Marcus Deadly Class Novels & Stories

Lucien went still. “You release that,” Lucien said, “and you destroy yourself.” Marcus smiled sadly. “I already have.” Sirens wailed in the distance. Marcus glanced toward the sound. “Tell Seraphina,” he said softly, “that memory is never as clean as she believes.” Then he crushed the drive under his heel. Lucien shouted. “Stop him—” Marcus bolted. The feed fractured. Gunshots echoed—sharp, final. Then silence. — By morning, Marcus Hale was dead.

I murmured, my thumb grazing her knuckle once before I forced myself to step back. Raine’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile as she turned back to the engine. “Pass me the rag. This carburetor is giving me trouble.” We worked side by side for nearly an hour, our occasional banter lighting the garage. She was still telling me something when the garage door banged open. Isla stormed in, her face growing paler as she advanced. “Marcus is dead,” Isla announced, wiping sweat from her brow even though the morning air was cool. “The second lieutenant who was considering flipping on Dad. He was gunned down execution-style outside his haunt. One of our guys found him.

The Sweeper’s head snapped back, its visor shattering. Marcus dropped to the ground, landing heavily. He looked at his hands. They were silver, gleaming in the dim light. He felt heavy, anchored to the earth, indestructible. "Threat reassessed," the lead Sweeper beeped, stepping back. "Omega-level anomaly detected. Engage with maximum force." The other four Sweepers turned. One of them raised a grenade launcher attached to its arm. Thump. The grenade sailed across the room. Marcus didn't dodge. He couldn't. He was too heavy now. Instead, he stepped forward, placing himself directly between the explosion and the hidden tunnel entrance. He crossed his arms in front of his face.

“I did.” “You don’t know what you’re tampering with,” he said, leaning back. “The people I’ve worked with, they’ll bury you alive without a trace” he said threatening. “We’re not afraid of your shadows anymore,” Marco said, stepping forward, eyes sharp. “You built your empire on lies. And now it’s crumbling.” Victor’s wild gaze locked onto him. “You! You’re supposed to be dead.” Marco mocked a laugh. “I get that a lot,” he replied with a bitter smirk. “Guess the afterlife has a return policy.”

With movements too fast to follow, he grabbed a fallen moon silver blade from the floor and drove it straight through Marcus's heart. Marcus froze, his yellow eyes wide with disbelief. He looked down at the blade protruding from his chest, then back at Xavier. "Impossible," he rasped. "I was supposed to be... unstoppable..." "You were supposed to be a lot of things," Xavier said coldly. "But mostly, you were just supposed to die for your crimes. Consider this justice for every wolf you've murdered, every pack you've destroyed, and every life you've ruined." Marcus's monstrous form began to crumble, the moon silver in his system turning against him now that his heart had been pierced. Within

“Marcus… he’s next. Diego said the family company is the final target. He’s going after him tonight.” The chilling message hung in the air like another gunshot. Marcus, the man who had been both ally and enemy, was now marked for death. The game had shifted again, and the body count was rising faster than they could keep up with. Elara looked at Jax, fear and determination burning in her eyes as they realized the next fight was already upon them.

He lets that sit. “I am taking her down because when the hull starts to deform she will hear the titanium go a full second before your tablet draws you a graph about it. That second is all of us. So no. We don’t drop the dead weight. You’re standing next to it.” Marcus’s mouth opens and finds nothing in it worth the air. He shuts it. He has been put in a drawer, neatly, and the worst part for him is that it was done with a fact and not an insult.

I stood in the wreckage of the nursery, looking at the silver-oak wolf carving Marek had given Leo—now nothing but a pile of splinters and scorched dust. "The Marrow Protocol," I rasped, my voice sounding like raw meat being dragged over a gravel road. "Tell me exactly what that means, Marcus." Marcus stood at the jagged opening where the windows used to be, his face illuminated by the sickly purple flares of the Council ships retreating into the upper atmosphere.