Might Guy Talking Novels & Stories

Michael threw up his hands. “You are so—! I don’t even—! Oh my God, just leave him alone!” The man grinned. “Listen to your friend, tough guy. He clearly doesn’t give a damn.” I turned back to him, slow and deliberate. “You’re really eager to die, aren’t you?” The man didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed amused. And then, the idiot did something truly stupid. He laughed. “Oh man,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re one of those guys, huh? The dramatic, mysterious tough guy type.”

Never in his years did Logan imagine he would get lectured by a man who called himself a “jack of all trades”, yet here he was. He was too stunned to even speak. “Are you still there?” Guy called out after the silence stretched on, “Hello?” “Yes, yes, I'm still here.” He replied. “Good. I was wondering where you went.” “So what, you want me to add two million just for you to tell me that I'm greedy?” Logan scoffed, “This conversation seems like a waste of time if you ask me.”

Yuri While we were still talking more of the guys came back with a badly beaten Misha and they pushed him to me. He stumbled and fell on his knees right in front of me. I clap my hands together looking at him with a smirk on my face. “Well, brother, I think we need to talk.” He shivers but says nothing. “Misha, brother, don’t you want to talk to me?” I am more than pissed and trying very hard to keep my cool.

I ignored him and instead walked us through the crowd with urgency. “Mr. Connery.” Someone called to our right causing me to groan internally. “Why does everyone need to talk to you?” I couldn’t help but ask as I looked over at the man that was waving us down. “Because everyone came here so they could talk to us.” Lucas whispered as he took lead and had us walking up to a tall man that had a brown mustache that seemed almost out of place. “Mr. Connery it’s nice to finally meet you.” The man cheerfully said as he held his hand out. “It’s my pleasure.” Lucas replied almost robotically as he gripped the man’s hand and shook it.

The guys sitting there were all middle aged and had hoes on their laps. Their eyes fell on me and I titled my head, annoyed. They abruptly got up and bowed down to me. Fear building up inside them. I ignored them and sat down, Mason stood by my side, “ M-Mr.Lord, i-it’s-“ I cut him off by saying, “ Cut the crap, the deal.” I said with a straight look, he gulped and picked up the brief case with shaky hands. I light up my cigarette and smoked, he placed the case in front of me and opened it before going back to his place, body trembling in fear.

"Alright, alright. Months in and you're still this clingy?" Her friends didn't even flinch. Totally numb to it. I just stood there, watching, heart freezing over. So yeah—everyone knew. Everyone but me. Eugene smiled at the teasing, soaking it up. Like the scene wasn't messy enough, people started tossing out questions—when was the last time they'd hooked up? Vanessa dropped her head, all shy. Eugene? He looked smug as hell. "Day before yesterday. Room next to the master bedroom."

"Don't be silly." One of the guys with a bulky muscle who almost looked like he was doing bodybuilding for ages went on saying as he led his friend toward the inn. His voice boomed and could be heard clearly even amidst the sound of their laugh. The rest of them were also in the middle of having a conversation of their own. "That is nonsense." The other man who has a stature that looked no different from the first guy seconded him. "It is pure nonsense, indeed." Another agreed but then another unknown guy berated them by saying,

I motion to all the people talking. Greg shrugs and swallows. "It's just gossip. We'll just fluff it off." He waves his hand. "Ok." I breath and take a bite of my sandwich. Franco swallows. "Honestly, I'm glad that guy is gone. He was seriously creeping me out. And if he thinks he's getting his hundred bucks back, he's go another thing coming." I laugh. "I think that's the last of his worries."

Shoving it open telekinetically, it hits the guy in the face. “Mike Miller,” I say, stepping inside. He’s sitting on the couch, looking guilty as fuck. And drunk. He reeks like a distillery. Two other guys are in the living room, holding PlayStation controllers. Some sort of shooting game is on the TV, and one of the guys flicks his eyes back and forth from the game to me. “Sorry to interrupt the sausage fest, boys,” I say. “But I need to have a work with your boy Mike here.”

The largest of the men—easily six-four and probably two-fifty, with the kind of face that suggested he'd been in more than a few fights and won most of them—stopped about ten feet away. "Dante Archer," the man said, and it wasn't a question. "We need to have a conversation." "I'm in the middle of walking kids home," Dante replied, keeping his tone light despite the fear clawing at his throat. "Maybe we could schedule something for later?" "Now's better," another man said, and they were moving again, closing the distance in ways that made the threat explicit rather than implied.