Tag Archives: fiction short story

Legacy Takedown — Part 1 – Fiction Short Story — Thriller — Romance

Warnings: Language, Violence.

The following short story deals with the subject matter of slave trafficking, reader discretion is advised.

Danno entered the casino where his father had instructed him to go. Finally, he was being trusted with something big, he knew, though his father had not told him the details. He had merely said to go and retrieve the package and then bring it to him at the business hotel.

Since his father, brother and he had moved to North America, Danno had been left in the dark for much of his father’s affairs, being the youngest son. Now he was in his early thirties, wondering what the hell he was going to do with his life if his brother were to inherit the business. Danno had always wanted to be part of his father’s hotel chain, wanted to learn how his father managed to negotiate so many deals that had made him the billionaire he was today. And yet he just felt something was missing.

He had turned to security and had trained to bodyguard his father as any loyal son would. He had worked hard to show his father that, just like his brother, he was ready to take on more responsibilities with the business.

‘Good evening, Mr. Igoshimi,’ a tall burly fellow said, ‘right this way.’

The American led Danno to a door at the back and into an elevator that took them down a few levels. He then led Danno into a backroom where stood two men, armed with repeaters, hovering around a computer. Danno noted the lack of security cameras down on this floor, and an uneasy feeling crept up his spine.

Danno’s escort bowed politely and left the three men alone to confer.

‘Mr. Igoshimi,’ one who had a southern accent said, ‘your father told us to expect you.’

‘Yes. I’m here to pick up the package,’ asserted Danno. Though he still had no clue what the package was.

‘Your father will find that she matches all the specifications indicated by him, except for a few details,’ said the other man. He winced. ‘But I assure you, your father will be more than pleased with her.’

Her? Danno wondered. ‘May I see her?’

‘Certainly, Mr. Igoshimi.’

The Americans led Danno through another door to a small room where sat a woman, wrists bound behind her, ankles bound, and mouth gagged.

Danno froze, his heart rising to his throat. He balled his hands into fists.

‘What is this?’ he hissed. ‘This is the package?’

The American men winced further. ‘We apologise that she is not as young as the others we provided for him,’ began one of them. Danno clenched his jaw, feeling disgusted at the realisation before him. ‘But I promise she will not disappoint.’

Danno slowly walked to the woman. She looked no more than a few years older than him, perhaps mid-thirties, with dark wavy hair falling below her shoulders; her face was stricken with sweat.

Danno gently removed the gag from her mouth. ‘What is your name?’

‘Aliana,’ she replied.

Danno swallowed, knowing instinctively what he had to do. After years of trying to prove to his father that he was just as worthy as his brother, he now understood what this life meant if he walked down that same road.

‘Aliana,’ breathed Danno, ‘close your eyes for me. Can you do that?’

She nodded and closed her eyes.

Danno whirled on the two men, whipping his gun up, and shot them in quick succession in the chest. They fell dead before they knew what was happening.

Danno spun around to face Aliana. ‘I’m going to get you out of here.’


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Gauging the Murderer – Fiction Short Story — Detective — Mystery

Igby pored over the documentation regarding the evidence of the agency’s latest victim.

‘What are we missing?’ he asked his colleague.

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ replied Sylvie. ‘We’ve got a body, no prints, no murder weapon, we searched the crime scene thoroughly.’

‘And we questioned all possible suspects the victim was in contact with recently,’ completed Igby. ‘Do we know anything about him, aside from the fact that he was an early retiree bodyguard who worked with many prestigious figures?’

‘He moved to the U.S. a few years ago,’ replied Sylvie, ‘but nothing indicates that during his time living here he made any enemies.’

‘Could someone from the U.K. have followed him, wanted revenge, maybe an enemy of someone he worked for?’

‘He worked for so many important people; ministers, C.E.O.s, the Princess,’ Sylvie listed. ‘It would be hard to pinpoint any link to any of their enemies and we know all these folks rack up a number of people who want to take them down.’

‘A large number of people, who are already behind bars or six feet under thanks to our victim’s diligent work,’ concluded Igby. ‘All right, maybe we missed something at the crime scene. Let’s go back, see if we find anything new.’

‘Lead the way!’

After several hours of going over the same scene, and finding the same evidence, Igby and Sylvie still came up empty.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said slowly walking around the rich home’s living room. ‘He’s got all these elaborate weapons on display, and yet none of them is the murder weapon.’

‘Our murderer went for something small and simple, something that doesn’t stand out…evidently.’ Igby continued to look around as he spoke. ‘A few millimetres in diameter, that’s the size of the puncture wound in the neck. Nothing here fits that.’

‘And there are signs of minimal struggle,’ added Sylvie, ‘meaning our victim was caught off guard. Maybe he knew his murderer.’ Sylvie stopped and stared at the couch where the struggle took place. ‘Mr. Preston bled out. Probably had a few moments to realize he was done for before he died.’

‘Probably saw his murderer’s face,’ mused Igby, as he looked at his reflection in the lavish mirror that hung on the wall next to a great broadsword that looked like something out of the sixteen hundreds. Through the reflection, he saw dawn was minutes away. He turned to Sylvie. ‘Maybe, we need to search outside the box.’

‘We’ve gone through this crime scene and searched the entire house thrice over,’ noted Sylvie.

‘But did we search outside thrice over?’

‘You think we missed something out there?’ asked Sylvie.

‘It’s worth taking a look.’

‘You’re the boss.’

They headed outside. Igby let out a low whistle. ‘Every time I see that barbecue it baffles me. It’s huge and looks so elaborate. Look at it.’

‘They’re called eggs,’ Sylvie replied, a teasing smile on her lips. ‘They’re considered the best charcoal barbecues on the market.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t look so astonished, Mister I-Only-Cook-Craft-Dinners.’

‘Hey, that’s not true and you know it!’ Igby protested, pointing at her.

Suddenly the wet spray of water splashed Igby’s pants as the sprinklers went off. ‘Oh, for the love of…’

‘Hey, Igby? Are sprinklers supposed to sputter like that?’

Igby looked about the backyard. The sprinklers had started, but the sound and rhythm seemed inconsistent, as though something somewhere was blocking the water from flowing properly. He glanced at the bunched-up hose.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ Sylvie pressed.

Igby smirked. ‘Small in diameter, long and slender enough to fit inside a hose? It’s worth a shot.’

‘Hopefully, we can get something from it, if it’s in there, the murder weapon. Water will have washed out all the blood but…’ Sylvie turned off the sprinkler system.

Together, they unravelled the long hose and began feeling it.

‘Gotcha!’ Sylvie breathed, pressing down on a section. She cut the hose open and pulled out a long, thin barbecue thermometer gauge. ‘Well, what do you know?’

Igby grinned. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’


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Fateful Revelations – Fiction Short Story — Fantasy

Ortigan stood before Lord Aju, his head hung low, as Lord Aju proceeded to explain the task he was sending him on. It was a dangerous mission and he just could not understand why Lord Aju was sending him on this mission of all the knights he had at his disposal. Ortigan was but a page, he didn’t even know how to fight, let alone pick up a sword.

‘Why me, Lord? Why me?’ was all Ortigan could say once Lord Aju was done.

‘It’s My Lord, when you are addressing me,’ Lord Aju bellowed.

‘Yes, My Lord.’ Ortigan bowed in supplication. ‘My apologies, My Lord.’

‘And why you?’ Lord Aju chuckled sinisterly, a crooked grin spreading across his face. ‘You will find out when you reach the tombs.’

‘Yes, My Lord.’ Ortigan bowed again. ‘I will depart immediately.’

He bowed and left for the armoury, where he fumbled a bit, trying to get a sword’s scabbard tied to his belt.

The tombs were a dangerous place where dwelt sinister beings, he was told. It was said that any knight Lord Aju sent there died perilously. Ortigan didn’t stand a chance. Lord Aju was sending him to his death, for he had somehow failed him in his service, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to go down without at least trying to fight.

The young page took a horse and rode all day towards the graveyard where these tombs stood deserted and desecrated. Ortigan dismounted a few feet away from the gate that gave access to the graveyard.

A gloomy fog hovered above the ground, making it difficult to see where he was stepping. Ortigan stumbled forward, tripping on a large rock and stepping into a puddle. He lifted his boot and realized he had not stepped in water or mud, but blood.

A chill ran down his spine and he froze in place.

He wanted to turn back, but then where would he go? The next kingdom was days away; they were enemies of Lord Aju’s. If they let him in and Ortigan survived, he would forever be hunted by Lord Aju’s knights as a traitor. If he ran and never returned, he would be hunted as a deserter. And if he continued, he would be killed by the beings that haunted the tombs.

So Ortigan, the young page who had failed every test he’d been given to prove himself worthy of apprenticeship, merely stood there, petrified by the possibility of death.

Something in the distance moved, a figure shaped like a human. Ortigan took a step towards it, unsheathing the sword he had at his belt. A laugh reached his ears, oddly enough, a hearty laugh.

A man stepped forward, perhaps in his middle age, wielding a large broadsword.

‘Did anyone ever teach you how to even hold a sword before, boy?’

‘I…’ Ortigan stammered.

‘So now instead of sending his seasoned knights, for he knows they will not return, Lord Aju sends a mere boy?’

‘I’m thirteen, sir!’ Ortigan retorted angrily, feeling insulted. He was not just a mere boy.

‘You are brave, I’ll give you that?’ the man remarked. He studied Ortigan. ‘Did Lord Aju even tell you what he was sending you here for?’

‘He told me there was a magical artefact hidden in the tombs and that I was to retrieve it,’ stated the lad.

‘There is. It is the subject of war. Lord Aju has tried to take it before. I am one of those who guard it. Through these tombs, not only lies this magical item, but the passage to my kingdom. It is a secret passage to a hidden kingdom. Lord Aju knows this because he once came from this kingdom, before he was usurped and banished for being a murderer and tyrant. He founded his own kingdom and keeps sending knights to retrieve the magic that allows my kingdom to remain safe.’

Your kingdom?’

‘Yes. My name is King Tristan Draelawell. I rule the lands beyond that passage. I knew Lord Aju would send another, I sensed it needed to be me who would guard the way this night. I did not expect to encounter such a young and unseasoned fighter. I am conflicted in knowing I must kill you. Perhaps Lord Aju knew this.’


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Daring Defiance – Fiction Short Story — Romance — Drama

Warnings: Violence, Language.

Vincent woke up, groggily regaining awareness, and for a moment, he felt happy, before a pang punched deep into his heart, wrenching him back to reality, and a wail escaped his lips.

Vincent reached for Olivia’s arm, pulling her back to him. ‘Livvy, please, don’t go. I’m begging you!’

‘Let go of me, Vincent,’ shouted Olivia.

Vincent let go and took a step back. ‘Please, stay,’ he whispered.

‘We have nothing to say to each other,’ Olivia sneered.

‘Livvy,’ began Vincent.

‘Don’t “Livvy” me. God, Vincent, do you even love me?’

‘Of course, I do!’ The shock of the question hit Vincent like the punch in the gut he’d received earlier. ‘Livvy, you’re my world!’ Again, Vincent pleaded for Livvy to stay.

‘Then tell me, where were you tonight and what were you doing?’ demanded Olivia.

Vincent opened his mouth to speak but merely bowed his head. He swallowed. ‘I can’t tell you.’

Olivia let out a mirthless laugh. ‘You know, I thought you were different.’

‘What is that supposed to mean, Olivia?’ Vicent moved to block her path as she turned towards the door. ‘You’re the one who told me every other guy you dated disappeared. Have I disappeared? No. I’m still here because I love you!’

‘Then why won’t you tell me where you were? Why you have a black eye and a swollen lip? Why your hair is dishevelled and you’re acting shifty as though you’ve been in a fight?’

‘I…’ Vincent hesitated. ‘I can’t tell you.’ Tears stung his eyes at the hurt in Olivia’s eyes.

Olivia’s voice came out a seething half-whisper. ‘You’re just like my brother, Vincent; you’re dangerous. Men who aren’t dangerous don’t get into fights they can’t tell the woman they love about.’

Vincent merely stared at Olivia, trembling.

‘It’s over between us, Vincent.’

‘Olivia, please!’ Vincent reached over to take her hand and she flinched away. ‘How can you say that? We have plans.’

‘Move out of the way!’

Vincent and Olivia stared at each other for what felt like an eternity of anguish before Vincent relented and moved aside. Olivia wrenched the door open and, pausing at the threshold, whispered. ‘I never want to see you again.’ Olivia slammed the door.

Leaning his back against the wall, Vincent slid down into a crouch, weeping.

Opening his tear-filled eyes, Vincent reached over to Olivia’s side of the bed, the side where she had lain so many times after they made love. His heart ached for her.

A jolt in his ribs elicited a grunt from him.

Vincent raised his hands to protect his face as a fist came towards his jaw. An uppercut from the side sent him sprawling to the ground.

Kaidan loomed above Vincent for a beat before kicking him in the stomach. Vincent grunted, curling up. Kaidan’s friend kicked Vincent’s back and Vincent cried out.

Kaidan crouched and grabbed Vincent by the hair, yanking his head back. ‘I’m telling you to stay the hell away from my sister,’ he growled. ‘Maybe you thought I wasn’t being serious?’

Vincent heaved painfully as Kaidan’s friend punched him in the ribs.

‘Tell me you’re going to stay away from her!’

‘I don’t have to tell you anything,’ Vincent sneered defiantly.

Letting go of Vincent’s hair, Kaidan punched Vincent in the face again, sending his head jolting back before he grabbed his hair again. ‘Wrong answer. You’re going to stay away from my sister, and if you don’t, I’ll kill you.’

‘Do your worst!’ Vincent spat blood onto the pavement.


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