Newt X Thomas Novels & Stories

It wasn’t funny. “Who? Gerald of the Blackwoods Wolves.” Thomas’s eyebrow rose. “Hold on.” He took his phone from his pocket. “I went to school with him. Yeah, he’s a hybrid. Half witch. You don’t think he did something to her?” “I don’t know. She’s not even sure how to talk to him.” “Then let’s cut out the middleman. Alpha to Alpha. I’ve got his personal number here.” Thomas dialled the number from his contacts list.

Thomas circled me slowly, “Xavier is an alpha, a leader who has fought many battles. He knows where the strikes are coming from.” I tightened my grip on the sword, “Does he?” “Yes,” he said. He lifted his sword and tapped on my blade with no effort. “That is why you need to be prepared when attacking him.” He stepped back and motioned for me. “Attack me.” I paused, hesitantly. “You’ll knock me out.” “Probably,” he said. “But there's no guarantee Xavier would let you win him.” I exhaled sharply, rushing towards him, swinging wildly. Thomas blocked every strike. With a quick twist, he knocked the sword from my arm again.

Their tension spilled into small fights that I amplified by causing doors to slam during the worst moments. One evening Thomas drank too much and went down to the basement alone with a sledgehammer. He attacked the new concrete near the back wall, cracking it in several places. “Come on,” he muttered. “Show me what you are.” I pushed with everything I had. A larger section broke away, revealing more dirt and the unmistakable curve of bone. Thomas dropped the hammer, stumbling back in horror.

Emmanuel’s father had known Thomas well. Not just Sunday dinners. He had written about Thomas the way people wrote about people who had changed the direction of their thinking. About a man who had shown up in London in 1968 with a certainty about what medicine was for that nobody else in his circle seemed to share. About arguments over dinner tables and letters sent back to Lagos. About the programme Thomas was building with a woman named Margaret and how he talked about it as though it was already real before it existed. The framework was in there. The whole thing. Before Thomas had formalised it. Before he wrote the forty pages.

Catherine settled inside the car. "Hello Catherine, my name is Thomas and I am the personal assistant of Mr. Mendez," said a man wearing black suit from the front passenger seat. "Hello, Thomas," Catherine greeted him. Though in her mind she was repeating the name Mr. Mendez. It felt familiar to her but she couldn't remember where did she hear that. Maybe she heard it from the dean of the orphanage, she thought. "Please take these," Thomas's voice pulled her out of her strings of thoughts. He was holding a brand new iPhone and MacBook. Catherine took them from him cautiously and heard Thomas continue.

He was making it quite obvious. "I think it's a perfect time to talk to him." Mr Thomas said, after analyzing that not many people are present in the bar. He walked taking baby steps and was sweating a lot as if he was going towards his deathbed. Well, even if Mr Thomas didn't ever meet Neil before but he sure does know how Neil is. He is known for his arrogance and attitude. He has a little anger issues also.

Thomas said with pride. He wasn't just a killer or fraud. He graduated from school and studied computer science but bad company led him astray. He can hack into anything of his choice but not for long. He can only get the information needed and that's all. He doesn't stick to hacking and only try that on special occasions. Thomas met Margaret years ago after her second marriage to Oscar. She has been married before but only Thomas knows that. However, they met on a beach in Spain and made out. Since then, they kept in touch until their gang grew more.

“Please, Thomas.” Thomas sighed, a long, wheezing sound. His gaze swept over Given, taking in the fresh bruise blooming on her temple, the bloody lip. A flicker of something—discomfort, pity, passed behind his eyes. “I don’t want trouble. I don’t want to go to jail.” “You won’t. She is strong. She will clean well. Just the house, like we said.” Thomas stared at them for a long moment, the moral calculation almost visible in his hunched posture. Finally, he turned and shuffled back into the dim interior. He returned a moment later, holding a single, crisp one-hundred-dollar note between his fingers, as if it were contaminated.

Thomas, who was originally sitting while playing with his mobile phone replied, "It's going well." Someone else chimed in, "Thomas, you've been getting close with Linux recently, eh? You should make good use of your extensive network!" Hearing this, everyone looked at Thomas. Thomas smiled bitterly. "It's not me who is close to Linux, but Rex of the Cross Family. The both of them are currently working on a big project together. I just do some secretarial work in the company so I don't know much about the business."

Victor's eyes widened slightly as understanding dawned, a rush of warmth flooding through him despite the danger they were in. "Three years ago," Thomas continued, each word an effort, blood staining his shirt darker with every passing moment, "Victor reached out to me after you and your men betrayed and tried to kill him. He wasn't dead, just waiting and planning." Xavier gritted his teeth at that, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "I worked my way up," Thomas said. "Played the part. The nervous rookie who just wanted to prove himself." He let out a pained chuckle. "And you fell for it."