Musketeer Mickey Novels & Stories

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Give me the mic and tape, and I will tape it on her.” Fine.” Mikey says as he opens the suitcase and pulls everything out. True to his word, Bryce tapes the mic to my chest and makes sure that no one sees me with my shirt open. Once my shirt is closed, Mikey walks around to make sure that you can’t see any traces of the mic. Then he steps close to me and speaks down into the mic. “Testing, can you hear me?” Mikey and I both have an earpiece in our ears. My hair covers mine, and I hear “good to go.”

Tikka stood at the entrance with her head slightly bowed 'Tikka, what is it?" he asked sharply She gulped down nothing and stepped in. Bringing out the tape she stood bold and defiant watching him roam his eyes over her "What's that ?" he asked "My lord, I have some information on Micheline McKenna, she's not who she says she is " "The hell are you talking about?"

He placed a Glock in my hands and I checked the gazette smirking to myself that tis was way more than I needed to kill those fuckers. “Come on, we have to move”, I nudged the kid and we both moved to the large as fuck old boiler shielding us from sight. “Jack? Jaaack, you alive boy?” The first man peaked his head in and from where I was one shot to the head was enough. And before the guy with the golden tooth could get inside the room further, one shot to his bald head and he fell to the ground like a bug. It didn’t take time before the other four musketeers joined in on the party.

I looked up to see Micca standing there with a glare on his face. His eyes are shiny lime green with flecks of silver. I had always believed they were identical. They aren't. Miles is slightly taller. His demeanor shouts bad boy. Micca is the complete opposite. His blue and white high tops go perfectly with his dark-fitted jeans, tight only where it counts. The blue t-shirt reads "Home is Where The Paws Are" with the outline of a dog around it. He had taken his time with his hair and the black hoodie makes me want to hug him. If I didn't know who he really was under his stupid mask. "Can you see me now?" he asks. I laugh. His smile drops and he stares at me like he's seen a ghost.

Aya Connor is the only mute Epsilon she-wolf of the Connor Moonfang Pack—fragile, voiceless, and treated as a disposable pawn by her own greedy family. When her father forces her to take her sister’s place in an unwanted mate bond with the terrifying Alpha Kyle Connor, Aya enters the deadly halls of the Rev-9 Crimson Dominion with one goal: keep her dying grandmother, Elder Serena, alive. Kyle Connor is a muscular, ruthless Alpha scarred by war and betrayal. Known for his cold restraint, he wears a pristine ceremonial neck-cloth—loosening the knot by exactly one inch only when his lethal wolf, raw lust, or dangerous possessiveness takes control. Believing Aya is a scheming spy sent to ste

He spoke in tongues with a deep accent as if he had long forgotten how to speak to one of his own. “Wh-who are you?” asked a bewildered Mickey. The man willingly fixed Mickey. “Call me Charles.” Mickey made contact with the ground once more, collapsing from exhaustion and utter bewilderment. A calm grin registered on Charles’ face, at long last found by civilization. ***

"Although you may be in pain, you should refrain from taking any medication if you are still capable of managing yourself. Warm milk and water would probably be sufficient in their place." He took my pole of pool skimmer net and replaced it with a glass of lukewarm milk, which I refused to accept. I had no choice but to drink because he was waiting for the milk to run out. This is extremely, f*cking annoying. Sir Mik is still looking at me with a smile on his face. "Keep in mind that you are only my maid. You are required to obey me at all times." Tsk! He's making a mess of my hair!

Aleksey said. “You can hand him Twizzlers,” Mickey joked. Ha ha ha ha ha. So funny. I guess he got shot, so he gets to crack jokes. “In all seriousness, it'll be good for everyone to see your fated mate. She’s also someone who can vouch that Maxim doesn’t have one,” Mickey said. I perked up at the idea that I could be useful. “Yes, I was with them several times, certainly not fated. Just drug addicts,” I said, making weird gestures with my hands.

the woman replied. My expression softened for a moment, but my finger stayed on the trigger. In a swift move I took the housemaid as a hostage. “Why should I believe you?” I demanded. “Drop her!” Kelvin shouted and stepped forward. “Kelvin, lower your gun. This—this is our chance to get out of this hell. W-we’ll help you reach Miley, and they’ll help us get out—” the woman—Mickey—began, turning to me. “I’m Mickey. We’re on your side. We can help you find Miley—”

"I'm sorry. It's just that -- " "It's okay," he interrupted, then grinned, still eyeing the road. "Maybe this is payback for missing your own graduation," then he snickered like a dork. This was what I loved about Mike - great minds think alike. Michelangelo, or Mike as he liked to be called, was of Italian descent: broad shoulders, muscular, tan skin, dark brown hair styled in a buzz cut and his eyes, damn those light brown eyes that could make any girl weak in the knees! And let's not forget his cool tattoos on his left arm and collarbone.