Lock Up Novels & Stories

Elky’s hand on my back was light, but it might as well have been an arrest warrant. At the end of the hall, there was a steel door the color of old gun barrels. It had a keypad, a deadbolt, and the kind of mechanical stubbornness that suggests it could survive the next ice age if the rats didn’t learn to type in the code. Elky punched it in without looking at the numbers. The lock snapped back like a dog that had just realized it was leashed to the wrong man.

We're doing something new, so I need to be careful with her, and can't risk that things take on a dynamic of their own. Bella tenses up all over as I shut the stocks and secure the top part of the frame with a small latch. I could lock it, but I deliberately don't. The way the stocks are constructed the latch will disengage if she moves enough, to ensure that, contrary to what I told her, she can easily get out of them if she has to. As with so many other things, locking her up like this is a mind thing, and the fact that she trusts me

Her hair had been held in a messy sock bun. "Well am I supposed to be teaching you how to deal with pesky witnesses Serena? You know how this things work! Where's she?" Marcelo ran his own hand through his taper wavy hair, "Locked in one of the cells," "You let a witness live and to top it all, you bring them to the den! What's happening Serena? Is there something I should know of?" Their accents so thick in each and every English word they uttered, "It's nothing like that OK? I just am not down to killing an innocent citizen simply because she witnessed something she shouldn't have."

There was no one new that week, so they didn't have any initiations to take care of, and there weren't many confessions either. Once the confessions had finished, Kara took the lead and stood to make her own announcements. "Just a couple of real quick things," she said, standing near where the screen would come out of the ceiling. "First, there's a lock on the of the gloryhole closet door. The reason for this is explained by my second point. So, if, for some reason, one of you wants to go in and can't, it means someone's obviously in there." "Well damn, there goes my plans," Steve joked, drawing a few laughs.

Make it sloppy. I stand and press the boiled rag into the padlock’s throat; the fibres jam just enough to keep the hasp from seating later. I smear a thumb of my blood on the wrong spur in a handprint Luther will not follow. I knot the braid’s loose tail around the hinge pin so a hard slam will walk it free. “New game,” I whisper. “On three, drop.” “Drop?” Hyden blinks. “Like potatoes,” I say, because he’ll remember the joke.

My girlfriend, Serena Weston, always has my "one-time" fingerprint registered on the smart lock for her house. Every time she registers it, she tells me, "Feel free to come over at any time. You're always welcome in my home!" However, every single time, when I return to her doorstep, the lock's prompt always claims, "Your fingerprint is not registered." After being locked out yet again, I stare at the sensor pad glowing red and call Serena. As soon as the call connects, her tone's apologetic as usual. "I'm so sorry! Blake was messing around yesterday and accidentally deleted your fingerprint while testing the lock. Hold on. I'll re-register it for you the next time I'm back." Once agai

I said, pointing to the portrait of the first Stormriven. Lucien moved, his hand gripping the frame and swinging it aside. There it was—the heavy, steel door that held the secrets of the pack. "Can you open it?" "I don't need to," I said. I pulled out the device I had been working on since I left the Den, the small, pulse-emitting box I had designed to bypass the electromagnetic locking system. I placed it against the keypad. A soft, high-pitched whine filled the room, and then, with a heavy, final thunk, the door clicked open.

Rowdy We finished our run ahead of schedule and are pulling up to the clubhouse gates. Brick got a call yesterday that said we needed to get our asses back as fast as possible. We were told nothing more. We kicked our bikes in gear racing back home. The gates are not only shut but locked. Immediately I know something is wrong. The gates are never shut. I can’t remember the last time they were locked. A prospect comes to the gate and opens it. " What's going on?" asks Brick. " Lockdown" the prospect answers. That’s it. No explanation. We all look at each other then head in. We park our bikes in front and go in.

I mind-link him with a smirk wanting to stroke his ego a little, which from the look I was sent, I could tell he enjoined. “Now you could say this is only proving the report further, the gate being wide open but not broken, that’s until I explain the technical side of this lock. As like most people when they think of hounds, they are all terrified and believe they’re vicious beasts who will strike at any moment and rip you apart. Because of this fear, the King ordered many restrictions to packs who wish to house the hounds, one of those being this specially designed lock that is required to be changed every six months.” I explained walking over to the gate and holding the steel lock in my ha

Joy creeps in my heart, realizing it. I silently admire his face. Everything has an appeal starting from his tousled hair to the overnight stubble. I try to memorize every part of his face to embed in my heart. As if it is not there already. But certain things cannot be bored even if we see them again and again. "Take a picture; it will last longer," Luc's voice startles me, and I try to jump from his hands. Keyword – try. He grips me firmly that I cannot move. He slowly opens his eyes, and the dark eyes look at me straight.