Prisoner Mark Invincible Novels & Stories

Made it another hundred feet before she collapsed. Woke up in her room with the woman standing over her. “Don’t do that again,” the woman said. “The marks can kill you if you push too hard. I’d rather not lose our prize recruit.” “I’m not your recruit. I’m your prisoner.” “You’re whatever you choose to be. The marks give you power. What you do with that power is up to you.” “Then I choose to leave.”

My favorite flowers - something Emma hadn't known. In prison, the other inmates despised Emma when they learned how she'd orchestrated her rival's death, killed a pregnant woman. They made her life hell, a fitting punishment for her crimes. "How does it feel?" they would taunt as they passed her cell. "Killing a mother and her baby? Not so proud now, are you?" Meanwhile, Mark sat in our empty house, staring at my ultrasound photo. The last image of our child. "Alice..." he would murmur, setting out pills for a wife who wasn't there. "Drink your medicine... the baby needs you to stay healthy..."

"On the charges of child molestation, assault and rape, we find Mark Christian guilty," "Life in prison with no chance of parole," "You're gonna die alone, Jay!" Mark laughed the words as he extended his arms behind his back, flinching ever-so-slightly as an officer etched into the skin of his wrist with a handcuff too tight for comfort. "You're too much like our whore of a mother,"

"He can have the girl or he can have the empire. He cannot have both. Get the car. We are going to the estate now." The walls of the visitor’s room in the jail were a dull, peeling gray. Mark sat on a hard plastic chair, his hands shaking as he gripped the cold telephone receiver. He looked terrible. His expensive shirt was wrinkled and stained, and the bruises on his face had turned an ugly shade of yellow. He pressed the numbers for the Visser Group. He had called them ten times already, but no one would pick up. This time, after five rings, a man answered.

Seeing him in such a condition made me happy. Did he think he was going to hurt me and get away with it? Was I going to let him off the hook? Mark, my chief investigator, who was the one in charge of this assignment walked over to me. “Good job, thank you for bringing this bastard to me,” I said with a smirk plastered at the corner of my lips. “That's not a problem sir, he thought he could outsmart us as he was trying to escape but we caught him without any hesitation. Whoever he was calling, he was trying to seek help.” Mark explained.

“I wasn’t thinking straight. But I never wanted Tricia hurt. Never.” General Watson studied him. Long. Hard. As if searching for something. Anything. “Do you even hear yourself?” he asked quietly. Mark’s breath faltered. “People don’t get accidentally kidnapped, beaten, and shot because someone ‘wasn’t thinking straight.’” Each word landed with precision. Cutting deeper than the last. Mark looked away. Because for once… He had nothing to say. “She’s alive.” The words came suddenly. And they changed everything. Mark’s head snapped up.

he demanded gently, taking my phone to examine the message, his jaw clenching visibly. "Burner phone," he confirmed after a terse call to the PI, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. "Untraceable at first glance, but we'll crack it. Mark's still in custody—solitary, monitored 24/7. This could be a copycat stirring trouble, or Victoria pulling strings from her cell. She's got friends on the outside." Fear twisted in my gut like a knife, sharp and unrelenting, but anger flared brighter, a protective fire. "They won't stop, will they? Even behind bars, they're trying to worm their way back in."

The man kept on asking as Mark was silent on the other line. “Where is he? I want to see him!” Mark asked so dispiritedly. “He was still inside the prison. Our team was still in the process of…” The man answered but was cut off. Mark dropped the call and run hurriedly inside. The cops were shocked was his hysterical presence. They stopped him but failed as Mark was strong enough to push them and struggle from their grip. He went inside very mad and no one could stop him from seeing the poor old Mr. Hendrick.

The tunnel is not a very nice place to be in. When they both got there, they were impressed by how much Williams had prepared him. He was injected with wolfsbane in little quantities over and over again, seizing the luxury of a quick death. “What’s your name?” Seth asked the man in front of him who was obviously rid of all his strength and probably didn’t have any to pronounce his name. “Mark..." the prisoner muttered. Seth was supposed to question him but there was not much use in it. Oliver had already told him most of what he needed to know but then there was a pressing question he wished he never had to ask.

He glared at Mark, but he didn't dare strike back. "Divorce?" Mark's voice was colder than ice as he grabbed Christopher by the collar in one swift move. "Why don't you repeat that to my gun? Who are you asking to get a divorce?" Mark was famous in the underworld for his marksmanship—fast, ruthless, and precise. A few years ago, he single-handedly rescued me from a gang of vicious thugs without getting so much as a speck of dust on his clothes. Those men had dropped to the ground before they even got a clear look at what he was doing.