Velvet Crowbar Novels & Stories

I said and threw the glass. Caleb took it in his hands, and as one we lunged at Derek. He came out with the crowbar, aiming for my head, but Pietra chose that moment to sink her teeth into the flesh of his arm, and her swing faltered. I grabbed the bar in midair, using the momentum to spin his body, just as Caleb's arm went across his throat, the glass slicing into his skin. Derek let go of Pietra to grab the crowbar with both hands.

Grasping one he bounds over to the girl as others tried to help her from the crow. With one smack of the broom, Cylester sends the bird flying across the room. It falls ungracefully, trying and failing to right itself. Another hard smack has its neck twisting in an odd angle that lets everyone know it was dead as its body stills. Cylester lifts his head to stare at the wolves crowding the room. "Where did the crow come from?" He asked, voicing his curiosity.

Luster's eyes lit up. “I will certainly take part in this reckless undertaking, with a dozen of my furies enough. A smile bloomed on the face of the commander of the elite combat squad. A loud applause erupted from the other side of the room. Veilon emerged from the shadow of the passage. - Well, here's a descendant of Valnomak Bruk-ta-man and you got caught, intrigues behind the backs of the elders. - with the malice of a hyena says Veilon. The metal scales on his gloves clang slightly with the pops. Lasters' smile changed to a disapproving grin.

She pulled out a brush tipped with cinnabar and crushed jade. Caleb, predictably, ignored her. His instinct to protect surged like a tidal wave, his eyes flashing a brilliant, molten gold as he positioned his massive frame between Scarlett and the encroaching shadow. He let out a low, guttural growl—a sound so primal it seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards of the skyscraper.

stepped out of the lead vehicle and entered the room like a ghost. They all stood. One of the men, older, scarred, asked, “You said you wouldn’t call on us unless the time came.” Vale Sr. removed his gloves and unrolled a blueprint across the table. The title read: Project Revenant. “This time,” he said, his voice quiet and lethal, “we don’t just kill the Marchesis.” He pointed at the last page. “We kill the world that remembers them.”

*Vivienne* The iron crowbar came down fast. I rolled to the right. The heavy metal bar smashed into the flatcar deck right where my neck had been, letting out a loud *CLANG* that vibrated through the steel under my ribs. Sparks flew into my face, burning my cheek. The man in the orange vest cursed, his boots slipping on the rusted rivets as he tried to lift the heavy bar for a second swing. I didn't give him the chance. I swung my right leg out, catching him hard behind his ankle. His balance was already off from the heavy swing. He tripped backward, his arms flailing before he tumbled off the side of the flatcar, crashing into the gravel ditch below.

The invitation was embossed in blood-red foil on black cardstock. No names. No location. Just one sentence: “Come masked. Come armed. Come ready.” And yet, every powerful figure who’d ever stepped foot in Velvet knew exactly what it meant. They came. By private jet. By motorcade. Through disguised doors. Not to Velvet for it had been sold, gutted, and reborn. But to its ruins. Its bones. The new owners Isolde and Dorian had rebranded it with one word carved in gold above the arched entrance:

she snapped, “I need to get back the shop before the boss has my head. Is this about the Bloody Barbies again?” Bloody Barbie was the nickname Maria gave to the murders ever since she’d gotten involved as a suspect. It was an apt name. Each crime scene that had been investigated was painted red with each victim’s blood, and in each one there would be a bloody doll left behind (though, not exactly a Barbie), no less than three feet away from the body.

Her fingers trembled as they brushed the choker again. I fastened it around her neck with slow, deliberate movements. It fit perfectly — elegant, discreet, and deadly. The thin band of leather sat snug against her throat, the silver engraving **Grey’s Velvet** catching the low light. One wrong move, one attempt to run too far from the designated safe zone, and it would deliver a controlled but painful electric shock — enough to remind her who she belonged to without causing permanent harm.