Vance Hopper Novels & Stories

she purrs. Nixon halts my final step by calling to me "Harper meet Viviana, Viviana meet Harper my mate" Viviana quickly turns around and starts laughing hysterically while pointing back and forth between myself and Nixon "Wow Nix all you had to do is tell me you wanted to bring someone else into the mix" she tilts her head looking me up and down "He's not really my type but he's cute so" she shrugs and turns back to Nixon who takes the tree steps he'd taken up the stairs until he was back on the ground level then walked around her to my side.

"He came over yesterday when my parents were out. And let me tell you, the hype is entirely real. He is a total god. It was so f**king worth it." ​"Wow," I breathed, actually impressed. "Good for you." ​"Yeah, it is," Chloe smirked, sitting up and crossing her legs. She leaned forward, wiggling her eyebrows. "So, let's talk logistics. Tell me the truth, Harper. How many inches do you think you can actually take before you tap out?" ​My breath violently hitched in my throat. ​The image of Vance instantly flashed in my mind. The absolute, agonizing stretch of his massive eight inches completely destroying my center inside my tiny tent last night. I knew exactly how many inches I could take. I

Parker ranted at him while reaching his hand to stand him up. "What do you mean near death?" the guy asked while rubbing his butt. As he stood up full on his legs, he got taller an inch than the two boys with a little less muscular bodies. Vance had paler skin than the rest and golden brown hair. His green eyes were as mesmerizing as some magical stone. He was dressed in a half sleeves blue T-shirt showing off his biceps with black jeans and a pair of sneakers. He had a pendant on his neck, and his fingers were filled with rings.

“The guy I smoked in the final heat. He doesn’t lose. Ever.” Vance walked forward slow, boots crunching gravel. His crew fanned out behind him. “You two think you can roll into my race, take my money, and ride off like nothing?” Vance’s voice carried easy, almost amused. “No one beats me.” I stepped in front of Declan half a pace. “Looks like someone just did.” Vance smiled, not friendly. “That’s why I’m here. I want your heads. Both of them.” The guy with the shotgun racked it loud enough to echo off the trees.

“I moved here on November the 18th last year.” “Objection, relevance.” Gideon shouted. “Mr. Davenport brought into question the memory of the witness; I am simply testing the waters on that subject.” “Very well, keep it within scope Mrs. Ward.” The judge agreed. Evelyn nodded and turned back to me, “It’s safe to say then that the one-night stand happened around the beginning of December, is that correct?” “Yes.” “Now, Miss Garrison this was someone you were intimate with, do you remember their name?”

The memory of the salt air now felt like a mockery, a reminder of a boy who believed a sunflower and a heartbeat could stand against a hurricane. Toby stared at the man sitting across from him. Arthur Vance looked like a man who had been hollowed out by the same fire currently consuming Toby. Once the Chief Financial Officer of Laredo’s primary holding company, Vance was now a specter in a threadbare suit, his hands trembling as he clutched a glass of cheap whiskey.

Vance's heart skipped a beat, and he looked closer, realizing it was Darren's father. "Mr. Horton!" he called out involuntarily. Andrew Horton squinted in his direction, then walked over to open the gate. "It's me, Vance Bradford." Vance looked at the man's gray hair and felt his eyes sting. How much grief did it take to turn someone's hair gray like this before their time?

the court clerk said. "Emma Hart Vance." DA Chen approached her. "Mrs. Vance. Can you tell the court what happened to you when you were eight years old?" Emma took a breath. "A man grabbed me on my way home from school. He threw me in a van. He took me to a basement and chained me to the wall. I was there for seven days." "And who was that man?" Emma looked at Arthur Webb. "He was sitting right there," Emma said. Arthur Webb stared back at her. His eyes were empty.

One of them was Richard Sterling, his silver hair combed back, holding a glass. ​Standing right beside him, leaning in close with a familiar, calculated look on his face, was Charles Vance the founder of the Vance Art Institute.

My head whipped to the side, gaze honing in on the shadowed figure making its way up the street. I was moving before my brain could comprehend my actions, leaping off the two steps until I hit the sidewalk. When he neared me, I made out his familiar chiseled features and my breath caught. He was more beautiful than I remembered. Victor, his name had etched itself into my brain, making it impossible to forget, paused in front of me. His eyes illuminated under the glow of the street light, captivating me. He raised his hands and began signing, reminding me that he couldn't speak.