Mike Tyson Movie Vegas Novels & Stories

A small plan started to form in my mind but I needed to gather as much knowledge as I could. “Who is he, truly?” I turned to face my grinning father and for a moment he seemed to enjoy Declan’s misery so much that he forgot his hatred for me. “Robert’s bastard son. He’s made a name for himself in Italy, Spain, Paris and South America. They call him The Tycoon of Rome. He’s quite brilliant.”

How could someone as happy and miserable as Tyson say such stupid things? Tyson's mouth hung in a sarcastic smile from beginning to end. “Milan, do you want to know?” He said, his finger suddenly pointing at the woman on the bed. "Do you want to know this woman's secret?" He is a doctor and has the strength of a talented doctor. If he just finished checking and still found no errors, then all those years of treating diseases and saving people were just for fun. The man next to the bed narrowed his eyes at Tyson, spitting out the words. "I don't want to."

Making my way into the theater room I set everything on the coffee table, grabbing a bottled water for myself, before finding a seat to relax in. Wrapping myself up in a blanket I get comfortable as the movie starts. "What did you pick?" I quietly ask Rachel "A Madea Family Funeral" "Damn that's one of my favorite movies but I don't know if I can stay awake." I tell her "it's okay I know the babies are exhausting. Take a nap we can watch it again later." She tells me as I slowly close my eyes then everything goes black. Tyson's POV (a few minutes before the girls get to his house):

“D-Don’t kill me! If you don’t kill me, I’ll give you everything. I have a lot of money… “Yeah, I have a lot of money. I can give you all of it, and this woman too…” Tyson kept pleading for mercy. As he shook, he began soiling himself. If his wrist was not pinned to the wall, he would have knelt before Chase. Chase got up slowly, his eyes devoid of any emotions. “Even if you’re not a Harrigan, an animal like you doesn’t deserve to live in this world.” After he said that, a terrifying energy erupted from his hand. In the blink of an eye, Tyson was beheaded. Chase looked at the unconscious woman, broke the metal chain around her wrists, and brought her away from Tyson’s villa.

I said, stepping toward a quieter corner of the room. “Tyler wouldn’t shut up about this party,” Tyson replied. “Figured I’d come through before he starts crying.” I smirked. “Alright, and I need you to look at something when you come in. The Vegas numbers came in skewed as hell. I don’t trust the report.” “Cyril, I’m here to party. You don’t get to dump spreadsheets on me the second I land.” “You’re still my numbers guy,” I said. “I’m sure China didn’t change that. Besides, you all but missed the party.”

The streets weren’t too crowded and I figured I’d have a better chance of getting a cab in the next town over. Then, just as I was about to cross the street, the deep growl of an engine cut through the air beside me. I stopped in my tracks as a sleek black Ducati pulled up next to me. Even before the rider removed their helmet, I recognized the black leather jacket. Of course. Tyson. I folded my arms, already scowling as he finally pulled off the helmet, shaking out his hair with that infuriating, lazy confidence. "Need a lift, blonde?" He asked, the smirk on his face making it clear he already knew the answer.

Completely open as he fucked him through both their orgasm. "You look smug," Mason observed, dropping into a seat. "I've looked worse." "I don't know," Tyler said, sitting behind them. "You look like you got hit by a truck." "Maybe I hit one hell of a truck," he said with a smirk. What he didn’t add was that he would love to hit that truck again. And again. And again. "I heard a guest speaker’s coming," Mason said, "Some billionaire." Tyler nodded, "Yeah. Adrian Voss."

POV Alexander Tyson was never subtle about anything in his entire worthless existence, but walking into my boardroom and seeing him charming the VPs with champagne and that fucking smug grin makes something inside me snap like a twig under pressure. He’s holding court like he personally financed the building’s construction, telling some bullshit story about his latest “venture”—probably another cryptocurrency scheme or boutique hotel concept that’ll hemorrhage money faster than our marketing budget. My senior staff is laughing like he’s Dave Chappelle instead of a trust fund baby who once tried to convince our board to invest in a dating app for pets called “Pawssionate Connections.”