Novel & Cerita Damian Wayne Weapon

Damon stood by the glass, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking dangerous and hungry. “Close the door,” he ordered. She did. “Damon, about last night—” He moved fast. In two strides he had her pinned against the cool glass, her back to the city. His big hand yanked her skirt up roughly around her waist. “Shut up,” he growled. “I’ve been hard all day thinking about this dripping cunt.” Before she could argue, he dropped to his knees right there in his expensive suit. His strong hands ripped her soaked panties down her legs and tossed them aside.

Wayne bows deeply and retreats, the door clicking shut behind him. Damian stands alone for a moment, the plan solidifying in his mind. He strips efficiently, shedding his clothes until his skin is bare to the air. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, already thickening with the anticipation of the hunt. He pulls a silk robe from the wardrobe, sliding the smooth fabric over his broad shoulders and tying it loosely at the waist. It hides nothing, the slit gaping open to reveal his muscular legs and the shadow of his manhood. He does not believe there is an omega alive who can resist him when he decides to make a move, and he intends to prove it tonight.

“I don’t do charity. I collect weapons. Right now you’re looking less like a broken asset and more like a serious fucking liability to my peace of mind.” “Are you afraid of a little fire, Damian?” Vivienne challenged, stepping so close the tips of her slippers touched his bare feet. “You watched me through that glass for days while the fluids ran through me. You saw every moment of my recovery. You know exactly what kind of monster you woke up.” “I’m not afraid of the fire, V,” he whispered, eyes darkening as he stared down at her flushed skin. “I’m the one who poured the fuel.” Before she could answer, Damian exploded forward with the same predatory speed he used on the bag. His large hand

At the center of the room lay the new weapon Damien had spoken so much about—the one that, in theory, could kill a lycan. Damien looked up from his workstation and his eyes lit up the moment he saw me. “You’re just in time,” he said with a rare grin. “We’ve made real progress.” The weapon was much smaller than I expected. Not bulky or intimidating, but sleek—almost elegant. A lightweight dart-like device with a silver casing, engraved with runes I didn’t recognize. I stepped closer to examine it, and Damien held it up proudly like a prized invention. “This is the latest version,” he explained, “refined for ease of use. You don’t throw it. It’s launched from a handheld tube. Minimal recoil. M

"We did, didn't we boys, show those jerks something!" "They won't attempt to steal one of our cows again, you can be sure of that" "Have you seen that opening shot? I adore my new rifle!" The final voice was heard to his left. Damien shifted his gaze carefully in order to get a better look at the person who had shot his second-in-command. The tall person held his weapon up for the other people to see while also pulling back his grass cover.

Teeth and tongue and the taste of whiskey from the gala. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “Stubborn little slut,” he murmurs. Almost fond. The driver clears his throat. “Two minutes.” Damian nods. Pulls a small black pistol from inside his jacket, compact, matte finish. Check the chamber. Hands it to me grip-first. “You know how to use this?” I take it. Heavy. Cold. “Range day with Tunde last year. I can shoot straight.” “Good.” He pulls another from a concealed holster at his ankle. Tucks it into his waistband. “Stay behind me. Only shoot if you have to. Aim center mass. Don’t hesitate.”

Damian stood up from where he was and the guards immediately knew what to do as they placed a bag over the heads of the VIPS and dragged them away leaving only the commissioner behind. "Where were we, commissioner?" Damian took out his custom made Glock 17 which was made outta pure gold. "I will never submit to you, Damian.... You can go ahead and kill me..." Miguel stubbornly said even though his back was completely covered in sweat.. "Oh don't worry I'm not gonna kill you, my love.... That would be too easy.." Damian rubbed his chin like he was in deep thoughts before snapping his fingers... "I think I know what to do with you, my dear friend..." Damian unhurriedly aimed at his forehead an

Damian got out of the car with quick and steady steps. The night breeze blew through his sweat-soaked black suit. His eyes swept over the rickety building in front of him - old, rusted, almost like a worn-out warehouse that was no longer in use. But inside, Yara... "Set up positions, do not enter until I give the signal," he told his men. "Yes, Mr. Damian," replied one of the gunmen behind him. Damian clenched his fists. His head was still throbbing from lack of sleep, but that didn't deter his anger. He took a deep breath, then kicked the warehouse door hard.

He asked as he cocked his gun to fire. Suddenly, a voice amplified by a bullhorn spoke, "Lower your weapon, Wayde! We've got you surrounded!" A frantic look entered Damian's eyes. "What did you do?" He asked Ash. "I didn't do anything." Ash replied, positioning himself in front of Jo in case Damian released a shot. "Yes, you did. You told them, didn't you? You think you're so smart! You'll die for this!" Damian said as he pulled the trigger. Ash glimpsed the bullet that came for him, and in that millisecond, he closed his eyes and embraced the world of pain he was about to enter, but the pain never came.

My whole body shook. This was real. This was actually happening. People were dying because of information I'd tried to steal. Well, it was definitely normal in their world. Damien moved away from me slightly. Drew a gun from inside his jacket. I didn't even know he'd been armed. "Stay here," he ordered. "Don't move." Then he was gone. Running toward the warehouse entrance. His men followed. They moved like a unit. I watched through gaps in the concrete as Damien entered the building. Watched as he shot men without hesitation. Without mercy. His aim was perfect. Every shot hit its target.