Michael Vey 9 Novels & Stories

He looked at Gerald with eyes that had seen too many wars. "Listen to me," Michael said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "Call every elite guard we have. Bring in every mercenary who owes the Valente family a favor. I don’t care what it costs or how many men you need. I want Evan tied up and dragged in front of me. I want him here within twenty-four hours. Go." Gerald nodded quickly, his face full of resolve. "Yes, sir. It will be done." Gerald turned and walked down the long, dim hallway, his footsteps fading into the distance. Michael didn't watch him go. He turned back to the window, his gaze locking onto Lorenzo’s still body again.

"I don't know the names of your streets. I wouldn't know how to walk on your roads. But I know you were in my kitchen, and I know I held you in the mud. That’s enough for me." "Elina! The grid is dropping!" Michael yelled from the edge of the yellow circle. He wasn't reaching for me anymore; his hands were out to balance himself as the stone slab beneath his feet tilted another three inches into the gray soup below. His eyes were wide, looking between the countdown numbers on Leo's phone and the way my fingers were still lingering on Kai Feng’s arm.

My fingers tightly gripped the canvas straps of my thrifted duffel bag, the faded fabric a stark contrast to the pristine, stitched leather beneath me. ​"You're going to burn a hole through the glass if you keep staring at it like that," a low, gravelly voice cut through the hum of the engine. ​I didn't turn my head. I didn't need to. I could see his reflection in the window—the sharp, arrogant line of his jawline, now marred by a faint, fading purple bruise from the industrial warehouse brawl. Michael "Mike" Weller. Nineteen years old, standing at a towering six-foot-three, with a mop of golden blonde hair that looked effortlessly styled even when he'd just rolled out of bed. He wore a simp

Chapter 25 "We are here," Mike looked up as his driver stopped the car in front of his company. He had been unusually bubbly today, which got his driver confused as for the first time, Mike strikes a long conversation with him. It disarmed him and thrilled him at the same time.

The man fought desperately, "I didn't do anything! I'm being framed! You have no evidence, you can't detain me..." Damien pointed to the surveillance camera above and said to the officers, "There's a camera up there. You can check the footage. As for my wife, she's had too much to drink, so I'll take her home..."

Farther away, Dad Number Seven, Joe, had brought in a squad of blond-haired international mercenaries. Their firepower was overwhelming, completely cutting off every possible escape route for the enemy. I sat in the freezing basement chair, staring at the flames and gunfire flashing across the surveillance screens. My hands were trembling, but my eyes had never been steadier. Suddenly, “Boom!” A deafening explosion shook the room. Behind me, the safe room door, the one supposedly capable of withstanding rocket attacks, was blown open with a massive hole.

I said, my fingers flying as I initiated the "Ventilation Flush." I tapped into the foundry’s massive, soot-choked exhaust fans. The motors groaned, a sound like a giant waking from a coma, and then the air began to move. The smoke didn't just clear; it was sucked upward in a violent, artificial gale, revealing the remaining three mercenaries huddling behind a rusted coal car. "They're exposed, Enzo! Sector 9!" But as I watched the map, a new signature appeared. It wasn't coming from the gate. It was coming from the roof.

****The text****** Good morning chief, Michael here. I’m safe and the comare has appointed me to be one of her security detail. I'm trying to get all the evidence to arrest her but Mario, her second in command, is yet to trust me and I am yet to get involved with all their business. As of now some men were either released or killed when I was captured. Only the 3 of us survived their intense training. And you will be surprised to know that the comare is ….. ****End of text*****

One of the two men suddenly flung open his coat and what appeared to be a Fostech Origin 12 shotgun came out of his side from the vast collection of guns that were hanging underneath. He emptied it, spraying the security guard with bullets that were being emitted at almost thirty rounds in less than eight seconds before turning back to his counterpart. The sound of bullets threw everyone present in the facility into panic, with people running to hide under their working tables. Moments later, the two men were seen running out of the facility, carrying a large metallic box and got into a truck. ★★★ Mr. Gilbert took over from the reception, applying his knowledge on History with the students f

“She’s being transported west, heading toward the outskirts of the city. I’ll send you the coordinates.” Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Good. We’re on our way.” He ended the call and turned to his team. “Move out,” he ordered. “We’re bringing her home.” The convoy of sleek black SUVs tore through the city streets, their engines roaring as they raced toward Evelyn’s location. Michael sat in the lead vehicle, his expression grim as he went over the plan in his head. “She’ll be fine,” one of his men assured him. “She has to be,” Michael replied, his voice barely above a whisper.