Prisoner Mark Invincible Novels & Stories

You don't move on from the person who holds half your soul. Marcus found me when I was sixteen, after my parents died in another attack. He took me in, trained me, taught me how to control the wolf inside me, how to fight, how to survive in a world that wanted us dead or enslaved. He was a good mentor, patient and skilled. But he never understood my obsession with finding Ava. "She's gone, Roger," he'd tell me, over and over. "Her family went deep into hiding. Even if you found her, approaching her would put her in danger. The hunters are still looking for you both. Your connection makes you targets."

"He's the weak link. The man who delivered the note. He is the key to the prisoner." "You're not going," I said immediately, placing myself between him and the door. "He's a tech specialist. He'll have weapons, security, and a direct line to Domenico. You're going in blind." "I am going to get the location of the captive," Mark stated, his voice flat, resolute. "I am going to 'convince' Mr. Kane that his immediate safety depends on giving me an address, not a name." "Then I'm coming with you," I declared. "I'm not sitting here waiting for you to get shot by some backroom techie. We are partners, Mark. We fight this together. You said so yourself."

My life took a huge turn. I was no longer Victoria the baker. I was Arianna Bocelli, Alejandro Amato’s prisoner. “Let me go.” I dug my feet into the ground as Capello pulled me along, ropes digging into my skin. I’d recovered from my momentary shock and become dangerously stupid as I continued to yell at men who wouldn’t bat an eyelash as they sent me to the world beyond.

she said with a smile. “I have to be the luckiest man on earth.” Mark, without the ability to give birth anymore, has been locked in a cell for the rest of his life. The dog was in memory of Jack, Jack always wanted an Apso. Danielle and I, now living our best lives, have nothing to fear anymore. We have conquered a lot of things, even death. THE END.

The first question they raised was about whose voice was on the tape. Jessie looked at Mark. Mark's knees buckled almost instantly, and he dropped to the floor. "That's me–" He knew he was wrong, but he was terrified of prison. The memory of being beaten in a cell still haunted him. It wasn't just that. He feared losing his freedom and eating food that looked and tasted like pig slop. After living a life of comfort and indulgence for over twenty years, how could Mark ever endure that again?

I replied, placing her in the car. "Has he told you anything?" I asked Mark. After Ebony fell asleep, I ensured I had enough Pack Warriors guarding our room. Then, I made my way to the Jail. "No, he won't speak to anyone but you," Mark said, and I walked into the cell. "It's about time you showed up," the man said. I didn't know why but he looked familiar. I felt like I had seen him somewhere before but couldn't figure out where "Who are you, and why did you attach my Mate?" I asked

Mark smiled, his face seemingly glowing with confidence. "No, no. We can’t just forget Elizah’s case, especially not Ryan Mike. I’m still trying to figure out—" Before Justin could finish, Mark pulled out a silenced pistol and shot him in the chest. Justin gasped and writhed in pain, but Mark quickly covered his mouth, muffling his screams. "Stop pretending you’re a hero, blondie." Mark laid Justin’s body on the sofa and slipped the file he brought under a couch cushion. "I’m here to tell you that you’re a bastard who deserves to rot in prison even more than a killer like me."

The man who had killed Mark’s baby brother was being treated like a hero. “Let’s get out of here,” Will repeated, and this time, Mark let himself be led away. He made it out into the parking lot and briefly wondered whether the beer and burger he’d just eaten were going to reappear, but he managed to hold himself together. “A party,” he said softly. “It’s bullshit,” Will said. “The son of a bitch should still be in jail. He should be rotting in there.” Mark had worked in prisons, and he still spent a lot of time at the Anglican-sponsored halfway house in town. He believed in rehabilitation, and he absolutely believed in forgiveness. But when he thought of those green eyes, the way they’d sta

“Fine. But don't expect me to save you again." He stormed towards the door and paused, looking back at me one last time. "Please," he said, and his voice cracked on the word. "Please come with me. Just... trust me. One more time." I wanted to. God, part of me wanted to so badly. But I thought of the secrets surrounding him and how I didn't know who to trust anymore. For some reason, this prison seemed infinitely better than what Marco was offering. "No," I whispered. His shoulders sagged. "Then you've lost your chance."

He tried to picture Emilia in those moments—desperate, wild-eyed, lashing out—but all he could see was the frightened teenager who once clung to his arm when her mother died. “You call that justification for keeping her?” Mark asked, voice cracking. “She’s a prisoner. What would you expect her to do—kneel and smile?” Dante’s expression didn’t shift. “I expect her to honor the agreement made in her name. Just as I expect you to do the same.” Mark turned away, his hand tightening around the strap of the now-useless satchel. His shoulders sagged under the weight of it all. “Vanessa doesn’t know I’m here. If she finds out—”