Striker X Novels & Stories

She must have taken down another attacker. I reacted quickly, revealing the long silver stiletto blade, and stabbed to my left. I winced as I put as much strength as possible into my attack, feeling the warm squirt of their blood as it hit my hands. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to think of that horrible night when I felt the spray of Alkaios’ blood.

Sorin was stubborn as a mule and Maceo knew Sorin wasn't gonna accept anytime soon the fact that he was still hurting or more than accepting he just didn't want to show it. Maceo hoped that it wouldn't destroy Sorin. Sorin had been broken already as it was. ____________________________________________________________________ BAM! Sorin landed a perfect hit on his opponent's jaw making his opponent gush out blood from his lips. His opponent grunted as he staggered back. His opponent was stocked up, big muscles and all but in height he was almost same as Sorin, maybe even an inch smaller giving Sorin the advantage of speed and height which he was using to the fullest potential.

He was helpless now, she banged her fists against the wall, screaming at her as he said, “ Tell me, who fucks better?” This was the final straw, I didn't see when she moved her hands and gave him a smack across the face but I heard the crisp sound and I saw how he moved backwards with a shocked look on his face, holding the side of his face. She raised her fingers, looking at him with an angry look, about to swear at him when he raised a fist, about to hit her but Stefano who had been standing by the corner flew over, He had his hands on Enzo's, he twisted his hands backwards before he sent him a kick that led him to fly backwards. It was no joke, saying,

“Blade, out. Striker, you’re up. You know the drill.” I look at the one called Striker standing in front of me and size him up as he’s doing the same to me. He’s about my height, but leaner. He’s probably fast. I see a pretty nasty bruise on his left rib cage and a few other ones in random spots on his torso.

In the field, FPSG stood for First Person Shooting Game, which became bastardized, unofficial code across all branches of the military over the past hundred years for if you find a weapon, it’s yours to wreak havoc with. “We need to get those magic restraints off, first.” Knight eyed his team before he let his attention settle on Xander, who seemed way too tense. “They didn’t give you one.” “I told Lilia he was Strike Force, not an Awakaned. He’s not in our uniform. Guess she believed me for some reason,” Tanner explained before shrugging. “Guess I lied.” Xander and Kira were both Awakaned that's for sure, although he's still skeptical on what Kira's gifts is, he's sure that she has some pow

Emily felt a surge of pride watching them—they were her family, and together, they were unstoppable. But Xender demanded her full attention, and she quickly refocused on him as he launched a series of rapid strikes. Emily blocked the first few, but one slipped past her defenses, striking her in the side. She grunted in pain but didn’t back down, using the momentum to spin into a roundhouse kick that caught Xender off guard. He stumbled back slightly, a surprised look on his face that quickly turned into a grin. “Nice one,” he admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You’re getting better.”

“Dominic does.” The slap came so fast I barely saw it. Pain burst across my cheek and my head snapped sideways. “You asshole!” I shouted. “Don’t touch me!” “Oh, trust me,” Xander said darkly, gripping me harder. “I’m gonna do a lot more than touch you.” “Fuck you!” I spit directly into his face. Everything around us went still. For one second, Xander just stared at me in shock. Then another sound broke through the silence. A struggle.

He laughed out loud and poked fun at Tate. “That’s enough, Tucker.” Striker’s voice just boomed in the lobby. “You can insult me all you want, but I would never let you do that to my dad. You should leave.” Magnus just pissed him. If Striker wanted to punch Magnus, I would never stop him because he just went a little too far.

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.

The next building over, there he stood, leaning against his shiny, new, silver Jaguar XK coupe. The car had plenty of automotive sex appeal. It complemented him perfectly. Not too flashy, but high class and undeniably sexy. He wore midnight blue fitted dress pants, tailored perfectly to his fit physique and an ice-blue semi-casual, buttoned shirt, which complemented his striking blue eyes. The first three buttons of his shirt were undone, giving just a hint of sex appeal. His thick, dark hair was styled with a carefully undone look. His belt was understated, but with a stylish, clean rectangular silver buckle. His handsome face brightened when he saw her. The sight of him took her breath awa