Strike Three Novels & Stories

Even Greg and Damon snapped their heads up, their faces draining of color, their eyes wide in disbelief. Shawn’s gaze darkened, his fingers curling tightly by his side, as though he were fighting to restrain himself from an outburst. One thousand strikes… that was enough to kill someone! Ricky lazily flicks his wrist as if casually tossing the words aside, then adds with malicious glee, “But don’t worry too much. I’m not the kind of person who likes to make things too difficult." He grinned wickedly. "So, this time, we’ll have three people take turns beating one.”

’ She was so angry that she moved to get off the bed, ‘That’s two strikes.’ He told her softly, smirking, and, just as he knew it would, it inflamed her anger. ‘Don’t you dare fucking patronise me, Maverick.’ She stood up in front of him, poking him in the chest, looking up into his deep navy eyes, and he smiled. ‘Strike three, baby, thank you.’ He saw the confusion in her eyes, and then she gasped as he grabbed her around the waist and flipped her over his knee.

The branches are splayed at odd angles, almost as if it was reaching for something. And burned into its bark is a note: We have your mate. We won’t hurt him. We just want to talk. Meet us at Julian’s old packhouse at noon in three days. Bring all the trios. Corinda, Casen, and Severn Prophecy count: 3 victories – 1) Betrayal attack, 2) 3 packs from camps, 3) The whole war 3 deaths – 1) Jared, 2) Isaac, 3) Xander

"As long as Iktanne would be happy and get the top rank." Realizing this, he suddenly felt his cheeks rushing with warmth. For all the past three years, he would always purposely create mistakes so that Iktanne would get the top stratum of victory. He was not doing it completely for her, but it was more of him being amused seeing the girl squeal with delight inside a dark, unoccupied room, away from the judgement of people. Shaking his head, as if to gather his thoughts, he heaved a sigh and waited for the exam to end. ❇❇❇

Fat chance. "I'll get the money," he rumbled pathetically, his body drenched in alcohol and saliva. What added to my rage was that some of it had dropped on my clothes, too. I shook my head tiredly. "You know how we do things around here. Three strikes and you're out." He looked at me, a fresh, gleaming, disgusting hope written all over his face. "But... but this is my second strike, right? I still have the third! I'll get the money before then, I promise I—"

“The guest room on the third floor. End of the hallway on the left. I’ll be waiting for you there in ten minutes. If you don’t come, I’ll make sure Vivian knows what happened in the car this afternoon. I have a very interesting voice recording, Dewangga.” My blood rushed violently. A voice recording? When did he do that? Davian walked away without another glance, blending into the crowd of guests as if nothing had happened. I stood frozen, my fingers touching the cold key in my pocket. My head throbbed painfully. This was blackmail—a trap that could make me lose everything. The Silent Third Floor

“Fine. I apologize. It won’t happen again. There, are you happy?" “Third,” he pressed on, disregarding my plea. He gestured to his damp shirt. “This—three strikes, and it’s only the first day.” “Most people don’t even make it past strike one. So tell me, how should I let you off the hook?” With every word, he closed the distance between us. But after his final question, he stepped back, studying me intently. I turned away, unable to bear his piercing gaze. He regarded me as if I had committed some unspeakable crime.

That threat boiled inside me until I could no longer hold back. “No!” I shrieked, stomping down on the shards, crushing them beneath my feet. The sharp edges cracked and snapped, but I pressed harder, ignoring the sting. “I will not spare you, Sai! Do you hear me? I will never spare you! You’re worthless! Worthless! You’ll never take Theodore from me—never!” My voice cracked, but I didn’t stop. I kept stomping until the mirror was nothing but glittering dust beneath me, until my foot nearly bled.

The trainer continued talking to him. I turned to Malory. "Who's number ninety-nine?" "That's Stump." "He's out of the game?" "Yep." "Why isn't the guy who hit Killian out?" "It's the rules, but he'll be fined between five and ten thousand." "Dollars?" "Yes." "Will Stump be fined?" "Yes." Anger settled in my chest because of the stupid rules. "I owe Stump a beer." "You okay?" "No, I'll never be okay again." My hands were shaking, and I fought the need to throw up my hot dog.

On the way to our wedding, my fiancé got a hysterical call from his ex-wife. "Gavin, he's having another episode. He keeps crying for his daddy." This was the third time it happened. Each time we were about to get married, her son would have another psychosomatic episode. Gavin Grant looked at me hesitantly. I knew what he was thinking, so I nodded. "I'll get out. Go ahead." He clasped my hand gratefully. "I'm sorry, Vivian. I'll make it up to you." Before I could even steady myself, he was already telling the driver to turn around. Still in my wedding dress, I stood by the side of the road and hailed a cab. Then, my phone buzzed with a message from Gavin—he'd given me $100 million.