The Old Man Broomfield Novels & Stories

I hesitated only briefly, but there was something disarming about him, a gentleness that didn’t match the obvious wealth of his suit or the administrator hovering a step behind him. I nodded. “Of course.” He lowered himself carefully into the small chair beside the bookshelf, setting his cane against his knee, and watched Bryan stack two more blocks with the focused commentary of a man genuinely curious rather than simply being polite. “What happened to your leg, young man?” “I got hurt playing football,” Bryan said, with the slightly exaggerated gravity of a child recounting a battle wound. “But I almost scored.” “Almost counts for quite a lot in my experience,” the old man said.

And that Arnold from the Cromwell family was originally their secret pawn, but the old man could subtly make everyone work for him, while he himself hid behind everyone. Including this time coming to Chicago, it was the same. People mostly focused on Spencer and Mia, and didn't notice an old man who had been sick for a long time and came for treatment. The shadows under the light kind of looked like a bunch of demons dancing. The Mexican merchants didn't dare look any longer and hurriedly left the White Building. The old man's eyes were dark and thick. He slowly closed them. It was creepy in a way I couldn't describe. The next day, New York, the Cromwell's villa.

He told his butler to get tea and refreshments. " So how was your journey?? Did you face any problems?? " He asked. " It was long but without any problem. Thanks a lot; your directions, landmarks,, and instructions were so precise that I didn't have to ask anything from anyone. " " I am glad they were useful to you. " Just then an old lady in her mid-fifties came in. She looked like a lovely and lively lady, her eyes were sparkling with excitement and love. " Avni, she is Mrs Gomez, my housekeeper. And Mrs Gomez, she is Avni, Avni Tylor... John's wife. "

Dolls and action figures had probably replaced math problems by now. “Stay in your room!” I said, wiped my hands on a kitchen towel as I walked to the door. Then I looked through the peephole. My stomach dropped. Adrian Stone. He looked older now.. His golden hair was styled well, his navy suit cut to fit him like it had been stitched on. But his blue eyes weren’t the ones I remembered. Harder now. Colder. I thought about pretending I wasn’t home. But Adrian never gave up easily. He’d keep knocking until the twins came out and the neighbours peering through their windows.

Raven's pov Chapter 3 — The Butcher Himself The red silk clung to me like a secret I didn’t ask to keep. Every step I took echoed through the marble-floored corridor of the old manor, my heels sharp like gunshots. The Vitali estate was as pretentious as I expected,dark stone, velvet drapes, and chandeliers that looked like they’d seen more blood than light. Fitting. This was the domain of the man they called The Butcher.

the older man asked, turning in his chair, washing his hands and grabbing some rubbing alcohol. "Right here..." she started pulling her shirt up and unzipping her jeans slowly pulling them back laughing when Jaxx swallowed hard, "You think it's a good place Jaxx?" she asked, tilting her head up to look at the blonde standing just above her shoulder. "Umm...yeah I think...yeah that's good." He said keeping his eyes focused on her lower body, making her laugh more. "Well that I can do." the older man chuckled, getting everything ready to go.

She looked at Bram, at me, at my coat, at my hands, and filed all of it away in the time it took her to say: "Morning. Haven't seen you two before." "Just passing through," Bram said. Easy. Like he'd said it a thousand times, which he probably had. "Looking for anything?" "Just browsing." Three stalls down, a man selling rope. Older. Hands like bark. He nodded at Bram the way people nodded at someone they'd seen around long enough to stop being suspicious of but not long enough to trust. "Quiet day," Bram said. "Yesterday wasn't," the man said. Still working the rope. Not looking up.

His words landed like shards of glass. Alexander Westwood. The eldest son. Disciplined, ruthless, calculated. A man who commanded boardrooms with a single look and never wasted words he didn’t mean. Where Ethan was warmth and fire, Alexander was shadow and steel. The one who looked at me as though I were an inconvenience he had to endure. He wasn’t just cold. He was winter itself. And now he was waiting at the altar. “I need a moment,” I whispered hoarsely. Richard gave a curt nod and left.

"We've already decided we're having our fun with this girl tonight. Stay out of things that don't concern you." As he spoke, he reached for my ankle. Crack! James snapped the man's wrist in one swift motion. Blood immediately poured from the wound. "Annoying," the man in the wheelchair said calmly. Then he turned his gaze to me. "Catherine, it's over now. Come here." He took off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders. Warmth instantly wrapped around me. "What would you like to do with them?" he asked quietly. I clutched the edge of his jacket tightly, my voice shaking.

And they were about to walk to the door, but at that same time an old man with gray hair walked down the stairs. "Going somewhere?" The man asked in a polite tone as he walked down the stairs. "Yeah." Liam replied nicely, smiling at the old man. But Megan on the other hand just rolled her eyes seeing him, she didn't like him. The old man's name was Bradford Ortega. Bradford was their deceased fathers cousin. But for many years the two weren't on good terms after Bradford had been discovered selling the classified information of the Danvers consortium to some of their business rivals. And after that Alvin Danvers fired him and cut off all ties with him.