The Mercenary Mga Nobela at Kwento

I let out, slamming my hand against the car. He just walked out on me like that. Fucking coward! What the hell was I supposed to do with her? "I can help you." A low gravelly voice said from the shadows. My eyes narrowed, trying to locate the speaker. "Who's there?" I asked warily. A burly man emerged from the darkness, his rough appearance making him look like a street thug. "How much?" "Huh? What do you mean?" "How much are you willing to pay me, if I help you?" He clarified.

“Further proof that he’s an idiot who got lucky.” I rise, pacing to the window. The courtyard below seethes with the movement of mercenaries arriving. Men who kill without compunction. Men whose malice I’m buying with gold and silver. They wear no colors, no banners, only steel. Ragged veterans with scars for faces. Cutthroats who follow coin instead of conscience. The sort of men Ronan Vale despises, which makes them all the sweeter to use.

"It's not old people. There's whispers of outside contractors. Professionals." Mercenaries. Elijah was bringing fucking mercenaries. I drained my whiskey, the burn doing nothing to calm the fury building in my chest. "How many?" "Enough." Marco shrugged. "More than a handful, less than an army. But all quality. The kind who don't miss." I needed more. Needed names, numbers, entry points. But before I could press further, Marco's expression changed—eyes widening slightly, his body tensing. "Silas. We've got company."

It took a little while, but eventually, I found the word I was looking for. These men were mercenaries , not rogues. That thought lodged in my mind as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Their armor didn’t bear the same jagged markings as Xavier’s men, or any other packs in this side of the city. One of them wore a rusted insignia, a coin ring etched with a serpent biting its own tail. A trader’s mark. They hadn't sworn loyalty to any pack, just profit and whatever interests served them best. They weren’t his. They were just men looking to sell what didn’t belong to them.

This was something they didn't know how to handle, so they sent Sasha to New Siland as well. This was Gary's problem. He should deal with it himself. Looking at Sasha's gaunt face in front of me, her smugness and arrogance were long gone. "You're talking to the wrong person. Whether Gary returns or not has nothing to do with me." "But he stayed because of you. If you make him go back, he will surely listen to you. Please help me." I smirked. "Sasha, do you take me for a saint? Have you forgotten what you did to me? The fact that I did not seek revenge is the maximum kindness that I can show, yet you still dare ask me for my help?"

Or a body. "Silas," I warned, my voice a growl. “I’m not lying,” Ivy cried out. “I was at The Abyss. I ran into the Mercer brothers. Are you happy now?” A long, chilling silence filled the speakers. “The Mercers?” Grant’s tone changed. It wasn't angry anymore. It was... calculating. “You were with Silas Mercer?” “I saw them. We talked. That’s it.” “They are worth billions,” Grant muttered, sounding like he was talking to himself. “And they have history with your family... they have a soft spot for the grieving sister...”

Killian stepped inside, roughly dragging the bruised mercenary into the center of the room. He threw the man onto the floor, where he groaned loudly, clutching his ribs. "Speak," I barked at the mercenary. "Who hired you to infiltrate the palace and kidnap the servant?" The mercenary spat a mouthful of blood on the marble floor, coughing as his eyes met mine. "Nobody hired me, sire.” he rasped out frantically, his chest heaving. "It was just us! We... we saw a helpless girl wandering at night and thought she was an easy target.”

(Green mohawk hair Mercenary) The mercenaries were mocking all the vendor that were armed with mostly cleaver and hooks. “..you degenerate bastard!…Aeternum is generous enough to let you in and let you enjoy the peace and wealth…yet you repaid the kindness with contempt and devious act!!…We the lowly one?!….No!!..We are AETERNUMS!!!!..WE ARE FREE MAN!!!…and no one will ever look us like we were nothing ever again!!…No one…that’s means not even you guys!!…AARRGHHH!..”. (Old Mento)

Now, after forcing him to take her into the dark heart of Vancouver's lower East Side and telling a gut-wrenching story of pain and loss, she was acting like life couldn't be better. In the space of an hour she'd turned his entire world and everything he assumed upside down. Him. A man that used to kill for money, a fact she would never learn, despite being so generous with her own life story. After leaving the military he became a hired gun in the middle East, telling himself he was working on the side of good. Until the body count became too high to stomach, even for him. He'd started his security company with the nearly two decades of mercenary money and skills he'd picked up overseas.

"Let's start processing the body. We should be able to grind the bones and process it into something else too." "Yes, sir." Everyone started working. The mercenary group consisted of many kinds of people and many kinds of races. They were all outcasts, and the Blood God Mercenary Troupe was the only organization they could join. "Hey, sir! We're two weeks away from big cities. The meat will get bad the moment we arrive somewhere we can sell it at a reasonable price," a big, muscular man said. Helena recognized the man as the only Lycan in the group. He had a weird and dangerous vibe but was tame towards the Leader.