The Jobless Guy Who Has Come To Slay Novels & Stories

Vivian pov My heart sank to the depths of despair. These people not only wanted to humiliate me but also aimed to turn me into a useless shell. The rain outside poured harder, hitting the carport with a loud patter, echoing the hopelessness that weighed on my heart. I pressed my fingers firmly against the dagger, instantly slicing my palm. The sharp sting of blood awakened my senses, bringing a flicker of clarity. "Even if I'm to die, I want to know who my employer really is!" The assailants were clearly taken aback that I could still speak, and one of them sneered, "Sorry, Vivian. The employer wants you to remain in the dark. Boys, get to work!" A metal rod slammed down on my wrists and ank

The one who was slapped crawled up to his feet and asked, “Boss, why wouldn’t you want the eighty million? If you didn’t want it, you could’ve given it to us!” Smack! The leader slapped him again and kicked him in the gut as well. “Want it? Why in the hell would we want the money? Do you want to live or what? Do you know who he is? “If it weren’t for me, all of us would’ve died right there and then!” Another underling asked, “Boss, who is he?” The leader took a gulp. “You’ve guys heard of what happened back in Valtameri Tower yesterday, right? He’s the cold-blooded killer who chopped two heads off in one slice, and punched a hole into Mr. Ono’s body!

Somehow, her bottom was only covered with a thin cloth. Jean covered her upper body with her hands because the mysterious man intensely stared at her. His stare made her uncomfortable. The man approached Jean, who was still frozen with a slightly trembling body with fear. "Open." He coldly ordered her again. Jean then opened her hand. The man whispered right in her ear. "I bought you at a brothel-" The man paused. "So ... You are my bitch. CHAPTER 1 New York City, one of the busiest cities in America. A city with all its routines without knowing the time.

I told him not to touch her that way or I would remove his balls. "Exactly what you think it means. And the boss, is not happy about it."He steps into the light and I see him. I know who he is. Everyone in the city would. Just from the tattoo on his neck, the Grim Reaper. A cutthroat for hire. One who always gets the job done. "You." "Me. Yes, the boss is not happy with how you are handling the situation, and is sending me in." "Fine. What's your price? I will double it." This might be my only out.

“As soon as you texted me, I made a few inquiries about who might have taken a job in Billings. My town. Turns out, the professional hitman who was hired to kill your girl farmed the job out. And to an idiot. Which makes him a fucking idiot.” “A professional hitman gave the job to someone else?” Ink asked. “Yes, he double-booked himself. Apparently, he had a wedding that his girlfriend was demanding he attend. I made it clear that I didn’t appreciate him taking a job in my territory. He said he thought I was retired.” “Aren’t you?” Ink asked. “That doesn’t mean I will allow anyone else to take jobs in my town.” “Did he tell you who he gave the job to?” Saber asked.

His fingers seemed to loosen for a moment just then and the goon could feel himself falling, causing him to scream again. As the goon stared downward at the ant-like pedestrians along the street, his face turned pale and his legs trembled. He almost did not hesitate to wet himself. "No! Don't!" he screamed. "We're just… hired muscle from Victorget… And our boss is Cadum Springer. He has connections in Morhen! You can't kill me! You can't—Argh!" Frank released the goon out of impatience before he could finish. Even if he tried to make himself sound important, he was a death dealer at best and a common thug at worst.

Death! No-one did shit like this, and go scot free. I’m merciless drag baron who doesn’t care how he gets money as long as he was comfortable. I wouldn’t let anyone take what was mine. I would destroy that should to the best of my abilities. I couldn’t wait to end him completely. They have beaten the sleeping tiger, and I was awake.

And the line went dead. The doctor shivered as he heard the strong and deep voice of the man he could only hear and see on big screens. He was about to collapse thinking it as a dream when Kyle spoke, pulling his head up after a slap. My boss is the mafia leader who has 4000 murder cases and 24654 black market deals registered in his name. Yet not a single one has been proven to put him behind the bars. You rubbed your nose with the wrong man for the sake of a few bucks because you're a fool. I pity you for your idiosyncrasy and thus I grant you a wish. You will see God going the easiest way.” Kyle took out the revolver and shot him point blank and the man went dead within a second.

I said swaying on the back legs of my chair and hanging my head backwards to get a view of the guy. He walked like ex-military, which was an improvement on the others, though probably out for awhile judging by the length of his beard. “Boom?” he asked. “Tripwire,” I explained. “Grenade.” That got everyone’s attention. “Why take the job if you don’t trust us?” asked a second guy coming in. He was even blacker than Westley. And I don’t just mean in skin colour. He was a walking rapper stereotype, with baggy clothes, and everything. And bling, so much bling. At least Westley was more casual. Maybe a little too casual even.