Rick Grimes Boots Novels & Stories

He fell down and didn't recover before I used my heavy boot on his stomach. “Arghhh” he groaned, I stepped on him again and again, before kicking his stomach. “What the fuck do you want!” He groaned in pain. He tried to get up, but I didn't allow that. I made sure my boot dealt with him till he began to bleed from his nose and wounds all over his body. “Where is Grace?” I asked. “Grace?” He asked and coughed, “Who the fuck is Grace?” This time, my boot landed squarely on his face,

But Thursday night, when I opened my locker to grab my cleaning supplies, I froze. Sitting on the bottom shelf were a pair of work boots. Black leather, steel-toed, with thick rubber soles designed for long hours on concrete floors. They looked expensive—the kind of boots that cost more than I made in a week. I picked one up, turning it over in my hands. Size seven. My exact size. "Son of a bitch," I muttered, looking around the empty locker room like Kade might be hiding behind the benches. These weren't just any work boots. They were the exact brand I'd been eyeing at the uniform store downtown for months. The ones I'd tried on twice but could never afford.

he said. “Well, that would have been helpful information when we first met,” I said. “Not really, you couldn’t do anything with it. I’m going to wager you still couldn’t. Sheila said she wanted to have you work with Greta.” He held up a pair of boots. “She also said you needed these.” The black combat boots in his hands were practical, sturdy, and looked like they could do some damage if I ever needed to kick someone while wearing them. Basically, they were my dream shoes. I crossed the tent and took the shoes from him. “Thanks.”

"How do you feel now? He added in his dark voice. "Better", she lied. Alpha Gray was dressed in a black t-shirt and ripped light blue jeans. His attractive smoky face was very pleasing to the eye. His body language conveyed signs that he was an imposing and powerful man. "Are you ready for a tour around the pack grounds?" "Sure, I guess. I don't have any shoes, though." She looked down at her bare feet, wiggling her toes. "I have that sorted too." He walked over to the front door and picked up a pair of slip-on sandals. "Here you go."

I pull out the most incredible, amazing gift ever. Doc Marten boots. I check the size. Nine. Perfect. "Boots?" King asks. I try to lift my foot, but my legs are too long, and I need to turn sideways. "Move to the other side so I can try these babies on." I look at him and grin. "These aren't just any boots, they're Doc Martens, the most kick-ass boots ever made. I can't believe she found them." King looks at the footwear, then at me. "Shift once while wearing them and bye bye boots."

“And I need two pairs of tennis shoes and hiking boots?” “Yeah! All you have are those old tennis shoes that look like they're about to fall apart!” Atticus pressed his lips together and glared at his mate. He set his two pairs of wranglers, and pack of white t-shirts on top of the clothes that were already laying there and Harris raised an eyebrow as he eyed the pants. “What? I like them!” Atticus said, wanting to push his mate out the door. He knows damn well those wranglers are going to be much more comfortable than those designer jeans! What's the point of even wearing the ones Harris picked out if they're not comfortable?

' I can't be ungrateful. "Shoes?" I would laugh at myself or should I say him, if I wore such pretty clothes, then I don't have a shoe to slide into. He opens another bag where I find a set of shoes, as pretty as the clothes. I go for a plastic heavy-heel fashion combat boot, then I realize it wouldn't suit my dressing, it would be better for a jeans trouser rather than joggers, I remove it and place it back inside the bag. I come out with a pair of black snickers with a white design on the body, and a white sole. I'm good to go!

“My father returned with only a handful of pelts after hunting the beasts for over two weeks, quite dangerous creatures.” “Sound like they are calling for Grub to come and fight them,” Grub said, blasting in through the tent door, still wearing his usual sleeveless vest and three-quarter length pants, but instead of being barefoot as he usually was, he now wore snug fitting slippers. After walking into the tent, he looked at Rex with a confused expression, then opened his mouth like he was about to speak. After a second, he let out a sigh and walked out of the tent, leaving the occupants looking at each other. “He does not smell like he usually does,” Cassius said, a slight smirk on his mout

something dangerous. I managed to get to my knees, blinking back the blood that was dripping into my eyes. The SUV was a smoking ruin, resting on its roof in the middle of the road. A few yards away, Marcus was lying face down on the pavement. He was trying to move, his fingers clawing at the asphalt, but his movements were sluggish, heavy. Then, I saw the boots. Heavy, polished leather boots stepping slowly over the debris. I looked up. Kris Heather was standing there. He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a man who was very good at his job. He was wearing a grey coat that caught the moonlight, and in his right hand, he held something that made my blood run cold.

"As much as I hate to interrupt the show, boss, we have a tight schedule. I found some high-end, reinforced combat boots in the back section. Black leather, steel shanks, lightweight." ​He stepped directly into my line of sight, effectively blocking a portion of the mirror. He crouched down in front of me, his half-open jacket swinging forward to reveal the sharp lines of his chest and the dark ink tracing his collarbones. He picked up one of the heavy boots, holding it out toward my foot. ​"Let's see if we can get your sizing right, Feisty," Daniel murmured, his voice dropping into a quiet, unexpectedly smooth register as he took off the current boot I was wearing, his fingers brushing the