Strike Three Novels & Stories

“Large popcorn, lots of salt, and don’t be stingy with the butter, Tray. Also, a sparkling water for Lala, and two cokes so she and her boy toy won’t need to drink mine after they’ve just had their mouths on each other. Oh, and a box of Snow Caps” “That’s it, Meme?”, asks Travis. “You know she’s loaded, right”? “Yeah”, barks Meme. “And that’s what’s wrong with you! Ring us up gold digger”! Travis pouts then scans everything before saying, “thirty-six fifty”! I drop my company credit card onto the counter and he reads it out loud, “Jonny Knight the Spark Club Enterprise”? “Yeah, that’s Lala’s nightclub in Brooklyn”, Meme tells him.

It was after 10 mins when I realised that I need to start a conversation. I turned my face towards the kid and said,"hey sweetie , what's your name?" She smiled and said," Hey, I am Sara and you?" I replied,"I am Claire , so what are you gonna sing?" She replied,"teardrops on my guitar by Taylor swift". She was gonna say something more when a lady with long brown hair who looked like she was in her 30s came and scolded the child and said,"I told you not to speak with strangers. she is a stranger , do you seriously want to mess up your competition?"

he said, lowering his voice, "this is our space. You'd better behave. If you do, maybe we'll take you in. If you don't…" Smack! He didn't even finish the sentence. The slap sent him flying. "What the hell! Why are you hitting people?" Barnaby rushed forward. Smack! Another one went down. Garrick charged in right after him, eyes red. Smack! Three strikes, clean and fast. Hayley slapped everyone who walked up to her. Her strength was already at the peak of what a human body could reach. Each hit felt like getting slammed by a speeding truck. Their vision blacked out, their ears rang, and their heart pounded so loudly that it felt like it might burst through their chests.

He chokes and his body goes limp. I let it drop. The other two freeze. Terror floods their expressions. “Alpha....” one of them starts. I’m already moving. The second falls faster than the first. A strike to the chest and his ribs collapse inward under the force, his breath leaving him in a wet, broken sound before he hits the ground. The third tries to run. A big mistake. I catch up to him before he reaches the door. My hand slams him against the wall hard enough to crack stone.

He was lying to me and it racked my skin with irritation. “Strike two.” I held up two fingers, placing my blunt into my mouth with my free hand. “Do you know what strike three means?” Emiliano shook his head, and I held out my blunt, lowering it onto his hand. With force, I pressed it against the back of his palm, grounding it against his skin. Emiliano rasped, squeezing his eyes shut and vibrating in pain. “Strike three means I wouldn’t aim for the wood next time,” I said in a tone that cut like steel as my eyes locked on his with warning.

“You need to break that nervous habit.” “I know,” she replied, now sitting on her hands. Sarah was busy doing searches on her phone, while Laura waited quietly. She was certain whatever they would learn would only scare her off more. “Aha!” Sarah said. “Get a load of this. Angelo Tsarkopolis was one of New York City’s Most Eligible Bachelors three years ago.” She looked at Laura. “Boy, you do know how to pick them!” “I didn’t pick him. My coffee did. And this only freaks me out even more.”

The third strike would signify that he had won and the fight was over. “I know but I won’t let it come to that” Fred ruffled through his hair, His mate Lola was grumpily looking at him, she hated when he failed because she was a competitive person. “We will see about that” Coast answered striking first, he aimed for his eyes and Fred maneuvered it by pushing the sword to the side right beside his ears, he mistakenly cut his hand from the sharp sword and Coast hastily grabbed his hand, “Are you okay?” He asked. “Ya, first strike” Fred said pointing at his sword in front of Coast’s stomach.

CAROLINE Maverick Thompson and I have been best friends since the day he kicked his soccer ball right into my face in third grade. I remember everything about that day. The way the ball hit me so hard my glasses flew off and shattered on the concrete. The blood pouring from my nose and how Maverick cried harder than I did, even though I was the one bleeding. We sat together in the nurse's office while she cleaned my face and called our parents. That's when we made the three rules.

A third time, every strike fueled by a thirst for revenge, and the urge to totally obliterate him. He tried to counter my strikes by swinging back wildly, but I just ducked under it, my knuckles raking across his ribs in a sharp hook that sends him crashing to the ground. I followed it up with a kick to his head, the loud sound of his skull cracking against the concrete exhilarating. Damn, I needed this. I blew out a breath, my chest heaving as I watched him try to crawl away from me, his blood dripping all over his face. He looked pathetic.

He raised the stick again in an attempt to strike himself. Hannah was amused by the turn of events. She raised her hand to stop him. "That's not it. I was thinking that I can let you off with a slap on the wrist. Say, three strikes on your palm should be enough." "Only three strikes?" Andrew widened his eyes in confusion. "But Mr. Sorsby had struck Malcolm more than 30 times." After all, Malcolm did look like he was in a world of pain by the time Kenneth was done. Andrew wondered if he had gone crazy after striking himself with the stick. To think that he was actually jealous that Malcolm had received a heavier punishment.