Red Door Yellow Door Man In Suit Novels & Stories

"Out the back." I didn't move. Couldn't move. The knocking turned to pounding, each impact making the flimsy door shudder in its frame. "Richard Pete." A man's voice, flat and impersonal. "Open up." Papa's jaw clenched, the muscle jumping beneath his stubble. His fingers flexed around the bat's grip. Then - The door exploded inward. Splinters rained down as two men in identical black suits stepped through the wreckage, their faces blank as storefront mannequins. The taller one had his hand inside his jacket, resting on what could only be a gun.

Another knock reverberated through the small apartment. I approached the door and peered through the peephole to see a young man standing on the other side. He wore a tailored suit, but something about him felt off; maybe it was the black ink of a tattoo that peeked out from under his crisp dress shirt, creeping up his neck like a shadow. “Who is it?” I called through the door, my heart pounding. There was no way in hell I was going to open the door to give him a chance to chop me up into little pieces and turn me into Hannibal Lecter’s next victim.

not that he looked like he needed it, Saints knew what the maverick used for entertainment. “Please,” I rasped breathlessly, feeling like my heart had paused it's beating in my chest until I heard the man’s soft sigh and what sounded like ruffling coming from the other side before a knock sounded on the study door, startling me. I whipped my head around in time to catch the purple-eyed man’s bright beaming smile as he sauntered into the room dressed impeccably in a dress shirt and a rich brown suit jacket with matching shoes and pants that offset the color of his creepy eyes.

A sound echoed from the darkness deeper beneath the bridge arches a slow, rhythmic clapping. Out of the yellow fog, a man stepped forward. He was dressed in an immaculate, three piece tweed suit, an antique silver pocket watch chain looping across his vest. He looked like an English gentleman on his way to a club in Mayfair, but his skin was the color of old ivory, and his eyes were completely red, the color of fresh arterial blood. He wasn't a New Breed, and he wasn't a thrall. He smiled, revealing a row of teeth that were far too sharp, far too long, to be human or wolf.

His hand darts to my hair, and his fist latches onto my mane before he pulls it down. I yelp, bending at the waist and stumbling a few times while he drags me toward the door he has walked through. I start screaming, putting my fists into his iron-hard thighs, but nothing stops him. And then the door we move past suddenly cracks open, and a man decked out in a suit steps outside, seemingly unaware of what’s going on. He seems casual as he slips out the door. I notice the intricate ink on his fingers––symbols and letters–– and his tailored suit, denoting an impeccable taste in fashion.

It was a trap. Then—a slow, ponderous creak, the moaning of wood. The keyholeless door behind them, the one that had previously refused to open, was suddenly open. And on the other side, there was breathing. Half-light permeates the chamber beyond the door, as though the shadows themselves are reluctant to move. Standing in the middle, waiting, is the man in the ink-black suit. He appears expecting rather than shocked to see them. His velvet-smooth voice coils over Emery's spine as he murmurs, "You came." "I was starting to question whether you would ever come through."

"I don't need a pedestal to feel tall. I just need results." I was reaching for my jacket when the heavy mahogany door of the suite didn't just open—it exploded inward. The sound was a violent crack of wood that made the air jump. I spun around, my hand instinctively reaching for the nearest weapon to me. Standing in the doorway was a massive man in a dark suit. His chest was heaving, and his eyes scanned the room, taking in the discarded wig, the ruined sheets, and Toni clutching her slip to her bruised chest.

Doors flank the hall but all of them are closed, like lips sealed tight, holding their secrets within themselves. When he opens the door at the end of the hall, I just have time to see that it is a thick wooden door, and beyond that, is a room, dimly lit, all cherrywood and cut crystal, bottles gleaming with their golden contents, and heavy drapes, dark maroon in colour. Leather and smoke seem to fill the sir and I stop, hesitating for a minute. I can see men, with dark, curious eyes and dark suits. And I feel the panic rising up in me. What have I done? Where have I let myself?

Ronnie asked as there were three different doors there. "You will all meet a bad end," the invincible man said. "What door?" Martin said impatiently. Suddenly the lights that went off came on and they could see the man who was talking to them all along. He had his face painted in black and white. He was a black man putting on a feathered red top and he held what appeared to be a staff that had red liquid dropping from it. "The middle door!" The man roared and the 3 of them screamed in fright.

Carlo also nodded in agreement. Others also agreed and stay low for now. After a while, their eyes got used to the lights in front of them as they can see the silhouette man properly. The silhouette man at the door wears something like a military suit as he still writing something in his notes. They thought it was a scientist but it was not. Not only the man is suited in a military suit the bulky muscles can be seen from his arms even through his thick suit. Luckily, they didn't attack this guy as they thought it was a scientist.