Musketeer Mickey Novels & Stories

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.

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.

Sam scowled and said "I smell like roses and daffodils." "Okay, whatever you say Cru'ella." Mike said with a scoff. "If I recall correctly, isn't Mikey the name of a green eyes cyclopes monster?" Samantha said while she tapped her finger on her chin in thought. She looked at Mikey and smiled. "Come to think of it, you both look alike! It'sincredible! You're both incredibly...Ugly." She said in an innocent tone and a smile. "What did you call me?" asked Mikey.

My hands were tied but as soon as I walked closer to the trio and their jeep, one of them, the leaner one, came closer to me and began undoing the rope while the other two watched quietly. “Hello mate, my name is Lynch… the youngest of the three musketeers. The muscular one is the eldest, his name is Keller and the brown hair is Bennett” Lynch introduced in a cheerful tone that made me surprised. Weren't they glaring at me some minutes ago? Maybe I was just being paranoid and overthinking it.

Then I looked back into Drake's eyes and saw his jaw tighten. "I had to," I admitted, but he said nothing. "Okay, who is this Micky guy and why does Drake look like he's going to fucking kill someone?" Luis asked. I turned to my best friend and sighed. "Micky is a friend from high school who was in love with me. Nothing happened between us. Drake met him yesterday at the BBQ when the officers arrived." Luis's brows rose as he looked at Drake. "And you're jealous? Wait, is he that hot guy I met when I came to see you in the hospital? The man in uniform?"

I grumbled, clearly having a death wish. Except, the man chuckled and I could bet my life savings that the alcohol was to blame because Eddie looked just as flabbergasted as I felt. "Yes, how very cliched but a fickle thing like fucking with the one and only Gunnar Astor, the man who considers himself untouchable, is also the good motive," Mickey rounded his desk, giving me a full-body image of him. He wore a Slate Gray button-down that was open around the chest and had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Inky black slacks hugged his toned legs, "the figlio di puttana will be pissed that his woman came running to me in the end. He'll be pissed that I won and that he lost. He's always hated