Wrong Turn Three Finger Novels & Stories

He almost pulled it off. Almost. As we entered the turn three-wide, there simply wasn't enough room for all of us to maintain our lines. The third rider, committed to his inside position, couldn't slow down enough to make the turn cleanly. His bike slid wide, clipping the rear wheel of my main rival.

"Tell her I need thirty seconds." “He has twenty,” Sky replied. "She says twenty." He made a choked sound and pushed the car even harder. The wolves on the left flank faltered, just slightly, but it was enough. The bend appeared. Zeviar wrenched the wheel right, a precise, sharp turn, threading the gap Sky had spotted. He was focused, his entire being poured into that one maneuver. For a heart-stopping second, we were clear. The wolves scrambled to regroup behind us, the road ahead opening up, offering a glimpse of escape.

Fist cleaned tight enough to swing, one wrong move and it was over for them. “Apologize my foot.”

Or maybe I'm just narcissistic. I stopped trying to read his expression after the third time and just focused on the bike. Then I dropped it. It happened fast. I misjudged a low speed turn, the weight shifted wrong and the bike just went over. I went with it, landed hard on both palms on the asphalt and felt the sting shoot up both wrists immediately.

He might take some damage in this reckless situation, but Zen only had one chance to redeem himself. Screaming in agony when the scimitar severed three of his five fingers on the left hand, Zen used his right hand to grab onto the top of the scimitar before Urum lifted it back up. His plan worked, and Zen used the palm of his injured hand to cling onto the heavy scimitar. The orc general thought he had successfully gotten rid of the human when he saw the severed halves of Zen’s fingers after the strange petrification wore off. He had no idea what the sneaky human did in the last moments of his life. However, he was dead now. There was no way he could survive this fall.

They were approaching a curve in the road when Mitchell made his decision. Just as they reached the start of the curve, Mitchell pushed his knee hard against the steering wheel. The driver was confused for a few seconds when he was unable to turn the wheel. Seeing Mitchell's knee pressing against it, he violently jerked it just as Mitchell withdrew his knee. The result was a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin, followed by a one hundred and eighty. The ass end of the SUV hit the guard rails.

Arthur naturally moved his body closer to look, "It's right next to the button that adjusts forward, just a little below." I was so focused on finding the button that I didn't notice Arthur's upper body almost coming up to me. "I think I found it, but it's not responding. Is it really broken?" "No way, you must be looking for the wrong one. It's not convex. It's concave, yeah, here it is." Arthur grabbed my fumbling hand and put it in a certain depression. Those cold hands abruptly touched me, and I was so shocked that I reflexively pressed down.

I only knew who they were by scent because I didn’t bother to look in their direction. That doesn’t stop me either though as I put my claws at his stomach and slowly dig in, “Maybe you’re the one who should watch the way you talk to a Turned wolf,” my claws slip deeper and deeper but he doesn’t so much as flex his abs. “Especially when you have no information on them,” he still doesn’t move an inch the whole time as I retract my claws and scape upwards a bit. I didn’t go too deep, he’ll heal in seconds from what I’ve learned from Star.

He leaned closer and adjusted his stance. He inserted the coin, and the machine hummed again. He grabbed the joystick, jaw clenched. He pressed the button. The claw went down and missed the wolf entirely. His brows furrowed. “It slipped.” “It didn’t even touch it.” “It was misaligned.” “Uh-huh.” He clicked his tongue and pulled out another coin. “Again.” Second try. He adjusted even more carefully this time. The claw caught the wolf by one ear. For a second, it looked promising. However, at the very last second, the wolf slipped and plopped back into the pile.

I had been at this for four minutes, which was three minutes longer than it should have taken, and the ceiling was right there, twelve inches above the surface of the water, and that gap was closing. I sucked in a breath and pushed up off the floor, fingers working the lock above the waterline, eyes stinging, lungs already complaining. The sequence was 7, 2, 11, 5. I had gotten seven and two. The third wheel kept slipping back to nine, and I did not understand why until my fingers found a groove in the mechanism on the underside, damage, old damage, something that had bent the wheel slightly so that eleven required extra pressure from the left to seat properly. I pressed left and turned.