Miles Teller Top Gun Name Novels & Stories

Her fingers tapped the steering wheel nervously. Just then, the front passenger door opened. Miles got in without saying a word, slammed the door shut, and looked at her with a blank expression. “Why did you call me out so late at night, Tiana?” he asked, clearly irritated. Tiana didn’t waste time. She reached into her bag and pulled out a file, handing it over to Miles. “Take this,” she said firmly. “I’m not going to share my man with anyone else, not even a low-class cleaner working at Majesties.”

“I'm not going anywhere until you explain everything. I said I remember you, but my memories are a fucking mess right now. You said that my father died on that plane... How do you know that?” Tony tilted his head back and muttered a curse. “We don't have time for this!” I folded my arms across my chest. “And I need answers.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something, most likely more curses. Then his phone rang. Frowning, he pulled it out of his jacket pocket and looked at me. “It's Gunner Stiles, one of the men who works for you. He organized this rescue mission.” That name also seemed familiar. “Put him on a speaker,” I said.

“That’s the thing. He says he does not know. No names, and he never met anyone face-to-face. Everything was done through emails from dummy accounts and electronic funds transfers.” “Can’t you trace the money?” “We’re working on it, but all that’s going to take a few days, at least.” “What I’d like to know is where he learned to use a high-end sniper rifle,” Pete interjects. Tucker sighs again. “Bitzmore has military training. He got kicked out when they realized just how well he had managed to fake out the psych screening. As far as the gun? He says his phantom employer provided it – along with the promise of another two hundred thousand if he succeeded. We’re working that angle too.”

He should’ve been exhausted, too, but his mind was spinning too fast, replaying the night like a surveillance loop. Sutton had saved them tonight. She had figured out who the hacker was after containing the threat. “Miles Miller,” she had said earlier, sitting back in her chair, her voice low and clear despite how tired she looked. “Code name Ghost. He’s the one who took my spot at MIT after I gave it up to model.”

The perfect place for a little theater. “It’s a desert puma,” I said, watching Miles’ eyes widen just enough to betray his inexperience. “Rare. Fast. Lethal when cornered.” Then I tossed him the rifle—loaded, of course. ”Your shot, Miles. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Miles’ fingers tightened around the weapon, the weight of it whispering with the seductive promise of lethal power. Of course, it wasn’t a puma at all. Just a delicate gazelle—made it all the crueler in hindsight.

“I’ve been doing this for ten years, five of which I’ve worked with Logan. He’s one of the best in our circle. Races under a pseudonym.” “Sounds thrilling,” I said, still at a loss for words from it all. “Yep. But don’t let me fool you; it’s dangerous work.” “Oh, I’ve gathered that much,” I said, my eyes lingering on Logan, who was now discussing something with another member of the pit crew. “But he insists he knows what he’s doing, so…” “He does,” Miles assured me. “Kid’s got a natural talent. Quick reflexes, stays calm under pressure, and knows cars inside and out.”

"Logistics. Transportation routes that don't always get fully declared to the people who'd ask questions about them. He's been useful to me before, quietly, and he's invited me to this evening as a courtesy, and possibly as a signal that he's interested in expanding what we do together." "And me?" "You're my partner," Miles said, simple, like the answer should have been obvious. "Whatever rooms I'm welcome in, you should be welcome in too. Especially this one." He took a slow sip of his drink, watching her over the rim of the glass. "There's a rumor going around that the headline driver tonight is someone called Ghost. Apparently a name that means a great deal to people who follow this circu

He cringes in pain, almost reopening his stitches. Nixon on the floor of the roof, rolls to the other side of the switch box, quickly getting up and calculating the strength of the wind and distance like the others. This time, only aiming above, not needing to move it again. He fires, again, falling to the floor, army crawling across it and rolling onto his back. "Looks like I win." The snipers that were pointing at the building were all killed. Nixon Driver, also known as the Jackal. The greatest marksman to have ever lived.

"Gunnar, why are you carrying the Medina River Alpha-Heir’s tactical gear? And why do you look like you’re about to ask for a permanent parking spot?" Kyle stepped forward, placing a hand on Gunnar’s shoulder. "Because, Alaric, I’ve just appointed my Gamma. I have my top 3, mated and ready to kick some serious ass. And apparently, we’re now sponsored by a girl who can hack into the Pentagon with a TI-84 calculator."

Agent Vernon chuckled. “She was a good fighter,” Agent Jane said while trying to stop herself from giggling. “They said she had quick hands and she could usually put down her opponent in just a few seconds. She was a vicious fighter. They called her The Gunmetal Mama. Sometimes she would come out holding a gun that wasn’t loaded. Every time she’d come out to fight, they would play music by her favorite rapper, Tupac Shakur,” Agent Jane explained through her giggling.