Punk 57 Novels & Stories

It slows right in front of me, and for a second, I think it’s going to stop. Maybe hitchhiking is a better idea than waiting for a cab. I step toward the street—and then it accelerates. The tire sinks into a puddle, and a mix of water and mud explodes straight at me, ruining my immaculate skirt. “Damn idiot! Are you blind or what?” I shout, furious, trying to see the jerk hiding behind the tinted window. The window rolls down slowly. Shamelessly. A long arm appears first. The sleeve of a black suit fits it perfectly, revealing a small but impossible-to-ignore tattoo on his wrist: a Roman numeral five.

He nodded, and soon enough we reached the corner of the wall, where we could hear the guards talking. "Are you still planning on stealing some? He'd kill you if he found out, Kian.." I raised my eyebrows, sort of confused. "Hell yeah. It's not like he'll find out. You really think he'd notice if something that small went missing in there? It's loaded dude," he said cockily, chuckling. I furrowed my eyebrows. This guard, apparently named Kian, was seriously going to try and steal from his own base? Let alone, the base of the highest ranking mafia? "Sometimes people are just so damn stupid," I spat under my breath as I quickly held my gun up, pulling the trigger and shooting down both of the

"The power card is literally next to you." Ronda snatched it, jammed it into the reader, and snapped the moment the number appeared. "Jeez, who the hell was watching porn in here?" she barked. "How is it already 25 bucks?" She recharged it anyway, grumbling the whole time, her face sour. As soon as the lights blinked back on, she started yelling for everyone to send her their share. By then, I was beyond tired. My heart had started that ugly, too-fast flutter that came after I stayed up too long. If I did not sleep soon, I would pay for it.

Henry said with a darker tone. "She's just getting back on her feet, cut her some slack. People change, you know." Cindy pouts. "Do they?"

"We partied too hard last night and forgot to use protection—don't forget to buy morning-after pills for your wife." Looking at the woman's smooth bare back and the red mole on her neck in the photo, I felt absolutely nothing. Again. Five years of marriage, and this wasn't the first time. Kathy liked to test me this way. She called it her "little experiment." The first time, she "accidentally" left a receipt for condoms on the nightstand. I got angry and confronted her, but she just smiled with contempt. "Why are you so petty? My girlfriends and I bought that on purpose just to see how you'd react." The second time was on our wedding anniversary. A guy showed up at our door with a bouq

I read it, then I deleted it. I looked up again, and he was still staring. My fingers paused over the keys, but I couldn't move. Five minutes. That's how long a major lasts. I've covered enough games to know that five minutes is usually nothing. It's just a line change or a bathroom break. But five minutes of unbroken eye contact with Jax Carter felt like an eternity. It made me feel gooey and nervous inside. I typed and deleted over and over. Finally, I just wrote six words: 'Carter takes a five-minute major.'

Liam's POV "Tell me if it hurts." I said quietly, keeping my eyes on the wound. I had grabbed the first aid box from the clinic shelf and set it open on the bed beside Ken. I used the antiseptic solution, cotton wool, then a small pair of tweezers to clear the edges if I needed them and a proper wound dressing to finish it off. The puncture was not as deep as the blood had made it look out there in the cafeteria, but it was real enough and it needed to be cleaned properly before anything else.

My brain won't stop looping the image of a certain thick-muscled, chiseled-jawed guy on his knees, taking my full length into his mouth. I skate my puck into the post but it miss,the fifth time tonight. Not because I can't play but because each time my stick scratch through the ice, my brain supplies the sound of Remington gagging on my cock. His nails scratching on my thighs and the wet patch on his pants only I saw I’ve watched the clip over six times. Each time gets me as hard as the last, which is a big fucking problem. I plant my skate deep against the ice, cold air burning my lungs as I weave through the cones, my stick snapping sharply against the puck.

I wanted to do something entirely stupid. By the time dusk began to settle over the city, blurring the skylines into deep purples and neon flashes, I found myself outside a dimly lit nightclub. The bass vibrated right through the heavy glass doors, a low, primal thudding that matched the chaotic rhythm of my heart. I didn't think. I just walked inside. The interior was a heavy fog of strobe lights, sweat, and cheap alcohol, the exact opposite of Six Seven. I marched straight to the bar, pulled out the gold card Damian had given me, and slammed it onto the sticky counter.

Hindi ko alam kung anong rank na ‘ko, pero alam kong hindi pa sapat ang points na ‘to. I left the guy there, and searched for more dummies. -- “Ha… Ha.. Ha..” Hinihingal akong napaupo sa ilalim ng isang puno. Pagod na ‘ko. Madami na rin ang mga napatay kong dummies. 750 pts na ang nakukuha ko. I won’t stop, paabutin ko ‘to ng 1,000. Marami din akong nakabungguan na participants, nang-aagaw ng points. Pero siyempre hindi ako papatalo.