Leatherface Novels & Stories

Billy nodded, grabbed a beer bottle from the table, and smashed it on Leath’s head. “Bang!” Leath was caught off guard by the unwarranted assault. The beer bottle shattered upon contact with his forehead. Leath staggered back but did not fall. He put his hand over his head and shouted angrily, “How dare you try to crack my head open, fucker! Are you looking for a fight?” Blood, mixed with alcohol, smeared his face, adding a menacing effect. Still, Billy was not at all intimidated. He grabbed another beer bottle and bashed it on Leath’s head.

Matteo muttered, Spade turned to look at him and he just shook his head slowly. Spade clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, Matteo might have been right about him freaking his men out but this bastard insulted Nate, he insulted someone he had no business talking about, calling him a fag Spade looked back at him and cocked his brows at him "you called him a fag didn't you"? He asked and the man just started shaking his head, making Spade to grit his teeth together before he raised his hand up and used the butt of the gun to hit his face, whipping his head to the side.

She was such an idiot that she chose to stick with the beta. - Well, but now the two are dead. May they rot in hell. They laugh. - You can't imagine how much it excited me to pass the razor in the throat of those pieces of shit. - Enough to fuck his son? – the second-in-command asks, laughing out loud. My blood runs cold. Those rogues were monsters. - Damnnnnn. – Jackson says as he gropes his dick. - Can I give him a little ride, boss? - I hear the man ask, and I try to contain the shiver that goes up my spine.

Nevaeh, now back on her feet, looked at me with an air of meekness and gently spoke, "Mag, please apologize to everyone. Don't make Dad any angrier. Ignoring her, I picked up a nearby wine glass, swirling its contents as I asked, "Dad, I'll ask you one last time. "Are you certain that your biological daughter, the sole heiress of the Saccone family, is Nevaeh and not me?" My persistence drew mocking laughter from the crowd. Right then, Don puffed out his chest and replied firmly, "Of course! How could I possibly mistake my own daughter?" Before his words even finished, I hurled the wine glass straight at his forehead, shattering it against him. I then turned and slapped Nevaeh across the fac

In a dimly lit warehouse, shadows danced eerily across the concrete walls, casting a sinister glow on the imposing figure of Deather "The Scarface," the ruthless Don of the Scarface Cartel. Dressed sharply in a jet-black suit, his polished shoes reflected the dim light, and in his hands rested a heavy metal baseball bat slung lazily over his shoulder. His icy eyes carried a chilling, calculating gaze, their cold depths betraying no mercy. He was totally Hades himself for being as ruthless as him, and he feared nothing, not even the gods forcing together.

Her leather jacket was gone, leaving her in her red tank top, the fabric torn at the shoulder, and her auburn hair hung in her face, the silver streaks catching the torchlight. Zane Blackthorn sat on his throne, his lean frame coiled with menace, his amber eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dim light. His shaved head gleamed, the claw-mark tattoos snaking up his arms a stark contrast to his pale skin, and he wore a sleeveless black tunic, the fabric stained with blood. His fingers drummed a slow rhythm on the armrest, each tap echoing like a heartbeat in the cavern’s stillness. Around him, his pack lingered, their eyes averted, their postures tense, but Rhea stood at his side, her cruel

Late forties, maybe fifties, but life had aged him brutally. A face eroded by cheap whiskey, harder substances, and perpetual anger. Greasy, thinning hair plastered to a lumpy scalp. A nose that had been broken more than once and healed crooked. Small, piggish eyes set deep in a pockmarked face, radiating a feral, defensive cruelty. He looked like a walking corps. He looked exactly like the kind of man whose boots would haunt a child’s nightmares. My stomach clenched violently, bile rising hot and sour in my throat.

An evil smile appeared across his face as he hung up and pulled the knife out. I collapsed to the floor. Blood pooled into my hands as I gripped my stomach. My vision blurry, I watched as Dan walked out leaving the door open and the shutter door. I heard the wheels of a car screeching away. I tried to stand but my legs buckled, I was in shock and too weak. I tried to crawl. I managed to get out of the door. It was a large open building with nothing in. I tried to call out, but my voice broke. I crawled to the side and sat myself up against the wall too weak to move any further. I pushed onto the wound to try and stop the bleeding, but it didn’t take long for blood to begin pooling at my side

LeatherLurker has entered the room. My breath stalls. The cursor blinks. I stare at the username, heart kicking against my ribs. Him. The bunny-helmet freak. The fixer. The savior. The stalker. My fingers freeze. I force a smile, shaky, but there. “Well, well… evening, Leather Lurker,” I say, voice low, teasing, but it cracks on the edges. “Didn’t think you’d show up again so soon.” A single chime rings out. Loud. Heavy.

​I opened my eyes, and my breath left my lungs. ​Jin Kim stepped out of the lead SUV. He was wearing his black leather jacket, his military boots hitting the cracked pavement with a heavy, rhythmic thud that felt like a heartbeat. He looked lethal, a predator who had finally found his prey. Beside him, stepping out of the Rolls Royce, was his elder brother. Mr. Leon Kim adjusted his glasses, his face screaming a silent, billionaire fury. He looked like he could buy this entire district just to burn it down.