Straight Shooter Novels & Stories

Gunshot. Directly at me.

"Don't shoot-" "Was?" The man questioned, still hesitating to pull the trigger. He continued with his deep accent. "You is a goddamn slave!" The man pulled the trigger at the end of his sentence, but Phuture had already bounced to the left. She rushed forward to attack an active shooter, sliding across the dirt to dodge another bullet. Her elusive movements rippled more chills of fear in the men, but the shooter continued pulling the trigger in efforts of killing her. Missing shot after shot, unable to predict which direction she would pounce to next.

Without breaking stride, Zayden unholstered his custom matte-black Desert Eagle. BANG! BANG! BANG! Three precise shots. Three shooters on the upper scaffolding dropped dead, crashing forty feet down onto the metal crates. Zayden ducked beneath a shotgun blast, drove his elbow into a mercenary’s jaw—shattering the bone to powder—snatched the fallen combat knife mid-air, and plunged the six-inch blade straight through another attacker’s jugular. Blood sprayed across the side of a shipping container, but not a single drop touched the pristine fabric of Zayden's lapels.

"They found our boot prints in the mud." One of the Stalkers stopped. He knelt, examining the ground. He looked up, straight at the bush where Ben was hiding. The Stalker raised his rifle. "Ambush!" Jack roared. He exploded from cover. He didn't use his gun. Gunshots attracted more attention. He used speed. He closed the distance in two seconds. The Stalker fired. The bullet went wide as Jack slid on the wet leaves, sweeping the man's legs. The Stalker fell. Jack was on him, knife at the throat.

Which meant that you just had to be lucky, to stay long in the game without getting arrested, or catching a bullet from a rival. He was more than aware that the line of business he was in, was not for people who were afraid to take risks. ‘No pain no gain.’ Which was a popular slang on the street, further reinforced that the game was not for the weak hearted. Ironically, their Columbian connect was a man who was extra careful. Perhaps even paranoid. Big Trey was sure that he would cancel their meeting if he was aware of what was on ground. But there was no way of reaching him, as he never made phone calls on matters regarding the business, for fear of being recorded.

Mike is surely pissed because of that as the blood is dripping from his mouth. (Where are you, bastard!) The distance between them is large that it might take a full minute run to reach their position. Out of the five guys, this guy who carries the slinger is the only one who attacks Mike. Others are just lookouts. Mike started to move. Sprinting in a straight line towards the possible places of the sharpshooter, he runs recklessly. Taking action, the sharpshooter as he shoots another can juice straight to Mike. The strange slinger's rubber stretches so long that it reaches the sharpshooter's back shoulder. The rubber is thick and the holder is quite large for a slinger.

the freckled male countered. “Fucking shit talker. Better live up to your damn sass,” the alpha growled before launching a telegraphed right hook. It was a fatal flaw Lexus had. If you knew how to rile him just right, he would fall back on outmatched strength instead of his tactics.

I command “Yes.” She breathes nodding before turning her head away from me. As soon as I reach my armoury room I change into a pair of dark jeans, a black V-neck t-shirt and put on my boots. I strap on my 9mm underneath my shirt, grab my sniper case and insert my Matsuda blade onto my back. I was getting ready to party.

Only steps away, he heard the horde coming. He dropped to one knee in firing position as his teammates escorting the diplomats rushed passed, and waited. The moment the first attacker cleared the corner he fired, hitting him in the chest. The guy fell, arms outstretched, knocking back the man behind him. Hunter shot him in the head and didn’t pause to watch him hit the floor.

His shots found their mark, taking down the enemy one by one. Ryder, known for his brute strength, unleashed his fury upon the attackers. His powerful fists struck like thunder, shattering bones and sending opponents sprawling to the ground. The room echoed with grunts and groans as his relentless blows left a trail of defeated foes in his wake. As for myself, I relied on a combination of speed and accuracy. With a pistol in each hand, I weaved through the chaos, taking calculated shots that found their targets with deadly precision. Each bullet was a statement of our determination, each enemy fallen a testament to our resolve.