The next time Marcus opened his eyes, it was under a starry sky on the terrace of a house. And the first thing his eyes fell upon were three men seated on recliners, watching him. "He is awake!" The one in the middle called out as he stood up and walked towards. He has the exact demeanor of a bodyguard, just like Alexander; he is not very big but muscular and his red shirt complimented him just fine. "Wakey wakey sleepyhead," A familiar voice said. Marcus turned to see an even more familiar face; it was the black man, one of the thugs that had attacked him and Alexander two nights ago at the club. Marcus would have thought he learned a lesson on their last encounter with the death of his friend, but of course not. That murderous look of hatred was still present and Marcus began to fear his fate. "You will die a horrible death tonight, Marc C," The black man said, coming up to stand beside the Red shirt guy. "And I will be the last face you see so you can tell your
"Wait," Marcus thought to himself as he looked at the projected screen displaying a list of the top three donors to the cause. "I donated a hundred million dollars?" He wasn't even listening to the part where Mr. Valentine explained the cause of the fundraiser and its objectives. Hell, he has no idea when or how he donated a hundred million dollars, all he knows is that the spotlight shone on him for being the highest donor. As for why everyone seems to be looking at him? He has no idea. "Uh, haha!" Mr. Valentine laughed nervously, "Looks like Marc C is not in the mood to indulge us tonight." "Marcus has always been like a son to me. We used to be close in his teenage years and do fun things together." Marcus frowned; his mind trying to reconcile the Mr. Valentine that attended his graduation ceremony out of high school and the Trevor Valentine that Alexander is so sure is the villain of this story. "And I'm more than happy to see that even though our lives
Phoenix is not a very big city, but it houses a lot of wealthy folks. And one of the few occasions you find all of them together is a fundraiser. Marcus rolled up to the red carpet and stepped out in his tux to meet a multitude of reporters taking pictures of his every move as he walked up the stairs to enter the main Lounge. Even though Marcus enjoyed being flashed in front of dozens of cameras and the luxury of Chateau Luxe complimented him, he still doesn't like fundraisers. With a shallow sigh, Marcus moved through the lounge and every head turned to look at him at least once. And most of them would walk up to him to compliment his looks or declare themselves a fan. But more than half the time, they came to offer their belated condolences on the death of his parents in a car crash; mentioning how charitable his father was and what a good man he was. Marcus quickly found his way to the main hall, where the main event would be held, only to find it unoccupied. Th
A blinding light beaconed Sara out of her sweet dreams and brought her awake. The first thing that registered was the sore in her love parts and the slight ache in her waist. Then the joy of the previous night came to her and she smiled in contentment. "Looks like you are having the morning of your life, huh?" Sara's eyes snapped open at the feminine voice. That's when she realized she was alone in bed and the company waking her up was not the one she had hoped would wake her up. "What are you doing in here?" Sara asked, sitting up in bed and holding the linen covers under her armpits and close to her chest. "Where is Marc C?" "Mr. Hellstinger has more important things to do than sending you on your way this morning," Alexander said in a mocking formal tone. "What are you...?" Sara started, but Alexander cut her off. "Don't you get it?" She asked, "You did your job at the precinct, got your boobs autographed, and even had the sex of your life from your cel
Tasha has known Marcus for almost a decade and a half; through his senior years in high school, and she has been his manager for seven years now. And yet, the work hasn't gotten any easier. Especially when Tasha has been left in charge. Currently, Big Joe and Bobby are making a mess of everything in the Family room as they play another round of blackjack with Sara as their dealer. She had tried to keep the two bouncers in check; to stop them from spilling drinks on the rugs, caution their rough handling of the side stools, and the snacks they keep munching and spilling. All to no avail. And Sara didn't help. Although unfamiliar with any of them and without a valid reason to still be in the Manor after sunset, her boldness and social skills were beyond anything Tasha could ever dream of. The level of sass with which the lawyer used to shoot Tasha's attempts down was almost dominating. Now, Tasha has retired to the bar area of the Family room with her iPad in hand,
There is a difference between getting punched by a thug and getting punched by a combat expert. Marcus already figured that out. "...adapt!" The word came in perfect synchrony with a backhanded blow that landed right on his left temple and left Marcus seeing stars. "...find your opportunity!" Marcus was still reeling in the effects of the blow when a powerful downward blow landed on the same spot. On impact, Marcus felt himself fade in and out of consciousness as he went straight to the ground. "Finish your enemy." He felt a heavy foot on his chest that punctuated the end of the lesson. "You are dead," Alexander said, looking down at a disoriented Marcus on the floor, whimpering. She frowned; "Are you crying?" Marcus could feel numerous aches in almost every part of his body. When Master Keep said his training would start immediately, he had envisioned something like training his patience by slapping a bowl of water or something. Like in movie
"You're saying Cynthia is my cousin?" Marcus said in a high-pitched voice; involuntarily pacing the width of the tunnel. "I kissed, and smooched, and did all kinds of stuff with my cousin!?" "She is not your cousin, Marcus, calm down," Alexander said. "Oh really!" Marcus laughed in disbelief. "Isn't Mr. Valentine my Uncle? Oh my God, now it makes sense. You never wanted Cynthia and me together. I am not as close to her as I would like. That's why you keep telling me to get rid of her, you devious fuck-shit." "I said calm down, Marcus," Alexander's voice had changed tone. It's no longer calm and collected, it sounds like she is on the verge of exploding in his face. "She cheated on you back in high school and you still held that grudge. Don't push that on me." Alexander said, watching him pace up and down the width of the tunnel. "And she isn't your cousin for the love of God, calm down!" "Okay. Okay, I'm calm. I'm all cool and calm." He said, still pacing.
Mariposa County is known for a lot of things, but none of those things can relate to the Hellstinger Manor situated four miles out of the town's limits. It had been there before Mariposa was civilized, it was said to have been built even before Phoenix City became a thing. Underneath this great building is an entire mansion. Although now covered in cobwebs and dust from decades of neglect, it is still the greatest value of the Manor. "Are you ready?" Marcus did a sharp intake, blinking subconsciously repeatedly, and clenching and unclenching his fist. He nodded to Alexander, and on cue, she pushed the bronze door open with all her might; groaning. "Holy freaking shit." Marcus could not believe his eyes as he flashed his portable electric lamp around in awe. He vaguely heard Alexander chuckle and move around, but he didn't pay heed. "Wait until I find the power switch," Alexander said and true to her words, as soon as she pulled the power switch, electricity ra
Twenty years. It had been twenty years since Matt Hang had an encounter with Alexander, and it still ended the same. Except for this time, his mind wasn't flashing back and forth from a ten-year-old Alexandria presenting a chipped coffee mug with world-best-grandma painted on its sides; she had canceled out grandma and wrote dad with an erasable marker. To a seventeen-year-old rebellious Alexander pushing him off the roof to evade arrest. This time, his mind remained constant on the memory of the last time he saw her; the Hunters' protege, Dark Blade, dressed in an all-black unitard with a sword - stained with the blood of a dozen men - in one hand; pointing a gun at his head with the other. Although she denies it, Matt knows it was Alexander. How could he not? For almost a decade, he had been free of the horror and the sting of betrayal. But with Alexander back in his life, there is only so much he can do to prevent the flashbacks. And what did she come bac