Strike Books In Order Novels & Stories

The man screamed and punched Aria across the face. She spat out blood and a smirk appeared on her face. The man was wearing a ring, and her had bruised her cheek with it. The blood that came out with her spat was as a result of her biting her mouth when the man punched her. Ashley seemed to have noticed what was going on. So she rushed over to try to calm the man down. He was a customer and they need not offend him.

Sweating profusely despite the cold and her hands were clenched at her stomach. She was seriously injured and she didn’t seem to notice Storm’s presence. Who was she, and what happened? Storm rushed to her side, opened her bag and brought out a sachet of herbs she had prepared for the alpha the day before. Good that it was going to serve a better purpose. She opened the sachet and touched the lady’s hand. She snapped her eyes open and snarled, baring her teeth angrily at Storm. Storm rolled her eyes. “I am not going to hurt you” She whispered, gently driving her hands away from the injury.

Is a five-year marriage really that fragile? My voice attracted two jailers, including the ugly man who was guarding me. "Open the cell door and shut this woman up!" Kristen ordered to them. The jailer opened the cell door with the key. He slapped me hard at first, then he and the other jailer grabbed me by the shoulder and made me kneel on the ground. Kristen stepped into the cell. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, then took a document out of her bag and threw it in front of me. I looked down. Even though the cell was dark, I could see two distinct signatures on the document.

I froze and my grip on the case tightened until it groaned. The Reaper leaned in closer, his black eyes glinting. "And just yesterday morning... that same buyer placed an order for a second strike.”

he orders in a calm voice. “One,” I gasp. The second strike harder and my ass burns. “Two.” He keeps going. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Each one lands perfect, welts rise hot on my skin as tears run down my face. My sobs shake my hanging body. My ass is on fire, red and swollen.

Finally, the moment of truth was upon them. “Do not rest the barrel—that will affect the fall of your shot.” “Yes, sir,” Jona replied, although Otto had said that many times before. “Aim for a strikethrough. If you can’t take the headshot, aim for the chest.” “Strikethrough” was Papa’s reference to a clean kill when a bullet enters the skull’s front and blows out the back—the same went for a shot to the heart. Accuracy meant slicing straight through the organ. A perfectly placed round entered at an exact angle and the mark was dead before they hit the ground.

Elias left the office with his awareness humming low and steady, the system rearranging itself around him in subtle ways. He understood now that fracture did not always announce itself as chaos. Sometimes, it arrived as order, claimed by the wrong hands.

Small but solid. “Ten strikes,” he tells me. “You’re going to count them. Thank me for each one. And when we’re done, you’ll have bruises that last for days. Every time you sit down, every time you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you’ll remember that you belong to me.” I bend over the table without being told. The first strike lands with a crack that echoes through the room. "One!" I gasp. “Thank you, sir!” He waits. Lets the sting build. Then –

I knew he was trying to distract me in hopes of causing me to strike out, but I refused to let him get the better of me. I intentionally took the first strike as I wanted to see what the pitcher could do. I slowed my breathing, widened my stance, and adjusted my grip on the bat. The next pitch was going to be mine. CRACK!!!! Elizabeth’s POV: I stood watching with bated breath as Ashton swung. His bat connected with the ball, and in an instant, I knew that it was going to be a home run. The ball flew high into the air and soared past the infield and deep into the outfield. For a brief moment, I thought it might actually just drop at the wall, but it landed in the upper decks.

he ordered. There was no room to argue. I bent and grabbed the rod carefully. The heat burned even through the handle. “Heat it again,” he ordered. I did. One minute. Two. The metal glowed brighter. I turned to him. He positioned himself with his back to me.“Strike me,” he said. “Thirty-six strokes. Hard. The others were weak.” My chest tightened in shock.“You are insane,” I said. He turned his head slightly.“If you do not do it, I will do it to you until you stop breathing.”