The Bleeding Five Finger Death Punch Novels & Stories

he groans before snapping his fingers and we were back in Mika's house "Hehe," I grin before walking out of the bathroom with Death following and then stepping into Mika's room. I put my hands on Death's chest trying to push him out, but he smirked down at me standing up without even faltering a little. Before I was able to say anything, Death and I both ducked as a knife went flying over us. "Mika!" I shout turning around to her quickly, hoping that there are no more weapons in her assault. "Oh, I'm sorry," She says smacking my hand before knocking our fists, "Who's this?" She asks before looking at his face and jumping back

Adam challenged as blood was oozing from the wounds. Callum had his eyes shut tight. Everything happening around him was too much to handle. He wanted to be with Steph. He was trembling with fear. He was mumbling for Steph. The air was thick as 6 people held their breath at the smell of blood filled the air. "Get your fucking hands of him. You bastard". Stephen leaped on him, taking him down with him.

The blood spurted out and stained Jeonghan's handsome face, but the smile of lust remained. On the other side of chaos, Adam stretched the edge of his hand to someone's nape. Jumping over the collapsing body, he used another man to cover him over multiple gunshots. He shoved his hand behind and through the dead man's side. He pulled the trigger of his gun and took down five guys within five seconds. "Wew! Your aims are good," Brett praised as he attacked with a big right overhand punch. He hit his mark four times, three lefts and a right in the face that it stumbled back, blood rushing from his nose.

he says. We eat together. All five of them at the table, me in the middle. No one mentions the box. No one mentions Victoria. No one mentions the gun in the west wing. Nico tells a story about a deal that went wrong because he forgot the briefcase. Enzo corrects him twice. Dante throws a dinner roll at him. Marco argues with Luca about guard rotations. And I just watch them. This is what family looks like. Messy. Loud. Protective.

The crowd went completely wild, pounding their fists against the canvas mats and screaming for blood. The big guy stumbled backward, blood pouring from his nose. Alec didn't give him a single second to breathe. He stepped in, throwing a fast three-punch combination—jaw, ribs, jaw. The final blow landed with so much force that the guy went down like a felled tree, his heavy body hitting the mat with a dull thud. The referee didn't bother counting. He just grabbed Alec’s arm and yanked it into the air and the crowd went wild. Alec didn't celebrate. He wiped a smear of blood off his own cheek with the back of his wrist, his chest heaving under the harsh lights.

Each impact was met with my blood-curdling screams. In the control room, a frown creased Alex's face. "'She's got guts for an assassin,' he said, his voice cold as ice. 'Finish it.'" The fourth blow. The fifth. My right hand was ruined. Five fingers twisted into unnatural shapes. Blood stained the tabletop. The agony was so intense I felt like I was going into early labor. My stomach contracted violently, and more fluid ran down my legs. "Now for the left," Scarlett said, lifting the hammer.