Victor Criss Novels & Stories

The moment Grace saw Victor Lewis step out of the cab, she dashed forward and gave him a big hug. After that, she whispered in his ear, "I'm really counting on you this time, Victor." "Easy-peasy," Victor calmly replied. "I've already taken care of it on the way here." Smiling, Grace hooked her arms around his. "Really? I knew you were the best." "Such a honey tongue." He caressed her head affectionately. Victor worked at the National Cybersecurity Department and was ranked as the world's number one hacker on the dark web, known as AK.

"Ah... hmmm… fuck!!! “Victor leaned closer to her lips, while thrusting her even more faster and harder.. “I said say my name baby” She nodded. Vic… Victor!" she choked out, struggling to catch her breath as her voice broke into a high, trembling moan. "Victor... please.. don’t stop. “Yes... God, Victor, right there… I’m cumming. Marissa screamed out, her fingers scratching against the wood as she was panting heavily, her lips parted as she took in sharp, desperate breaths. "Take it all... take everything from him..." Victor didn't slow down; his movements became frantic. “We would both bring them all down… nothing gonna stop us.” He said lastly as victor was finally able to off the projecto

Vanessa hesitated for a moment before finally answering, her voice steady but tense. “Hello, Cynthia.” “Vanessa, how are you?” My mother's voice carried warmth mixed with worry. “How’s he? What are they saying? Is Odell going to be alright?” Vanessa looked at me briefly before responding. “He's stable.” I held my breath, a flicker of relief too fleeting. “But he's still unconscious. The doctor said he suffered a serious head injury, bleeding and swelling pressed them to perform emergency surgery.”

Something stronger. “Incoming transmission,” a technician called suddenly. “Someone’s accessing our secure server. They’re sending a video response.” Carter gestured for the technicians to trace the signal while displaying the incoming feed. The screen on the wall came to life. A man appeared—late sixties, distinguished, with cold eyes and a surgical scar along his jawline. Victor Krane. “Hello, Lila,” he said, smiling politely. “That was quite a performance. Rejection of traumatic symbols, reclamation of personal narrative—textbook therapeutic techniques. I’m impressed. But you’ve missed something crucial.”

No matter the price. Reyes, my private detective, leaned forward with his tablet. “Victor Crane is moving quietly, but his network is active. That black SUV matches one of his shell companies. He’s been digging into club dancers and convincing them that Serena still owes him a debt. My team is tracking every location. We’ll pin him down by tonight.”I nodded slowly. In the stories that circulated among men like me who are powerful and ruthless billionaires we treat threats like Crane always ended the same way. To be broken and to beg for mercy when they're dealt with.

"Bank records. Phone logs. Witness statements. You are done, Crystal." She looked at Tommy. A silent command. Tommy stood, pulling a gun. But he did not point it at me. He pointed it at Crystal. "Sorry," he said, his voice shaking. "But I am done being your puppet." Crystal's eyes widened. "You idiot. What are you—" "Tommy has been working for me," Victor said, stepping into the room. "Double agent. Feeding Crystal false information while gathering evidence against her." Crystal's expression twisted with rage. "You set me up."

“I panicked, okay?” Lisa clicked her tongue. “Unbelievable. After all the times I screamed at you during practice? I swear, Audrey, I will—” She suddenly stopped mid-sentence, her gaze trailing over Victor. Slowly, a mischievous grin spread across her lips. “And who is this?” she drawled, eyes twinkling. Victor smirked, extending a hand. “Victor Garcia.” Lisa’s lips parted slightly in recognition before she took his hand. “Michell’s brother.”

He should be dealt with or perhaps eliminated. I sighed and continued going through the documents on my screen. It’s past bedtime but I was going through my phone, trying to get my hands on any information I can find on Victor. I searched him on social media and finally ended up with six I*******m accounts that match his name and maiden name. It turns out the bastard was bearing Victor Adrian. Adrian is the maternal grandfather. If he wanted to be a Wilson so badly, why did it take him so long to show up? I scrolled through the I*******m accounts, checking each profile picture until I finally found him. His profile picture was a shirtless photo of him on a beach in the Bahamas.

"Richard Collins, Master. He is now officially a strategic advisor and part of Kessler Holdings." "What?" Victor sank back into his seat, his eyes staring blankly ahead. But the shock only lasted for a fraction of a second before it morphed into blind, unadulterated rage. With a guttural roar, Victor stood up and violently swept his arm across his massive mahogany desk. Laptops, crystal whiskey decanters, and framed photographs crashed onto the marble floor, shattering into countless pieces.

He slipped past the main skirmishes, his target clear—the estate’s control room. Inside, Chris worked furiously to keep the system running, unaware of Victor’s approach. Victor entered quietly, his presence startling Chris. “What are you doing here?” Chris asked, his voice wary. Victor held up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I’m on your side. But I need access to the estate’s communication system.” Chris hesitated. “Why?” Victor’s expression darkened. “Because I know Adrian. He’s watching this unfold, and I need to send him a message.”