Marco X Hekapoo Novels & Stories

Silas had sat on a couch, while Logan was looking around Marco's house, at the awards that were lined up in the transparent shelf. “Those aren't really awards. I carved them out myself. Let's just say I have an interest not only in writing, but also in carving.” “They are beautiful,” Logan complimented. The trio were now setting out into the car. They got inside with Marco sitting at the front passenger seat with the driver while Silas and Logan sat where they had sat earlier, behind. Marco wasn't saying much. He was just briefing Silas concerning the progress with his novel and how most of the humans still think he is Silas Crimson, the king of Hericon and he had to tell them everything tha

Against the back of the wall stood a huge choir. Suddenly, a young man, maybe 20, with long, flowing black hair, dressed in a tux, strutted proudly onto the stage. He cut right through the aisle of performers, heading for the center. As he did, the entire audience rose to its feet and applauded. “Who’s he?” I asked. He reached the center and bowed repeatedly, smiling. Even from up here, I could see that he was startlingly attractive. “Sergei Rakov,” Jonah answered. “He’s one of the best vocalists in the world.”

I growled, glaring at him hard enough that most people would have backed off. The guy raised his hands slightly, palms open, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Woah, easy. I’m not trying to start a fight.” “Then shut the fuck up,” I snapped, turning back to my drink and taking a long pull, the whiskey burning down my throat and settling heavy in my stomach. He didn’t leave. Instead he chuckled. “My name is Marco,” he said, sliding a little closer on the stool, his accent curling around the words in a way that made them sound almost friendly, almost disarming. “And I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Marco purses his lips but doesn’t argue. Of all the things Marco hates, pity is at the top of the list. He doesn’t like to dole it out, and he doesn’t like to receive it. He doesn’t want an apology. He would rather receive an acknowledgement that I know I was wrong and recognition that I’m proud of him for being able to bounce back. It’s obvious that he worked hard to get in good enough shape to be allowed to train again. In his mind, being one of the few people allowed to grapple with me puts him back at the top of his game.

His usual parrot cap sitting confidently on his head, and a wooden vape tucked eloquently in between his lips. “Doe. What on earth is he doing here?” I wondered, he was not a friend of Marco. This was confirmed, because Doe was a merchant and Marco has no links with his professionals. He was an industrialist. As everyone knows about him, yet very few people know that he had his hands deep into the black money. “I can’t digest this.” I tried to hide my confusion, and moved towards Marco who was by now introducing him to his friend. “Hello gentlemen.. How are you all doing?” I spoke, standing confidently amidst them. Marco could see me over his friend’s shoulder. And the spark that burned in h

"Honey!" After realizing that Roxanne was dead, Marco's eyes were filled with a menacing and bloodshot rage. He glanced up and unleashed a guttural scream. In a flash, he ascended into the air and bellowed, "Kill him! Attack him all at once!"

​ANG TAGUAN NI MARCO ​Hindi sila dumeretso sa AXL Towers. Sa halip, dinala sila ni Xander sa isang abandonadong shipyard sa Cavite. Doon, sinalubong sila ng isang lalaking may pilat na sa mukha at may bitbit na mabigat na baril—si Marco Santillan. ​"Xander! Aria!" sigaw ni Marco sabay yakap sa kanyang matalik na kaibigan. "Akala ko ay tuluyan na kayong naging French royalty at kinalimutan na ang dugong Pinoy."

He's acting like he just didn't walk himself in a death trap. I've got to say, I admire his guts. Too bad they got wasted here. "Marco, what the hell are you doing here ?" I ask him. "Oh. Ciao Mr. Leader aka Leo. Should I bow down to you ?" Marco says sarcastically. "There is no need for that. Just fucking get lost !"Alejandro screams. Alejandro should be the one shutting up.

Then he chuckled “Paranoia doesn't suit you, Adrik. Fine. Where is the meetup point?” “Pier 17.An hour.” “I’ll be there,” he responds as the line goes dead. I set the phone down, my mind already ten steps ahead. Don Marco was cautious but greed always made men careless. He’d come, he’d check the USB, and he’d walk away thinking he had the upper hand. He wouldn't. Because I’ll be handing him a clone, a perfect duplicate programmed to display like the original. I turned to Sergei. “Is it done?”

"Marco." Fuck. Marco turned toward the voice. Well, that answered every damn question. "Johnny." Marco held out his hand. Johnny "The Indian" Pahe. If Johnny had a drop of Native American blood in him, then Marco was a green-skinned, antennae-sporting alien.