Marcus Lopez Deadly Class Novels & Stories

He stalked into the warehouse where Javier and the others waited, blowing smoke from his fat cigar. Marco was strapped to a chair in the centre of the room. His face was bruised, and his head hung, he was so motionless that Eros thought he was already dead. There was a deep cut on his temple where a lone blood trekked down to his cheek, his lips were swollen, and one of his eyes was closed. Eros smirked approvingly. His men have done an excellent job, but as Lucifer reincarnated, he was there to finish it. The men stood around silently, waiting for his merciless instruction. The set of men that work at the warehouse are the brutal ones that only understand the word ‘kill’ They relish in kill

The holding pen of the Crucible was heavy with the stench of sweat, ozone, and dried blood. Marcus sat on the rusted iron bench, his massive shoulders rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm. He had just survived his first round in the Death Game. He had let the giant, Participant 42, shatter his own bones against the invisible Non-Newtonian Kinetic Shield. Marcus had generated enough power for the city without throwing a single punch. He looked down at his taped hands. He was ready to fight his way to the power core. He was ready to tear the Silver Spire down from the roots.

“You don’t speak her name.” Selena didn’t flinch. She watched with cold detachment, though deep down, part of her recoiled at the raw fury in Dante. Marco struggled, clawing at Dante’s grip. “You can kill me, but Lorenzo is already stronger. He’ll take everything from you. He’ll take her from you. And when he does—” The crack of Dante’s blade silenced him mid-sentence. Blood splattered the wall, warm and metallic in the air. Marco’s body crumpled, lifeless, to the ground.

I walk toward the door, my gun pointed straight ahead, ready for him. Just as Mariano steps out in his silk bathrobe, a look of annoyance on his face, he begins to speak. “Who the hell is that...Dante—” I cut him off, my speed a blur. I grab him by the collar, the slick silk twisting in my fist. He stumbles, the surprise on his face quickly replaced by fear. I use the butt of the gun to his head, a sharp, metallic thud, then press the cold barrel against his temple. His guards tense, but they freeze. One wrong move, and their boss is dead. He knows it. I know it.

“That was only going to kill him. Maybe parts of you, but only small parts. Tiny little parts that would have also rejoiced in the bloodshed. Sure, Sweet Marie would have died, but Bloodthirsty Marie would have been born. And it would have been something . . . desirable. Something you wanted. Like putting your jaws to a bleeding throat. But this? This will kill all of you. It will kill your soul.” “I don’t care about my soul. I want to know if it will work.” “Don’t do it. Please don’t do it.” If he carried storms in his eyes, she carried desolation in hers. “Don’t you understand that I’m already dead?” “Marie.” “What else can be taken from me? You tell me that. What else can they take?” Lyle

"So my suspicions were true. Fair enough. But Mariano didn't kill Marco. I did." Holy Moses. "Yeah but he's being held responsible for it. And there's another shocking fact." "What is it?" "Mariano is not a Lorenzo. He's a Del Valle." Oh my God. When I was young, I heard rumors about a certain Del Valle who murdered an entire family consisting of an husband, wife and four children. They were one of the most ruthless and the most dangerous family that has ever existed on earth, forcefully ascertaining rights and killing anyone that stands in their way.

"Sorry, Lucy. This is our agenda." "But, didn't you-mmm!!!!" Zerikyu quickly covered Lucy's mouth. "Please enjoy," he said with a grin. Zerikyu dragged Lucy in, exuding a genuine sense of relief. This challenging opening certainly hasn't even touched upon the intrigue ahead. The tip of the iceberg pyramid reveals my goal as 'cupid' for Tiger and Lucy: breaking the chains of the Amandeus organization, and living entirely in my own hands. However, something deep beneath the dark pyramid, elusive and unfamiliar, continues to roar in my heart.

Javier is preparing ( preparing) pans of pernil, tostones, arroz con gandules since even if the world comes to an end Vasquez battle, with full bellies. Marco kneels at the heart of the freezer encircled by handprints he created using his own blood. His laptops are broken their screens shattered,. The code lives within him now—golden scars glowing so intensely they produce no shadows, streaming along his flesh, in lines that sting to gaze upon. He has been silent, for six hours. He isn’t required to. We’re all aware of what lies. At 17:00 the freezer light flashes red. The temperature falls by thirty degrees in an instant.

"Okay, Marque died because his mate Maya died." "Why?" "What I said before is that your mate is your other half, right?" "Yes!" Lups shouted in unison. "Well, Maya died before he could save her. She wasn’t as strong as him since she was a born werewolf; she could age the same as him but not shift like him when marked. When a mate dies, he will feel empty and shallow. It would be hard to live without each other. He was weakened during the fight, and the rogues took the opportunity and sadly killed him."

Even the dead seem curious. They start drifting up the service road just before the third container lifts, drawn by engine growl and metal-on-metal shriek. Five at first. Then eight. Then enough that Miles turns his head once and Marcus’s people move. No shouting. No fuss. Miles takes the left side with Tessa and Cal while three others from Marcus’ group fans right. They handle the dead fast and quiet. Too fast. Too quiet. Maya watches while pretending to check chalk marks. Tessa cuts hamstrings before skulls. Another uses a short blade with economical rhythm. Marcus himself is not there. He is on the far perimeter, but his people move like he is standing inside their heads giving directions