Life Vest Onyx Novels & Stories

Jone Jackson POV "Look at this leather riding vest," Rebbie Hale says, her fingers smoothing down the tailored black hide as it hugs Jone’s broad, muscular shoulders. "I took off the heavy armor plating and extended the back train so it sweeps down your thighs like an elite warrior's tunic. Wearing it feels entirely different for this ceremony. It is the same basic ceremonial cut, but today, you actually look like a true royal omega mate."

I smile and whisper back, “I love you too.” ---------- Onyx walks down the corridor as he shifts his attire again. Same way with the burning crimson flames. He’s back in his formal suit and neat dark brown hair. His eyes shift back to amber color. He sighs. When he reaches the room, he sits on the wrecked couch. Well, this house is pretty broke. This is where Onyx spends his time, thinking. He leans his head backwards and smiles. He knows that she’s standing behind him.

The gray tie had a diamond encrusted V on it to symbolize the Veritas pack. Brynn looked like a fucking siren in her sleeveless red dress that fit her body like a glove. It hit every single curve on her body as if it was made specifically to highlight her body. It was sexy as fuck but not cheap. My girl looked classy. The Luxe Diamond Eternity Necklace she was donning was made out of four rows of round-cut diamonds. It alone cost nearly $100,000. On her wrist sat a ruby and diamond halo bracelet. That alone cost about $10,000.

Melody embarrassingly chuckles. “Absolutely, Melody, I also have an ice chest with waters and some fruit.” Gage’s cheeks plump up, as he smiles. “I’m ready when ya’ll are!” Gage digs up life vests from the seats storage and hands them to Melody. “Put these on before you get on the boat please.”

It happens in a split of a few seconds. There is great panic on the ship now. Andre rushes back onto the deck, throws some life belts, and vests overboard. He peers into the sea, but it is now pitch black and there is nothing to be seen of Aziel. The captains arrive next to him just in time to prevent him from diving into the sea behind Aziel....

No unnecessary detail. Black tactical straps circled her bare arms. Not decoration. Mobility. The kind of outfit made for drawing a weapon without hesitation. A red warning light flashed across the tactical watch on her wrist. Rows of unstable data rolled over the screen. Depth pressure. Seismic movement. Pulse activity. Something deep underground was moving again. Far below Manhattan. The old thing had started breathing. Vivienne glanced down once. Then shut the display against her wrist and kept walking. Not important right now.

“Put your lifejacket back on,” Jocelyn instructed hoarsely. I leaned closer to her. “Eh? Can’t hear you.” Jocelyn’s blush deepened. “Caleb, we’re not going anywhere until you have your lifejacket on.” “Okay, okay.” I held up my hands in surrender and clipped the restrictive, camo-colored lifejacket back on. Jocelyn’s was a neon purple, I observed. I’d been so busy trying to see through it that I hadn’t clocked the color.

"Put this on. I'll meet you back here in a minute." There were changing rooms nearby, and we each went into our respective ones. I slipped into my life vest with practiced ease and emerged quickly, standing under my umbrella while waiting for Aiden. When he walked out in his black and white life vest, my breath caught. This was the first time I'd seen him in one, and damn if he didn't make even safety equipment look sexy. The vest hugged his broad shoulders, highlighting his athletic build and giving him this rugged, bad-boy vibe.

Because they think we're driving to our execution. The van smells of stale coffee and fear. I crouch in the back, rummaging through the tactical bags Silas left. I find a pair of black cargo pants and a heavy wool sweater. I pull them on, discarding the towel. Drakon is reloading. He’s filling every magazine we have. His movements are jerky, fueled by a rage so deep it’s vibrating the air around him. "Here," he says. He hands me a vest. It’s heavy. Kevlar plates.

The warehouse was a cathedral of rust and shadows, situated on a jagged spur of the Italian coastline where the waves sounded like the low growl of a hungry beast. Sloane moved through the perimeter like a ghost made of obsidian. She had traded the white sundress for a tactical bodysuit of matte-black Kevlar, her hair braided tight against her skull. She didn't use silencers this time. She wanted them to hear her. She wanted them to know that the Black Rose hadn't just returned—she had evolved.