The Curtis Brothers The Outsiders の小説・ストーリー

Curtis gave a slight nod without acknowledging Yakov Yenin like I thought. Instead, he lowered his voice to whisper to me, “those are Bratva. Stay as far from them as possible if you still want to be alive.” Too late. I was here for Yakov. He walked right over to our table and made my opponent scurry away. He didn’t need to know who Yakov was, I wouldn’t stay put if I got approached by a man who looked this hostile either. “A new dancer?” He asked Curtis, referring to me. “How good is she?”

"And no more threats. No more growling. Just… calm down." Curtis exhaled, his shoulders sagging with quiet relief. He nodded at the girls, proud. Without another word, the sisters turned and walked toward the camp. Vera followed silently, glancing once at the Frost brothers, then away. Behind them, Amarok, Geri, Salem, and Orson stood frozen for a moment, still watching them leave. Their bond tugged painfully at their chests. It wasn't over. It was just beginning.

The kid hid his face in his brother's shirt when his name was mentioned; I could smell fear reek from him and his brother which instantly made feel empathetic towards them. Tommy gave out a small smile but quickly returned to a serious face when he spoke. "Their leader, Curtis has many settlements around the area, but none go as far as here —to my knowledge at least. I still suggest you get going as soon as possible; after that little stunt your pack pulled, his henchman are gonna be crawling all over the forest." A shiver went down my spine at the mention of Curtis' name and Ruby let out a low growl. "Yeah, I'm all too familiar with him... Jace and I came across one of their settlements jus

“Jimmy—go get the guys. Ian, Caleb—separate them. Now.” But even as orders are being thrown— They’re still swinging. Still landing hits wherever they can. Like they’d rather tear each other apart than stop. Ian and Caleb rush in, grabbing, pulling, trying to wedge themselves between them—but even then, a few more blows slip through. A fist. An elbow. One last hit that shouldn’t land but does. Then more men flood in. It takes all of them. All of them—