Leon Kennedy Novels & Stories

He told Kennedy and my heart skipped a beat. 'Kill one of them', that's what he just told Kennedy to do. I am 'one of them', and so is Rhea. I looked over at Leo, he was smiling. Son of a bitch. He could have just killed me when he found me at that old man's house but no, he brought me here to play a game with my life. Kennedy was still trying to stand on his only good leg, his right leg. Nobody was helping him so he was taking his time. The more time it took for him to try and help himself up, the more scared I got.

He bellowed. He stared at the phone for a while before he listened to the discussion again. After that, he breathed heavily and got up. "Gen. Anderson, your head will not be separated from your neck before you leave Canterbury. It is not because I love you but because I will use you as my victory trophy," he resolved in fury. He dropped the phone afterward and got up. At that point, his phone beeped and he got a message from Mr. Kennedy. He smiled and read through it. (Hello. Thank you for counting me worthy to advise you. The first company is good. I have been using their products for years and have not experienced any problems. Regards. President Kennedy.)

The first thing she did after she swiped Kennedy's phone was to check his Twitter account. As expected, he had logged into his verified account on his phone. He was verified because he was a rather famous figure. She tweeted using Kennedy's account, @kennedysullivan. "After reading the news, I must set the record straight. Firstly, yes, there was an altercation with Mr. Winston Greer, and I was in the wrong. But our fight didn't revolve around Millie Caldwell, contrary to the online claims. Ms. Caldwell is a fine lady. I implore everyone to refrain from dragging her into this discourse.

“Kennedy, get back to work or else you won’t even have a work to slack off from.” Kennedy feigned surprise, chuckled and then left. But as quickly as he had disappeared and closed her office door, it had opened again. Leonica was about to explode at him for his sudden nature to gossip, but when she looked up, she was surprised to see the person standing there wasn’t Kennedy but Leonardo.

God only knows where his mouth has been. “A beautiful wedding reception, great music and a stunning woman like you sitting all alone with alcohol as her only companion is a sore sight for the eyes,” Veronica heard a deep tenor voice behind her after some minutes. She didn’t remember the last time anyone complemented her looks. She smiled internally but she froze when she saw the person who had complimented her was none other than the president of the country himself, Kennedy walters. They had formerly been introduced by Theo and Lloyd. Kennedy has been a widower for the past four years. That was common knowledge and he found Veronica absolutely beautiful and sophisticated. She looked young f

The funeral that we arranged for Mrs. Kennedy had little attendance. I thought about talking to Lauren about her relatives and family friends, but she wasn’t saying anything. The day doctors informed us about the death of her mum, she stopped talking to me or anyone. Her friend Selena tried to talk to her, asked her so many questions, attempted to feed her food, and sought her attention by saying she was dating someone, but Lauren didn’t respond.

His grip on me tightened slightly as if grounding himself. “I swear, I'll have you all arrested if you don't tell me who is behind this barbaric act” Then Leonard’s voice finally broke, sounding terrified. “It… it was them,” he stammered. “I mean… us.” “Kennedy asked us to do it… she’s his wife, but Brenda…his fiancée.. said she should be punished.” Zane slowly, he lifted his head. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “What kind of man has a wife and a fiancée at the same time?”

He was alone, just himself in a coat that was not the press appearance coat and with the specific quality of a man who had made a decision and was done reconsidering it. He walked to the testimony table. He stood beside Lennon. He did not speak right away. He looked at the board. He looked at the press area, he looked at the journalist her recorder and the two cameras. He looked at all of it and he did not manage his expression for any of it. He looked at Hargrove. "I would like to add testimony," he said. "Your name for the record." "Senator David Kessler." He paused. "Lennon's father."

The edges of it showed recent passage — dust disturbed, faint scuff marks on the stone. A hidden connection. Kennedy. I stood. “Leon didn’t execute her,” Rogers said. He’d been processing while I examined. “He brought her here and faked it and sent her somewhere through that gap.” “Through a passage Kennedy found,” I said. “That Kennedy apparently chose not to tell us about.” Rogers’s expression did the thing it did when he was genuinely angry rather than performatively angry — the stillness before the heat, the moment before the temperature rose.

Kennedy slowly looked away from her and toward the old photograph sitting on his desk. The photograph of a life that should have existed, a life that never got the chance. For several moments, he said nothing then finally, “I know what you see when you look at him.” Shannon frowned. “What does that mean?” Kennedy’s eyes remained on the photograph. “You see the man who helped you, the man who protected you, the man who made you happy, and you’re right, I know Sean isn’t Edward. He never was.” The confession surprised even Shannon because for a moment she thought she had gotten through to him.