Mick St John Novels & Stories

The third—older, rougher, with a voice decayed from cigarette smoke and a suit that didn’t quite fit—was pacing with a phone to his ear. I didn’t know his name at first. But then he said it. “Mick.” My stomach turned. Whoever he was talking to… I didn’t have to guess. “You got forty-eight hours,” Mick was saying, voice low but venomous. “After that, I start collecting my debt. And I’ll make sure your little whore earns every penny.” My fingers curled into fists behind my back. He was talking to Stacy. He had to be. Every cell in my body surged with heat—fear, yes, but also fury. How dare he. How fucking dare he reduce me to a pawn in his sick, greasy little game. I wasn’t his leverage. I was

He had an accent, the same one like Dominic's. "Good. Now step away for me." He instructed gesturing with the gun and I nodded raising my hands stepping away from the table. My inner-self was begging me to open my mouth to yell at him but that would be the worst idea ever. I should've shot him as soon as he came in. Suddenly he grinned, spreading his arms. "Micah! I wasn't expecting you to be here, thought I'd have to get that information out of your little sister. Thank you for saving me that trouble." He said, sounding completely genuine and innocent.

“Better shut your fucking mouth unless you want to lose a kidney along with that spleen.” Mick laughs. “Touch me one time and see what happens.” He turns to me, completely unconcerned for his welfare. I’m guessing he’s on some pretty powerful drugs right now. Either that, or he’s secure in the idea that Rebel will personally pound Colin into the dirt if he so much as lays a finger on Mick. “He’s right, though,” Mick continues. “Let’s go get a beer and you can tell us all about it.” “It’s not even lunch time,” I say, following Mick over to the red mustang parked on the back side of the lot.

He is the nosiest person in the building and likes being informed about all that is happening. When Cindy typed in Mick’s name, I was a little disappointed that he didn’t come up. There was another Mick, and two Macks, but not a Mick Carver. He had a very distinct profile, a clear thirst-trap to get more female followers. I may have looked him up a time or two, but never followed him either. I don't know why I'm even getting annoyed. “What are you both doing?” Mick walked back into the room carrying three steaming cups of coffee. “Did you get it figured out?”

"Regrettably, your word is worthless. I've met guys like you, John. You may act out emotions, even regret and affection, however, you don't really mean them, we all know that and will never have. It's all just a show, a ruse to achieve what you really intend. You may act as if you have any sense of integrity, however, that doesn't make it real. You're bereft of everything that constitutes someone humanely. You're nothing other than a machine." Mikaella stood out, saying some words. "You're mistaken." We were all taken aback by how composed she sounded. Her voice was soft, yet she was firm in her remarks. “What?” John inquired.

“It’s her word against mine, and I don’t need to tell you who will win.” “No, you don’t have to tell me. You will win, father. You always win, because you have the money to pay people to lie for you and do your dirty work.” Sighing with irritation, Carl relaxed in his chair. “Mick, is this really what you wanted to talk to me about?” “Actually, no.” Mick inhaled deeply, rebuilding his courage. “I do think we need to celebrate.” He glanced over his shoulder at the waiter who hurried to them with a champagne bottle and two glasses. Mick didn’t say anything while the waiter poured their drinks. Carl took a sip from his glass and then nodded to the waiter before the young man left.

John offered. “No,” I answered firmly. “Logan…” John sighed. “I said no. He is Siegfried’s son. While I trust him with some things, I cannot trust him with her safety. If Siegfried follows him, he puts her and her family in danger,” I explained. “Okay, you make a valid point,” John conceded. “What about Mikali Hamilton? I’m friends with him. He’s very trustworthy and is a trained medic. So if anything was to happen, he could offer assistance,” Bryant spoke up.

Beside him stood Standfast, a bit shorter but no less imposing, with a sneer playing on his lips. Standfast, around nineteen, had a more rugged demeanor compared to Phillip. His face, while not conventionally handsome, bore the marks of someone who had seen their fair share of trouble. He had a solid build, indicating a readiness for action rather than words. His eyes held a steely intensity, hinting at a volatile temperament kept in check only by Phillip's presence.

Naomi said, "Thanks for the hospitality, I have your phone number, I will call you later In the day" Mickel said, "Okay, thanks for your time" Naomi said, Mickel returned home after a week, and Naomi was not satisfied with his services, and he called MacJoe, "I don't like his services, he's too hard and rough" Naomi said, "Tell him what you want, put him through and bring him down to your level, he's the only one that I trusted, most of the guys can not be trusted because they are Into so many illicit that can Implicate someone,manage him like that" MacJoe explained,

Stephen was left stunned. "You didn't know?" Irene laughed dryly. "Do you really think that he would still talk to me about his affairs?" "No," Stephen quickly said, and sighed. "Mick had an accident on his way to the airport. It was horrific—the taxi driver died on the spot, while Mick was critically injured. Luckily, help reached him in time and he survived. Still, don't you think that it's too much of a coincidence? Don't you think Isaac Jefferson is behind that?"