Mr 112dirtbag Novels & Stories

The security guard tells me politely, but I push him out of the way and I proceed to walk through the entrance. He is probably cussing at me, but I don't give a flying shit. He can go hang for all I care. I hate all of them! I hate Modern Comm! I hate Mr. Styles! In fact, fuck Modern Comm! Fuck Mr. Styles! I hope he rots in hell. He is so insensitive. I exhale sharply once I am out of the company's compound, and I flag down a cab. I hastily get in the back seat, banging the door shut, very aware of the driver's eyes on me.

His jacket was torn at the shoulder, a thin smear of blood on his temple, but his eyes, those eyes, were still steady, unreadable, and unshakably calm. James Carville. My savior and my curse. My living reminder that I wasn't as untouchable as I thought. "Are you going to use that? Do you even know how to shoot?" My eyes went to the small metal weapon that I am holding. "Yes I have practiced this many times and I have a license." He smirked and I caught the hidden smile on his face. "Well then, keep it in your purse all the time Miss Dankworth. Who knows? It would come in handy next time."

"Mr. Johnston, I'm drinking alone at a bar, feeling awful, and some strange men keep bothering me. They said if I don't leave with them, they'll kill me... Please, come save me..." Alfred tossed the first aid kit onto the couch and shot up. "Vivian, don't be scared. I'm on my way." "Mr. Johnston, thank you... But maybe you shouldn't come. Your wife will get mad. I'll figure something out myself." "She has no right to be mad!" He cut me a cold look—me, still curled up on the floor—then hung up and rushed for the door. "Alfred, wait!" I called out to him.

I said hastily, putting the bag back on the table. Zazu's eyes narrowed as she moved her hand from her face. "What is in that bag?" she demanded. "It's nothing," I repeated.I slapped her hands away when she tried to lift the bag again , held her shoulder, turned her towards the door and began to push her out of the apartment as we kept struggling. After a lot of shouting, back and forth I managed to throw her out of the apartment and shut the door on her face. Leaning against the door, I sighed in relief, but Zazu wasn’t giving up easily. She banged on the door, her voice muffled but insistent. "Open the door, or I'm going to break it down!” Damn this girl is stubborn. Everyone on my mother'

I crossed the car quickly, scanning the overhead compartments until I spotted the red emergency sticker. I snapped it open and pulled out a fat stack of barf bags, crinkly and pale blue. Exactly what I needed. “Here!” I said, tossing a few to the nearest players. “Hold it right under your mouth. Breathe through your nose. Do not lean back.” One of the rookies was trembling so badly he couldn't open the seal. I crouched next to him, peeled the top open for him, and placed it in his hands.

This was surprising and corrected me on the fact that something was going on between them. "Who the hell are you!" Blonde asked which annoyed me. Why couldn't he just leave already since he was just an unnecessary male who was just making my burger wait longer to be devoured? "Lucas Davis. Owner of a couple of night clubs in the area, knowing you lads, you better leave before I make sure you are unable to get into any clubs in this area or even this state." This made them scramble and I sat back down to start eating my burger again. Finally, some peace-

He’s very strong, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can’t break his grip. The shorter one approaches the bed. He’s carrying a black duffel bag. Sets it on the floor. Unzips it slowly, deliberately, letting me hear the sound. Rope. He pulls out coils of black rope, soft but sturdy. Professional-looking. The kind designed not to leave marks unless you struggle too hard. “She’s a fighter,” the tall one observes. I’m still thrashing beneath him, still trying to break free. “I like fighters.” “Makes it more fun when they break.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Yeah. Someone ditched it in the cage on the side of the road. He was cool and knew how to say ‘fuck’ and a few other choice words.” “What happened to him?” I lower my gaze to the bar, stomach clenching just thinking about it. Captain Morgan was a fucking awesome cockatiel. “Jackson let him out when the living room ceiling fan was on high.” Charlie gasps and brings her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.”

I downed the rest of the whiskey and slammed the glass down on the windowsill, hard enough to crack it. She wanted war. My fucking wife wanted war right? Fine. I would give her a war she would never forget. That war that would send her running back to me on her knees. Wait till all your backbone disappears, Clara. That.. that useless Emma and that mother fucking coach. Wait till they all disappear and you have no one left to motivate you, then I'll sit watching as you come back crawling for me to take you back. I will have the last laugh. I pulled out my spare phone, the one the feds didn’t know about yet and scrolled through the contacts until I found the number from the distorted voice.