Straight Shooter Novels & Stories

“The only person you’ll ever belong to… is me.” Travian moved like someone pushed by a final, stubborn will. He lunged despite the pain, despite the blood slicking his boots. The stranger slammed a warning shot into the cobblestones at Travian’s feet — a clean, sharp report that sent a scatter of stone chips like a furtive constellation at their boots. That single violent punctuation froze everyone in place: the thugs, Dain’s men, even the figure behind the gun who’d come to be a savior.

He positioned himself upright glaring in anger. Stanley scrambled to his feet, ran toward the place where he tossed his jacket. Frantically searching the pocket, he plucked out a .22 Caliber Iver-Johnson Cadet Revolver. He promptly pointed the gun toward the door, peered over the dilemma of caps and glass shattered. Shell casings on the carpet and in the foyer appeared Carbon 115-gr. DPX+ P. They came from a 9 millimetre Browning Hi-Power gun. He stood in face of what previously had been a flat screen TV with a few gaps. Stanley suffered no fear. It never crossed his mind to become frightened. Suddenly in a fit of fury, Stanley lashed out, “You’re a fucking, stinking coward! Why did you run

A man on foot had broken free of his hiding spot and was gunning it after us, running at an impossible speed. I didn't need to see the light sucking black surrounding his pupils, annihilating the whites of his eyes to know what he was. I could tell by the way his arms jerked as he bounded towards us, closing the gap between hunter and prey. I slipped my gun from the holster strapped to my thigh and let off three rounds the same instant the front tire ran a hole, jarring my shots and sending them wide. "Keep it steady!"

The man’s footsteps echoed loudly against the marble floors, and as Julian rounded a corner, his and the shooters eyes met for a brief moment. The shooter stopped dead in his tracks and grinned, a smug, taunting expression spreading across his face. To Julian that wasn’t just a normal smile, it was more than that. A smile that irritated Julian, one that screamed: ‘You can’t catch me. You’ve already lost. The organization has won once again.’ Julian’s hands formed into fists and his teeth grinded in frustration. He surged forward, his pace quickening, determined to close the gap and catch the shooter. But no matter how fast he ran, the assassin was far away from him and already nearing the ex

Only then would I find true peace. After all, what could possibly be that hard about it? From what Shawn had revealed last night before passing out, this assassin was a legendary professional who used a high-caliber sniper rifle for his missions. The man could sit from a comfortable, mile-long distance on a rooftop and effortlessly gun Elara down in broad daylight, and no one would ever suspect a thing! I hissed. Let me see how that bitch’s precious tech knowledge and cybersecurity empire would save her from a bullet tearing through her skull.

One afternoon, as they navigated a narrow canyon, a sudden, deafening roar echoed through the rock walls. It was not the howl of a wolf, but the mechanical bark of a hunter’s weapon, followed by the whistling screech of a projectile. Elara reacted instantly, shoving Kael out of the path of the incoming bolt. The silver-tipped arrow buried itself deep into the rock face where he had stood moments before, a testament to the Shade Stalkers’ deadly accuracy.

“I’m going in alone. You just keep watch for anyone else joining this party. Call me if you see anything, I’ll feel the phone vibrate.” Weasel nodded his head, and watched as Jake walked right up to the front door of the cabin. Jake took a breath and kicked the door in, his gun firing off round after round on the unsuspecting men inside. Weasel could see the flashes from Jake’s gun and the faint popping sound from the suppressor. A scuffle broke out and Weasel moved closer to the door. Bandit would shoot him in the leg if Wrath got himself killed. Jake faced off against Slither, the President of The Night Stalkers. He had two knives in his hands now and before Slither could even blink, Jake

Time to take his attacker out. He moved out of his hiding and fired randomly, killing some men in the process. He fired four bullets and had killed three people so far, one missing Romano just by the whiskers. One of his biggest strengths was his ability with the gun. He was one of the best shooters in the mafia world and had a high level of accuracy, even from long range. “Romano, I see you have come to complete what you started, huh?” he taunted from where he hid.

he said and he got up nearing at them. “Fuck, you almost killed me ducker,!” his friend Exclaimed who was leaning on the wall while Stretching his arms and there is a little paper in his side which is they need to hit that paper without hurting him. “Let me try,” he said took the one dagger, and threw it into the target. “I am still the shooter one,” he said while looking at the Target.

If he didn’t act now, Schading might lose his shit, decide to take his wife hostage after all, and blow the head off his expendable tagalong, Cutter. With a rapid mental ticktock in his head counting down the seconds, One-Mile realigned his shot, curled his finger a little tighter around the trigger…and squeezed. The crack of his shot resounded in his ears as the rifle kicked back, but he stayed with the scope and watched the bullet plant itself dead center in the middle of Schading’s forehead. The would-be gunman crumpled to the concrete. Blood splattered onto the screaming woman behind him and pooled around his body.