Stern Mcu Novels & Stories

Cape Canaveral, Florida. Sterling Aerospace Sector. The sun hadn't risen yet. The sky over the Atlantic coast was a deep, bruised purple. A convoy of armored SUVs drove across the tarmac of the restricted military zone. But they weren't military vehicles; they bore the silver lion crest of the Sterling Group. They stopped in front of Hangar 18, a building the size of a stadium. The massive steel doors groaned and began to slide open. Steam vented from the hydraulic pipes, creating a thick mist on the concrete floor.

"Give us something concrete. Names. Locations. Something we can-can use against them. Something that proves you're serious." Ghost pulled out his phone. Scrolled. Found something. Handed it to me. "Marcus Sterling. The intermediary. He's in New York. Now. Preparing for the Awakening ceremony. He's staying at the Plaza. Penthouse suite. Registered under the name James Crawford. He's the one who gives me orders. Who...who reports to the Council. He works with Vincent behind shadows. If you want to send a message. To show them you're not complying. You start with him."

The cut was black leather in color with the white stitched patches which included the gang's name itself in full view as it draped along the chair. The emblem of a vicious howling black wolf with white eyes and snarling teeth bordered around a bright white moon with the name HOWLER MC. written in stitch form around the visual. The bearded man glanced at his cut and continued to make his way toward the brightly lit bathroom as the sun had burst through the small window above the shower and illuminated the entire room causing him to wince from the view once he stepped inside while his eyes adjusted to his newly lit surroundings.

Liora smirked, a smile chillingly similar to Mavric’s. "Leo, display the communication logs." A large holographic screen in the center of the room revealed voice recordings and text messages between Sterling and a Syndicate agent known as 'The Broker'. It clearly detailed Sterling’s plan to overthrow Mavric and install himself as a puppet CEO. "High treason against Thorne Enterprise," Mavric stated as he suddenly walked into the room. He was not wearing a suit, but a black leather jacket that made him look like an angel of death. "Leo, take Lord Sterling and his two accomplices on the right to the special police unit.”

Stevan standing up to introduce himself and his member. “My name is Stevan Maverick, PRD-class Herrscher. Then our SLT-class, Alto Corlena. GRD-class, Lucas McJaeger. RTH-class, Mateo Harper. GLT-class, Sylvia Ortis. LST-class, Milly Einsburn. And ENV-class, Helena Raymond.” Said Stevan. One by one Squad 97 member is standing up after their name spoked. “It’s been an honor to share same table with our seniors, then let us to introduce our squad member.” Said Alexa.

My every instinct, honed by years of surviving Sebastian's betrayal, told me that Kovacs was already mobilizing. I knew Benjamin’s pattern. When Sterling needed to disappear, it utilized its most untraceable assets. The most likely asset was the 'Siren', his high-speed, secure catamaran docked at a remote, private marina south of the city. It was equipped with military-grade communication and was his only true sanctuary on the coast.

I follow, backing up, keeping the operatives suppressed with controlled bursts. Then I hear it. A voice. Calm. Authoritative. Cutting through the chaos. "Hold fire." The shooting stops instantly. The operatives freeze in place. A figure descends the center drill shaft. Slower. Controlled. He lands on the grating and stands, removing his helmet. I see his face, and recognition hits like a physical punch to the gut. Marcus Sterling Jr. Mid-forties. Sharp features. His father's eyes. The son of the man Hale supposedly killed in 1988.

The next second, I fell back into an embrace that smelled of pine and tobacco. Sterling shielded me with one hand while leisurely adjusting his cuff with the other. He looked at the furious Mafia Don, his eyes as calm as water. "Don Mercer, forcing a woman against her will is hardly the mark of a gentleman." Lucian rubbed his wrist, murder in his eyes. But when he saw Sterling's face, he was too shocked to speak. After a few seconds of dead silence, Lucian spoke, his voice full of disbelief: "Sterling? Cousin?"

Dominic swirled the liquor in his crystal glass, his face expressionless as he stared at the man standing on the other side of the high cocktail table. Marcus Sterling, one of the biggest shipping magnates on the coast, adjusted his silk tie and pointed a manicured finger toward the tall glass windows. "The streets are a total mess, Moretti," Sterling said, his voice dripping with aristocratic annoyance. "My drivers are refusing to go near the harbor. The highways are covered in smoke, and the damn sirens are driving my board crazy."

"They're here, Prez. And they brought a lot of attitude for men who are currently surrounded by thirty choppers." "Bring them in," Julian commanded. The men who entered the room were a study in the city's diverse rot. There was Moretti, the head of the shipping sharks, a man who smelled of salt and old blood. Beside him was Chen, the calm, calculating voice of the Triads. And then there was the suit—a man named Sterling, no relation to Arthur, but cut from the same brittle, expensive cloth.