Musketeer Mickey Novels & Stories

Charlotte Hayes’ POV My mind was racing with questions. But I can't be afraid in front of this man. "Who knows?" I said, still smiling. I chuckled, causing Luca to smile slightly. He looked at me for a split second before bowing and said elegantly, "Well then. Milady, follow me." We were walking down the spacious hallways, greeted by various paintings as we passed.

A freaking hard chest, with proud pecs and which I'm sure his under a boring shirt hides his cute pink nipples. I lifted my head, and there they were... those addictive chestnut eyes, glaring down at me. The very eyes belonging to the reason I’d gotten wasted in the first place. Mikey. Fucking. Montero. This son of a bitch!

And because of that, he looks less like a man and more like a void wearing human shape. He halts before me, leaning forward. “The great and mighty Laurent” he said with a snicker at the end. The young guy—about Myles’ age—has a lot of jokes. “I think we’ve never met,” he stretched out a hand for a handshake. “Name’s Mic, and oh—”He withdraws his hand, “You’ve been restrained. I made sure of that, y'know?” I stare at him, ignoring all his nonsense. “Mic,” I repeated flatly. “Is that the name your mother gave you, or the name your fellow lowlife friends assigned you behind a bar somewhere?”

Paul shook his head, Micky was upset, that was the only reason for him to pursue this conversation. Paul sits in his chair, and shakes his head. He opens a drawer and takes out two bottles of vodka. He hands the one labeled wolfsbane to Micky and helps himself to the other. Take the glass and drink in one gulp. Micky approaches him and kneels at his feet. - If I suck you, and you close your eyes, you'll think I'm one of your girls. Or maybe not, because I bet nobody will suck you like I do. – he says, taking his hand to his friend's zipper.

“Long morning. I think I sparred with every elite warrior, or at least most of them.” “Why?” Miles asked, looking between my espresso and me, like he was asking permission to have some. I nodded and he gratefully lifted it to his lips. The man is addicted. Every morning starts with espresso for him. “I let Rome out for the first time,” Mick said smugly. “You have to come to training tomorrow. You’re the last one to defeat.” “Bull shit,” Beau huffed. “Fight Lenny.” “Rome did,” Mick smirked. “Whooped his tail.”

“Biggest wrap party in America, in Orlando, yeah, it wasn't very hard to put the pieces together. Plus, I had to come say hi, those idiots were the first production company willing to try out MIC.” “Mike?” I asked as I dumped my empty cup on the dirt floor and grabbed the chains of the swing. Carson gave a low chuckle, one that even though came from him, rattled inside me. “No, not Mike, doll, M-I-C. It's this new high-tech camera we've been developing. The boys in white have a long complicated name for it but I just call it MIC. Easier to remember, and say.” “Oh good. And here I was thinking that you gave a production company a man to try out.”

Are you here to see him? Micky is one of Dante’s posse. She did not dislike the guy, in fact, he was friendly and likable, but mixed in with Dante’s crowd, he took on another persona. He copied their attitude, acting cocky and sleazy as if the world owed him something. On his own, though, he was harmless. If only she could get out of there faster.