Maurice Moss Novels & Stories

Two men from the estate opened the door and carried Cassian — completely unconscious — out of the back seat. “Take the Boss to his room. Are the doctors here?” I asked, but everyone only looked at me with surprise and confusion. “Answer me!” “Some are already here.” Maurice appeared from the mansion, without his blazer and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “More injured are coming; we need to prepare everything to treat them. I’ll help with the less severe wounds. The doctors should focus on Mr. Moore. I couldn’t determine the depth of the wound, but he lost a lot of blood; he fainted two minutes ago.” With a quick nod, Maurice accompanied Cassian, guiding the men who carried him.

My father's funeral was stark and simple, just as he had wanted. I moved through the motions and greeted the attendees like a robot, hoping the bustle would dull the ache in my chest. But on this day of all days, Blake Cole, the man who was supposed to be my partner, never showed up. My dad, Alex Holmes, had spent his final years fretting over my happiness. Now I could handle the rest, and he could rest in peace. The attendees whispered to each other, looking at me with pity.

Maurice's view of Franklin, once full of admiration, had shifted over the years. First to equality, then to thinking he was nothing special, and now to outright disdain. He was no longer that naive rich scion from years ago. Back then, as the proud heir of the Driscoll family, Maurice roamed the martial world and fell for Mia, a beautiful woman with exceptional skills.

A little more than an hour later. Same building, but in a luxurious room at the topmost floor. Maurice stepped out of the huge bathroom with only a white towel wrapped around her. Her long black hair was wet and they stuck close to her flushed skin. The sight was very breath-taking. Her mature aura and ripe body made her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world. When compared to Agatha Moore who was recently enhanced by the system, the latter was still eclipsed by Maurice Jensen.

" Just then, Maurice's phone started ringing. Whoever it was that was calling clearly wasn't aware of how crucial the situation at hand was. Maurice took out his phone and wanted to hang up. However, his expression changed when he saw the caller ID—it was Deputy Chief of National Garrison, Howard Gibson. With trembling hands, Maurice picked up the call and politely said, "Hello, Mr. Gibson. It's such a surprise that you're calling. Please speak, I'm all ears." But at the next second, Maurice's expression dramatically shifted. Then, when he looked at Kevin again, his gaze carried a trace of annoyance in it.

Maurice was transported to a room in the hospital after he fainted in the hospital's hallway, and the doctors attended to him. They couldn't find the reason for his rash, but they ran a test on his brain, which he was examined to be suffering from shock. “What are you saying, doctor?” Mr. Elliot, Maurice's father, asked the doctor because whatever he was hearing sounded strange to him. “It's just as you heard chairman, your son might be suffering from a great shock which leads to his allergy coming back.” The doctor said, referring to Maurice's allergy to woman's touch.

It was not Darryl at all. The man looked to be around thirty years old and had a sword knotted to his waist as his eyes blazed with power. It was clear that he was no kind person. His name was Maurice Mccool, and he was a tyrant who had been lurking around the area nearby. Maurice had been drained from the day's journey, but his eyes positively lit up at the sight of the two ladies. How sexy. Who would have thought that he would be lucky enough to run into such beauties this late into the night?

He didn't understand of course, but Jenn—one of the female maids—helped me translate it to him. I walked inside the big kitchen, Igor was absent(strange, given the kitchen was practically his home.) I saw a few maids doing the dishes, I walked up to them and gently dropped the plate, all three looked up at me with horror, the other two who were cleaning also looked at me with the same look, I started to wonder what the problem was. Had Aleksei kissed me so hard he ruined my lipstick!

She doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say about driving up to the house where your childhood died and parking in the spot where your father’s car used to sit when he was sober enough to drive, which was not as often as a child deserves. Maurice is on the porch. He’s got a plank across two sawhorses, and he’s sanding something, his hands moving in slow strokes, and the sight of him doing manual labour with his actual hands is jarring, because the Maurice in my memory was either horizontal on the couch or upright at a bar, and there was very little in between. He looks up when the car pulls in and his face goes through a journey. Shock first, his whole body going still when he se