Today I Surrender Novels & Stories

He sighed softly, gently touching the rings, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "...Well, who am I to argue? I’ve already surrendered." The end.

Federico yelled, pulling out his gun. I kept my hands in front of me, and that action shocked him. Then I did what they least expected. I bowed my head and dropped to my knees. “I’m here to surrender. To confess and not to cause any harm.” Federico raised his brow and I watched as the men who were about to grab me paused. Silence followed as he took slow steps forward. He didn’t trust theatrics but I knew that would change soon. “You expect me to believe you?” he said, hard.

Clearly, he wasn’t expecting me. I stared up at him for a few long seconds. He stared at me too, without any words. Slowly, I got down on my knees. My eyes didn’t leave his. I couldn’t look away. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice husky. “I surrender to you, Roy,” I said softly, feeling my heart pounding harder. “Make me yours forever, please,” I pleaded, desperation in my voice.

He aimed right for Axel's chest. "NO!" My knees hit the bloody snow. I dropped straight down into the dirt and blood right in front of his boots. I grabbed the hem of Ezra's dark shirt with both trembling hands. I looked up at him, tears blurring my vision completely. "Please," I sobbed. I bowed my head. I gave up. I surrendered all my pride, all my freedom, everything I had fought for over the last three years. "I'll do whatever you want." The air around us turned to pure ice.

she said softly. “Maybe. Or relief. But mostly…” He looked out the window. “Mostly, I just feel done.” She took his hand. “Then let’s be done. Let’s start something new.” He leaned forward and kissed her hand. “With you. Always.” Somewhere across the Atlantic, Christian Voss sat in a reinforced cell, stripped of his suit, his weapons, his name. The walls were bare. The camera never blinked. The silence was deafening. He sat there, unmoving, for hours. Until, finally, his voice cracked through the stillness.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rivera, but I can’t do this.” “Do what, exactly? We’re having a drink.” I ran a hand through my hair, checking my ponytail was still in place. Of course, it was. It hadn’t moved all day. Why the fuck was I stalling on this? “I can’t become one of your Dolls,” I blurted out. “Hard limit.”

As if I were just a puppet, ready to dance at his command. I lifted my head slowly, making a tremendous effort not to show the whirlwind of emotions consuming me inside. My gaze was fixed on the floor, but I forced my eyes to meet his, showing a submission that didn’t exist within me. I knew I had to appear defeated and broken so he would believe he had won. My voice came out weak, almost a whisper, laden with false resignation. “Bruce,” I began, tasting the bitter words in my mouth, “I surrender.”

I asked pressing hard on the floor. He raised his hand and that was the white flag, he was quitting, he sure should, if he wanted to live for another claiming and tell his kids this story, my eyes snapped to him, “used my lips?” I wanted to hear that voice that he is always used to speaking and acting all high and mighty, I want to hear how it sounds when it’s broken. “I surrender…” his voice was low and barely audible, I know that he is at my mercy.

In the depths of my torment, the realization bloomed like a fragile flower – the only escape from this cycle of agony lay in my confession, a desperate gamble to end the torment and the unraveling of my resolve. As the blade poised for another excruciating incision, my voice, laden with a surrender borne from the depths of suffering, broke the tension-filled air. "Okay, I will confess," I whispered, a shattered admission that marked the end of my resistance. The pain that had once seemed insurmountable now paled in comparison to the weight of my decision, the surrender of my truth amidst a landscape of suffering.

The silence stretched, filled only by the muffled sound of her crying and the rain against the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was no longer the surgical blade of moments before. It was lower, more contained, but not soft. It was firm. "Total surrender demands an eventual collapse," he said, looking ahead, not at her. "It is the point where the ego, the resistance, finally exhausts itself. Where there is no more energy to maintain the facade. It is a sign of progress, not failure."