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Captain Of Can'ts
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2025-07-25 22:52:51
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You're Mine, Damon Sinclair The Guest
The corridor outside Naomi’s ward smelled of antiseptic and floor polish. Damon stood with his back to the wall, phone pressed tight to his ear, eyes on the window at the end of the hall.Patrick’s voice hissed through the speaker, low and urgent. “We found the man who tampered with the cameras. He’s trying to get out of town. I’ve already sent men after him. He won’t make it to the airport.”Damon’s jaw tightened. “Bring him in alive.”“We will try our best sir.” Patrick said. He had seen a fair share of situations like this and it's almost impossible to catch men who have everything to lose alive. “You will,” Damon said, an edge in his tone. “I want a name out of his mouth before he stops breathing.”Patrick didn’t argue. The line went dead. Damon lowered the phone and stared at the screen for a beat, his reflection ghosting across it. The rage under his skin was a living thing, clawing to get out.He turned toward Naomi’s room just as a hand clamped down on his shoulder.Damon sp
You're Mine, Damon Sinclair Butterflies
The door opened on a soft hiss of hinges.Naomi glanced up from the tray on her lap. She was sitting upright against the pillows, hair still damp from the sponge bath the nurse had given her, hospital gown gaping a little at one shoulder. She’d been scrolling idly through her phone but her thumb froze when she saw who came in.Damon.He filled the doorway in his black coat, one hand carrying a small overnight bag. His tie was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up. His eyes found hers immediately and softened.But he looked way better than he did earlier that morning before she dozed off into a medical induced sleep. She had told him to go home, take a shower at least and maybe pack a few change of clothes for himself if he plans to spend every day with her at the hospital. “You’re awake,” he said.“I’ve been awake,” she replied. “You’re late.”She gave him two hours to get done and be on his way back. She didn't want to be alone. Not when they were yet to find out who tried to kill her..“I
You're Mine, Damon Sinclair The Last Thing
It was lunch break and everyone was excited to head to the cafeteria. Today's meal on the roaster was something everyone looked forward to.She should have joined the rest of the team but she needed to use the bathroom. Naomi hurried towards the bathroom on their floor, trying to hide just how pressed she was while working rather quickly. She has always had a terrible bladder and she knew damned well that holding it longer than necessary would only be detrimental. She found an empty cubicle and did her business and sighed in relief. Now she can head for the cafeteria to join the rest of her team. By the time she made it out of the restroom, the entire floor was empty. She strode towards the elevator,she needed to join the rest of her team at the cafeteria too. She pulled a stop at the caution sign right in front of the elevator. It wasn't working.Just great! Her only option was the stairs. She made her way towards the stairs and it was completely dark. The lights went off sudden
You're Mine, Damon Sinclair Its All A Game
The Bentley rolled to a stop in front of Clara’s estate just after eight that evening. A steady rain had started, streaking the windscreen and turning the driveway into a slick mirror. Damon stayed in the car for a moment, his fist clenched and eyes as dark as a storm, fixed on the gates leading into the mansion. The house looked like it had been lifted out of a glossy magazine: a marble portico, the faint smell of wet roses drifting in the damp air.One of Aaron's many properties that Clara had forcefully claimed as hers..Lewis leaned forward from the driver’s seat. “Do you want us inside with you?”“No,” Damon said without looking at him. “Wait in the car. If you hear shouting, then you come in.”He stepped out into the rain. By the time he reached the front steps the shoulders of his coat were wet. He pressed the doorbell once. Footsteps padded on marble inside, quick and eager. The lock turned and the door swung open.Amanda stood framed in the doorway in a silk wrap, her hair
You're Mine, Damon Sinclair Sealing The Merger
Runes slammed the back door of the courthouse hard enough for the brass handle to rattle. Cameras were still flashing at the main entrance, but his driver had pulled the car around to the service lane to avoid the crowd. Even so, a few freelancers spotted him and shouted questions about “losing a billion” and “Thea Blackwood’s counter-suit.”He yanked the collar of his coat higher and ducked into the waiting Bentley. The door thudded shut. The sounds outside his window dulled. For a moment he just sat there, fists trembling on his knees, feeling the engine idle beneath him.“Sir…” began Fred, sliding in beside him.“Don’t.” Runes’s voice was flat and dangerous. “Not a word.”The lawyer shut his mouth and stared at his briefcase. The car eased into traffic. Through the tinted glass Runes could see the courthouse move out of his view.How the hell could he have missed that? His eyes darted to his lawyer, full of rage. How could he have missed that Thea would counter sue him?! “You're
You're Mine, Damon Sinclair Who Even Is Jack?!
The black Mercedes slid through mid-morning traffic, its windows tinted so dark they turned the bright city into a blurred filmstrip. Damon sat in the back seat, jacket off, phone pressed to his ear while Patrick’s voice filled the cabin with the day’s schedule. He was halfway through the rundown when another call flashed on the screen.Jack.Damon’s thumb hovered over the screen. He hadn’t spoken directly to Jack in months. They communicated through lawyers, intermediaries, and whispers at board meetings. The fact that he was calling now meant only one thing: Jack wanted to show his hand.“End the call, Patrick,” Damon said quietly. “Reschedule everything for this morning.”“Yes, sir,” Patrick said, confused, but the line went dead.Damon accepted the incoming call. “Why the hell are you calling me?”“Wasn't thinking you would still have my number.” Jack replied, his voice warm and perfectly measured. “We need to talk.”“Talk about what?”“Meet me at Madison Café, thirty minutes.”D
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