I wanted to make sure you aren't a threat to my pack and my people.”

Stone had kept his word, but the result was almost more terrifying than if they had just worn their full leather gear. Outside the large glass windows of the bakery, parked directly across the street in the bright morning sun, were Jax and Relax. The heavy, customized choppers they rode were impossible to hide, the chrome pipes glinting fiercely against the asphalt. Instead of their full black leather cuts, they were wearing plain, heavy black t-shirts and dark denim jeans. But a plain t-shirt did absolutely nothing to hide the massive, terrifying reality of who they were. The black fabric stretched dangerously tight across Jax’s massive, scarred shoulders and broad chest, his thick arms com

He ordered. I couldn’t take my eyes off Ford. The mask covered the top half of his face to his top lip and looked like a snarling wolf. He was wearing black leather work boots, black canvas work pants, and a black t-shirt. Over that, he had on a black leather duster, a shoulder holster holding his guns, and a knife on his belt. Like the others, his energy was intense and focused. He looked like everything deadly and dangerous. And delicious.

Shroud was done up in Gestapo leathers. He wore a small enamel American flag on one lapel of the leather coat and a swastika on the other. Shroud was sometimes referred to as Old Skin n’ Bones by the other stiffs. A strong wind could take him out. But he thought nothing of slapping a random stiff with a night in the Dungeon on Level 85, like an unexpected bed check. He always let you know he was there. Now he tapped the black riding crop against the top of his black leather boots.

'Dammit Lannah and her silly games,' she thought. The menacing feral stood about a foot and a half taller than she. The scaly gray skin of his horrible face, neck, chest, and upper arms was covered in thick black hair. The mane on top of his head came to the nape of his neck in a greasy and sticky gathering pierced with knots. His ample shoulders, protected by a leather skin tunic slathered in blood, sweat, and grime, led down to an enormous muscled stomach, which stretched over the dirty bloody tunic. Had he been tidy and groomed, he may have been a reasonable-looking man. He crouched into her and caressed his nose up her scarlet cheek and down her delicate neck clenching her in place with