Rdr2 Arthur Grave Novels & Stories

The only smiles he showed me were mocking and laced with contempt. Sure enough, thunder cracked overhead a moment later. Anthony dissolved into smoke and vanished. Maisie finally noticed us; her eyes went wide, and her expression turned blank with shock. "Vengeful, I'll get revenge for you." Eddie shot me a wicked grin, then grabbed his neck and put on a gruesome show of ripping his head off. Blood poured from all his orifices, and his tongue split in half. His head was removed clean off his neck… Maisie was so frightened that she immediately started screaming for help, trying her best to scramble away from us. The color drained from her face, leaving her lips bloodless and making her look e

The bullets hissed through the tropical fronds, shredding palm leaves and shattering terracotta pots. ​Arthur pulled Vivian down onto the damp, moss-covered stone floor beside the heavy daybed. He slid his hand underneath the low wooden frame, finding the rusted iron ring of the old maintenance hatch. With a powerful grunt, his shoulder muscles straining against his torn shirt, he hoisted the heavy door open, revealing a dark, yawning brick tunnel that descended into the earth. ​"Down. Quickly," he whispered, pressing a hard, desperate kiss to her lips that tasted of gunpowder and sweat.

And in his unraveling, I saw the ghost of a younger man who’d once believed in right and wrong, now getting flattened by a different kind of machine. I drove home, the weight of his despair sitting heavily beside me. Arthur was on the dock, triumphantly holding aloft a newly-polished brass fitting. “Behold! The cleat of destiny!” he announced, then saw my face. “What’s wrong? Did Lance try to sell you a timeshare?” I told him. About Apex, the targeted collapse, Lance’s quiet desperation. Arthur’s playful mood evaporated. He set the fitting down carefully. “A coordinated financial takedown. Sounds familiar.”

He was limping, his arm hanging at a strange angle, but he made his way to Maya’s side and pulled her into his chest. "We're alive," Leo panted, his tablet; now a dead piece of glass in his hands. "But the car is dead. We're stranded." Seven checked Arthur Vance’s pulse. "He’s still with us. But he’s fading fast. We need a way out of here that doesn't involve technology." Maya looked around the rusted graveyard of the shipping yard. Her eyes landed on an old, wooden door at the far end of the warehouse, labeled DOCK MASTER.

“With that magic and temper of yours.” Despite everything, a laugh almost escaped me. I raised my hand, felt the energy answer, and pushed. The patrol car shot forward, wheels spinning over gravel before it flew off the side of the bend and smashed down into the wreck of Brian and Dave’s truck. The whole ruin jolted hard enough to make the trees shudder. Arthur threw both arms up. “Yeehaw!” He jogged down the slope, pulled what he needed from the wreck and the patrol car, worked fast, then came back up beside me with his face lit by trouble.

The old wolf was dead and it seemed that without his support she could do little, but on the other hand, if the services of the mercenaries had already been paid, then she had support. I also thought about Arthur. Because of me, he also got it well. In the morning I checked to see if his shop was still open. It turned out that it worked. He had connections and had money. On the day I visited him, he could see that Grisha was waiting for me on the street, and after the murder of Boris, all the purges of the wolfhound gang and my disappearance, Artur could well connect Grisha with me. It was already clear that the wolfhound chasing back and forth was not attentive, and even such a moron as Art

Oh this bastard, he made me almost lost my heartbeats. Actually, I don't mind being in this moment, it's just that the problem is the fact that I haven't showered in days and I'm sure I must look terrible right now. For a moment we let this silence continue, creating various questions in my mind why Arthur was acting this melancholy. “You alright?” I ventured to ask him. He didn’t answer. His eyes stare at mine, His two eyes flashed a shady and piercing gaze which made me not move from my position who was also looking at him.

And the audio… Arthur’s voice, stripped of all pride, filled the room. Ian brought a hand to his mouth, his stomach churning. A part of him felt a vicious, dark thrill. But he whispered to the empty room, “He always has to make it a goddamn show.” ***** The scrapyard was a graveyard of metal, towering piles of crushed cars under the weeping sky. Zhedya killed the engine, the sudden silence heavy. He hauled Arthur’s limp, heavy body from the SUV and dumped him into the driver’s seat of a rusty sedan parked directly under the giant, hydraulic maw of a car crusher.

Red was winning. My thumb hovered over the screen. There was a button at the bottom of the interface. Grey, unmarked, the kind of button that looked like nothing and did everything. Pressing it would send a signal through three relay servers to a team of eight men in Bangria who answered to a name that wasn't Vincent Hayes. Men who'd been placed in Bangria eighteen months ago for exactly this scenario. Men who were sitting in a warehouse eleven minutes from the Highfields district, armed, briefed, and waiting for a single word.

Arthur Valentine. Arthur wasn't a bottom-feeder like Xavier. He was a shark. An old, wise shark who knew where all the bodies were buried—including the ones I’d spent a decade trying to keep hidden. He’d been a ghost for years, hovering on the edges of the elite, but he was the only man in this city who knew the true story of Calista Drene. And if he was talking to Avina, he wasn't doing it out of the kindness of his heart. "What did he want?" I asked, my blood turning to lead.