The Ministry Of Ungentlemanly Warfare Book Novels & Stories

Isabella moved first. The struggle was quick, brutal in its efficiency rather than gore. Aura lunged, the vial flashing. Isabella knocked the hand aside, the vial skittering and shattering against the hearth. The sound seemed to make time tilt. Aura advanced with a cry, fingers reaching for Isabella’s throat. Isabella fought like a mother possessed. She struck, shoved, used the bookend to batter open space between them. In the scuffle, Aura slipped on the spilled preserves and went down hard. The bookend clanged. For an instant, neither moved.

To put myself between them and make it clear, very clear, that whatever game this was, I was already ahead. I didn’t intervene though. Because if I did, I’d confirm everything Chernoe Bratstvo was testing for. I watched. Gabriel’s smile was the kind that belonged on a family Christmas card. He radiated familiarity, warmth, a kind of effortless old-world charm that only grew more menacing when you knew he’d buried men alive. Milena held her ground. She always did. Chin up, shoulders squared, composure like armor. But there was tension in her hands.

The sex had been mind-blowing, his mouth on my clit, sucking until I bucked against his face; his tongue fucking into me before he replaced it with his cock, slamming home. After what felt like hours, I forced myself up. I dressed in soft leggings and an oversized sweater, something comfortable to hide in. Grabbing the book I'd abandoned weeks ago, a steamy romance that now felt tame compared to my reality. I curled up on the bed, trying to lose myself in the pages. A knock at the door jolted me. Before I could respond, it creaked open, and Roman stepped in, his presence filling the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that I could smell his clean scent.

No one knows this code but me, even Chad doesn’t know it. The electronic padlock makes a beep and the door of the closet opens. I push it farther so I can get a decent view of the guns. My eyes land on one of the guns that I consider my lucky gun. I have used it to assassinate about twenty two persons, it has never failed me. I even nicknamed it, I call it Betsy. I take Betsy from among the other guns and I also take enough ammo to kill a small army. I just like to be prepared, who knows what may happen.

He asked, his voice low and dangerous. “I would rather die in the hands of a real man, a man of his words, a real warrior than die in the hands of a pathetic excuse like Marcus,” I said. “And my bravery would add a lot to your pack. I am willing to serve you till my last breath.” “Serve me? To last your last breath you say?” Fenrir asked, his gaze hard and cold. “Do not lie to me or try to trick me. I hate lies and detest liars.”

And something sharper—printer ink, fresh and smug, like someone had typed a fresh lie and left it cooling on the desk. The walls were lined with smart looking books Gianni definitely never read. Mostly war memoirs, the kind where men who never bled write about the ones who did. I trailed my fingers along the spines—three volumes on Napoleon, untouched. A fourth, thinner, tucked slightly out of order. I pulled it. Nothing. No secret passage, no trapdoor, just more arrogance in hardcover. The desk was military neat. The kind of neat that tells you someone cleaned up after bleeding out. A silver ashtray still wore the ghost of a fresh burn—long and tapered, Gianni’s custom cigars.

A WEREWOLF? Kehlani looked around the pub absent mindedly. She thought of the silly name she would give her new fantasy fiction, Growl? That was too grotesque for a name. Maybe not grotesque but quite not the usual. Kehlani had a weird liking for gothic fantasies. She was the kind of girl who didn't really fancy the pink pattern of most girls. She most times always went the opposite direction instead.

He exhaled, glancing back at the club’s entrance. "For now." He slid into the SUV, the door closing with a soft thud. As the car pulled away, he stared out at the city lights, his mind still racing. Richard was finished. His empire would crumble, his reputation tarnished. But Adrian had been in this game long enough to know one thing—men like Richard didn’t go down without a fight. Was this truly the end? Or had the real war just begun?

He winced and glared at me with his icy blue eyes. "You're gonna regret this," He said shoving my book off my desk. "Oh, cause I'm shaking in my boots. Keep playing with me and I might just fuck your other girlfriend since she likes me more. After all, she had a crush on me." I smirked, biting my lip. His neck snapped around to me, anger seeping through his veins. Bingo "I will kill you, dickhead!" He gritted out "I'm so scared," I said, sarcastically. "I'd love to see you try."

“You’ve heard of him.” “Everyone has,” the boy said, then flushed. “I mean, not like… I don’t mean he’s a criminal. I just mean—” “That he’s mafia?” Matteo said. “It’s true… Don of the Antonov Bratva.” The boy swallowed and Matteo enjoyed his nervousness a little. “Are you scared?” he asked. The boy thought about it. “No. Just… surprised?.” “Good,” Matteo said. “Fear is boring.”