Micah Bell Novels & Stories

Even Mitchell himself was beaten up so badly that he had bruises all over his face. At that moment, he was pathetically kneeling on the ground and looked utterly miserable. He had only realized that he'd met a tough opponent the moment he was punched. His opponent was not afraid of violence at all, nor did they care when he begged for mercy! Helpless, Mitchell could only call his Helen for help. Meanwhile, outside of the bar, more than a dozen cars had driven over from different directions. "Ms. Helen, this is Mr. Micah Stone. He's a master-level expert. Mason went to great lengths to invite him over from another state just recently," Clement pointed to a middle-aged man with a squarish face

This was evidence his body had been harshly beaten countless times and was making him angry just to think of it. Acting vulnerable was never his thing. But if he had to trick them into taking them down, he had to play his part. He just hoped help came soon. Silence lingered in the air. He had excellent hearing, due to the numerous hours Blake obliged him to practice with a blindfold. He could hear a pin drop in the next room if he concentrated enough, and right now was his chance to put those abilities to good use. His throat was dry and his body felt drained. He was regretting the offer Chester and Liam had made him earlier that morning to join them for an earlier breakfast before he left t

“I didn’t think it mattered anymore.” Then I said, softly, “It matters to me.” Micah didn't respond immediately. When he finally did, his voice was softer now. “He said he’d keep to himself. That anyone would barely notice him.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “That man is incapable of not being noticed. He's a famous F1 racer.” “Fair enough.” “And you trust him?” “He promised to take care of you when you arrived,” Micah's voice softened. “and I trust him to be respectful about that.”

I growled, snarled, trying to pull against the restraints. “I’m sorry, dear little bird. But we had our fun and now it’s over.” I felt the air grow cold. Micah was taking deep breaths and I felt him summoning a power. My eyes went wide as I realized, he was over 1000 years old. He had a power and he was just fucking with me this own damn time. I pulled harder against the silver wraps. Tried to pull them out of the ground. My breath was ragged as I kept pulling, aware that Bryan was holding back Logan from helping me. I glared at Micah, who had his arm out, his finger pointing at me. He took one more deep breath and I heard a deep boom. Closing my eyes, I waited for the impact.

Callum clips mics on us, and takes his seat. The photographer sets up the lights again in this room, mounts his video camera and when Callum nods at him, we begin. Questions are thrown at us, questions we mostly prepped for, of course. “The reason I’m out here giving this statement is because of the comments and negativity thrown our way,” Micah says. “I do not appreciate my wife’s name or my name dragged through the mud. Stefan lost a good thing, and it’s not any of our faults.” Callum nods at me, signifying it’s my cue to speak.

Damn, even furious, she was something else. My phone buzzed again. This time it was Micah. The name on the screen felt like a knife twisting in my chest. Hesitantly, I answered. “Rhett,” Micah's voice came from the line. “What's up?” I sighed. “Good. You? How's business going for you?” “It's been hell here. I just can't wait till this so-called event is over and return bsck.” I arched a brow. “Event? What event?”

Cole asks. “Lumen.” “For real?” “Yeah, once.” “You gay, bro?” Micah lifts his gaze, blue eyes wide behind thick-rimmed glasses. He looks a little like a lost puppy, and I feel that same tug in my chest from when he first joined the team. The urge to protect him, even though he probably doesn’t need it. “It’s a spa, isn’t it?” he says. “I went there to relax. They have saunas and pools and shit.”

A blurry photo of Nathan asleep with a toddler curled on his chest. Micah stared at his own photo. Age fifteen. Angry. Still healing. He muttered to himself, “I don’t know that guy anymore.” J walked up behind him, now in community college, his red-dyed hair now black and cropped short. “You miss him?” J asked. Micah shrugged. “Sometimes I wish I could warn him.” “Maybe he didn’t need a warning. Just a door.” Micah nodded. “We got that.” J hesitated. “Not everyone will.”

Micah POV. My name is the boy with trust issues, I mean Micah, Micah Blackthorn, I'm the alpha's only son, I'm his heir and the one in charge after him, I'm twenty-one years old, my birthday was last week, I just turned of age, the one where you're an adult, where more responsibilities get thrown your way and you're left to figure it out.

As I choke on my tears, I use my hands to cover my mouth, tears clouding my vision. I find an old payphone with a lady in there, she looks at me with pity, frightened as well. “Please, don't be afraid, I just want to make a call, please,” I beg. She nods, giving me way as she waits outside. I know what I am about to do will make a stir, but I want that, I want to be safe. The phone rings three times and on the fourth ring, the call hangs. “Fucker, what do you need, I was sleeping,” Micah's angry voice resonates on the other side of the line.