Striker Helluva Boss Novels & Stories

That was until we reached the Cerberus Boss on level eighteen and our luck ran out. Dealing with a three-headed Hell Hound that breathed fire wasn’t going to be easy. Even if we all worked together, we were no match for the Boss. Its fire was lethal on a whole new level, which I believed was due to Zane making it more challenging for Luka.

“Sounds like sulking to me. You even locked the door. Do I have to remind you that I’m still your boss?” My eyebrow shot up. “We aren't at the company. How are you still my boss?” “You kept calling me boss. So, I'm still your boss.” He teased me. He was actually grinning. He really knows exactly when to annoy me. Should I act like my dysmenorrhea is acting up again? “So…” “You're not my boss. I'm just… here as a…” I paused. I couldn't pinpoint the exact words. I was fumbling for something to say, damn it. “Tenant.”

DT jumped right in front of the boss and spoke "about time you reach us, you slow poke, lets see you get past me" The boss seemed furious as he swung the claws he had as DT tanked the incoming attack but was pushed back 50ft as he saw DT pushed back, the boss roared and started running towards the pushed back DT. As he was about to claw DT, the claw was stopped by a sword, as the claw then was thrown up and Leo kicked the boss right in the guts which sent the boss flying back 80ft.

I close my eyes and talk to the tiny beings growing inside of me. Okay, you two. Good job. But our work is not done. We're in the home stretch. I'm gonna need all the help I can get. Daddy, Lucifer, Gunner and Hellraiser! I'm coming out. Locked and loaded. I'm about to light this motherfucker up. Hellraiser, split the hounds up. A group to the left and one to the right. Daddy and Gunner yall shift and take positiions on either side of the clubhouse. We gotta keep the horde from getting to the main house. Lucifer, your going to come up the middle with Hellraiser.

I f**king gave her hope when he made her stranded she's pushing me to the wall she wanna bring out the monster in me I paced about my sitting room in anger I pulled out my phone and placed a call to one of my secret goons he alone can give me a clean job the phone ringed and he picked it up #hello boss# his thick voice boomed out #i have a job for you#

"Your taste is truly unique, going for a woman in her fifties. You two can spend the rest of your lives in prison. I'll even arrange for you two to be together in the same cell. That's how kind I am." Danny was so furious that his eyes turned red as blood trickled down. After the last arrest, they had treated his eyes. While he was a little better, his vision would never fully recover. His muscles locked tight as he roared, "You witch! You're all witches! All of you played me!" Just like I expected, the second he saw "Ruby", he broke through his restraints and punched her straight in the eye. The acid burns had not healed, and with that blow, her damaged skin peeled away and fell down.

A few bulky bodyguards stepped in. They slammed me down and ripped my clothes off. A neon vest—"FAKE"—went on. A placard hung from my neck. The camera zoomed in for the livestream. [Hell yeah! You're the king! This is peak content. Every expose hits hard!] [Thought rich dudes act untouchable why you crawling now.] [Philip, don't stop. Keep it coming. Need the next part.] Philip looked down at me. "My fans want it? I deliver."

He pinned her to the couch as his grip tightened. Wren's terror peaked—she could see it in his eyes. Luther was ready to kill her. She struggled desperately. She groped for anything to defend herself with. Her fingers found an ashtray, which she swung at him with all her might.

Amelia's heart gave a traitorous twist. She crouched down instinctively, slow, not smiling, just trying not to spook whatever this was between them. "Hi there. You must be the boss around here." The haunted cherub just stared at her. But gaze flicked downward to her boots. Cracked leather. Purple laces. Salt stains. The kind of shoes you wore when you'd run out of better options. That reaction was enough. Amelia let herself smile. Not big. Just soft. "Yeah, they're ugly. But you can slide on hardwood like a champion. Ask my tailbone."

And the oldest, Giacomo, grey temples, Roman accent thick as supplì—his own countryman, inside for life since the Banda della Magliana days. They watched Vito the way wolves watch a new dog enter the pen. Giacomo flicked his cigarette away and walked over, slow, no hurry. “Vito Andolini,” he said, voice low. “They told me the Boss finally arrived. Thought you’d be taller.” Vito met his eyes. “They told you wrong. I’m not the boss of anything anymore.” Giacomo smiled without warmth. “In here, everyone’s something. Question is what you’re willing to pay to become it again.”