Striker X Moxxie Novels & Stories

I could hear Volkov yelling and swearing angrily and I almost burst out laughing. “No!” his men replied in unison and I rolled my eyes. “Get them! I don’t give a fuck what you have to do. Those fucker dies. You can kill every fucking one of them.” Volkov yelled in English mixed with Russian. We moved behind a large pile of cement bags. Thank goodness the rooms were pretty much done. The walls gave us more cover as we moved about. I glanced over at Marcelo as he grabbed a long metal off the floor, flexing his shoulders to see if he could make use of the weapon with his bad shoulder that must still hurt as bitch.

He stared at the tattoo riddled brute for a while,then he said, “It’s a good thing that the DEA took down my competition, but in doing so, they also arrested my connect which has placed me in an impasse. However, I will not let this set back prevent me from maximizing the opportunity to fill the vacuum left by the Bloods. All I see at the moment is an opportunity to make more money, as there is more demand than supply at the moment, which means that customers will pay anything just to have a fix.” “You’re right boss. Our corner boys reported to me that they had twice as much buyers earlier today. The only problem is that we’re running low on product. We need to restock.”

I acted like I had plenty, but deep down, my shattered soul barely held on with duct tape. “No Playboy tonight? That’s going to be a relief,” said Luke behind my back. He stretched his arm to grab the glasses I had cleaned and placed them back on the rack. I turned around and followed him until he returned to grab some more. “What?” I replied a little defensively. “Dominic Moore,” Luke added, so I’d know who he was referring to. “What does that even mean?” I scoffed.

"This is Jaxen Lawrence. He is the security specialist I brought in to assist with the server breach." Jaxen stepped closer to me, circling me like a hungry scavenger sniffing a prime cut of meat. "Holy shit... You're Xender Stormriven? The rogue designer who survived the Blackmoor execution squads?" I didn't offer my hand. I stood tall, my arms crossed over my chest, my biceps straining against the black fabric of my shirt. "Do you have a problem with rogues, Lawrence?"

"I need to go and check, okay? I'll be right back!" "NO please for once you have to listen to me..." She pleadingly uttered. "Trust me!" he said, maintaining a determination to see who in front of their car. Xavier went near the driver, and people with guns came out of nowhere. "WHO ARE YOU!"

X had a lot of confidence in himself, but Morris trusted in his extensive preparations to stop X from leaving. “Save me the talk.” X started his attack. The musclemen lunged toward X, and it was pure chaos. Blades flashed and clashed. Blood splattered on the floor. As X weaved through the crowd like a phantom, screams of agony followed. Miles jumped in to help without hesitation. “The cheek of you. In that case, don’t blame my people for taking this far,” Morris said, gesturing for his crew to pull the big guns. Gunshots were quickly fired.

It lodged itself between parts, and froze them in place. Even more, the force of it was powerful enough to push Mad Monk to the side, and caused him to stumble greatly. The CRACK from Xylo’s sniper cannon echoed a second later. She watched from high above, and looked down at the frenetic skirmishing below. There, her two teammates had been deeply entangled against their respective opponents and fought fiercely against them in melee. Though their fighting was incredibly furious, Xylo still found the right opportunities to strike. She shot at both Big Dorf and Mad Monk all throughout the fight at just the right opportunities, and interrupted their flow. Even if she didn’t hit them dead on, her

I try to get up from the table, but the mobster stops me. “I need you in this business, love—espabilo—, Erick, I need you to arm some bombs for Gian Lucas's whorehouse; love, you will be my bait, I need you to seduce the new boss in charge of the place. Italian asshole stole my merchandise and I want it back.” He wants to bring down the night club with them inside. Damn son of a bitch! ********

"Because I sure as hell knows he would rather take his own life than support a faggot son." Without hesitation, my fist flew through the air, connecting with Damario's jaw and sending him crashing into the locker. I lunged forward, ready to grab his hair and slam his face into the metal, but Damario ducked at the last second. My fist rammed into the iron locker instead, sending a searing pain through my knuckles. "Talking with your fists, huh?" Damario panted, his eyes blazing with fury as he grabbed my neck and slammed me against the hard wall. A swift kick landed in my ribs, making my breath hitch.

Calm. Moses cracked his knuckles, stepping in with his usual lion-like swagger. “No running this time.” Fiero was beside him, silent. Barefoot. Barehanded. Eyes sharp and unreadable. Xavier gave a short nod. “Don’t hold back.” Moses struck first. A heavy hook aimed for ribs. Fast and powerful. Xavier ducked, twisted, slammed an elbow into his side, using his own momentum against him. Fiero moved next. Silent as breath.