Marcus Deadly Class Novels & Stories

I said, trying to rationalize the horror. "No, they have the Mafia signature on them," he replied. His tone was grave, and I felt a chill run down my spine. Cassius had a reputation, one that sent shivers through even the most hardened criminals. Anyone he killed bore his signature—a stark letter M etched into their foreheads. It was as if he wanted the world to know who was behind the violence, taunting the authorities who had failed to catch him for five years and counting.

“I was pissed they did this to me and pissed Jared fucked me over so I said fuck it and fuck you. You mated the bitch and killed Jared. I have held Scarlet responsible for a long time. She left our pack and deserted us and then showed back up as you as her mate? Now she acts like she cares? So for the past few months, I decided to teach all you people a lesson. Don’t fuck over your hired helpers. After I wiped out Montana, Washington was next. Or Is…” “What did you make to put in our water?” I asked through clenched teeth. “A liquid form of cobalt and magnesium. At high enough levels, you will die of an overdose. Shut down major organs and eventually the low blood pressure will kill you. Pai

Marcus exhaled. “I wasn’t at the safe house when they attacked.” Dante frowned. “You weren’t there?” “No. I left to get supplies.” The words hung in the air. “When I came back…” Marcus shook his head once. “Everyone was dead.” Dante’s chest tightened. “Everyone?” Marcus nodded. “Clean work. Professional. No survivors.” Silence filled the room. Dante dragged a hand through his hair. “They told me everyone died.” “They were wrong,” Marcus said.

“They won’t blow us up here, Mavric. They need that ‘asset’ alive. My death means my mother’s research data remains locked forever behind a dead‑man encryption protocol.” Before they reached the exact coordinates they had been given, a man came crawling out from behind a stack of wooden pallets. It was Marcus. His once proud and arrogant face was now ruined, covered in bruises and dried blood. It seemed The Sovereigns had used him as their final pawn and discarded him like trash. “Liora… please help me…” Marcus whimpered, his voice hoarse with terror. “They… they will kill me if I don’t lead you straight to them.”

The kind that went quiet and murderous. He stared at the shattered remnants of his phone on the floor, the unanswered messages like accusations. “If she’s dead,” he said slowly, voice dropping into something dangerous, “then Roman will burn the world.” Evan swallowed. “And you?” Marcus’s eyes lifted, dark and unreadable. “If she’s dead,” he said, “then nothing matters anymore.” He turned away, dragging a hand through his hair, blood streaking his fingers, his apartment wrecked around him like fallout.

Something doesn’t feel right, and I need to get there as soon as possible. The ride feels longer than usual. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I speed through the streets, ignoring the usual traffic rules. When I finally arrive at Marcus's house, my stomach drops. The sight before me makes my heart pound even faster. Several of my men, the ones I had secretly assigned to protect Marcus, are lying lifeless on the ground. Their blood stains the concrete, their bodies twisted in unnatural positions. The Dogs of Hell have killed them. My chest tightens with anger and fear. If they got this far, then Marcus could be in danger.

It means there is something confidential. "I want both of you in my office in twenty minutes..." Marcus ordered his beta and delta. His eyes were switching colours. "Alpha, how can they kill women and pups?" Jackson was so upset. His eyes were also switching colours. "Jack, don't worry. As we will find those bastards. I will rip their heads from their throats. I will kill them slowly. So they can feel the pain of death." Marcus growled.

“I’m trying to wake you up.” “Well congratulations,” I snapped, “You’ve officially done both.” The silence after that was suffocating. Marcus stared at me like he was searching for the girl he used to know and couldn’t find her anymore. That girl has been dead for a while now. “That man destroys everything he touches,” he said quietly. “And you’re standing there acting like you’re not already bleeding.” My chest tightened painfully. “I know who he is,” I whispered. “Do you?” Marcus challenged. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re walking straight back into the fire.”

The blame rests entirely upon my actions. His arms tightened around me. Against my hair he murmured the words, "No, it’s not." My attempts to halt the progression proved futile. The sensation of it taking place reached my awareness. That spiraling sensation. The oppressive burden suffocates and compresses. The event extended beyond her mere passing. This event marked his demise as well. The memories returned with relentless force, sweeping through my consciousness as an unyielding tidal surge. An additional firearm discharge occurred. Another friend gone. A lifeless body rests at my feet.