Damien Thorn South Park Novels & Stories

Is this real. Damien appeared in the doorway seconds later. He crossed the room and read the email over her shoulder. His jaw tightened but the bond stayed calm and open. No lie. No hidden guilt. He pulled his own phone and called Marcus on speaker. “Check the border logs from last Tuesday. Thorne sent Zara a message claiming I was trading land.”

He murmered under his breath but I heard it. "Oh really? Well then you are a Feisty snake, feisty lion, feisty panda, Feisty frog, Feisty....Feisty coakroach, feisty dove...." I was interrupted by a loud sound of someone laughing. On turning to look at the front, it was the one and only, Mr.Damien. "What?!" I asked angrily. "Seriously....like....wait.....let me....stop!" He kept on laughing holding his stomach. When his laugh died down that had caused water to seep out of his eyes, he stood straight with a his stupid smile on his face.

"Molly has been riding my ass for working too much." Damien scoffed and drew hard on his cigarette. He only smoked one brand of ciggies: Sobranie Black Russians. They were manufactured and exclusively packed in Old Bond Street in London. Damien's taste in everything was very specific and distinctive. Everyone knew that. Damien only wanted the highest quality in everything. He never settled for economy when he could always get first class. "Your old lady's got you chained by the balls, man. That's what you get for not chasing other poontang when you had the chance in college. Even Sally was hot for your ass."

Damian. 'Can I... record this?' ***

Greg said. For a moment, Liam was starting to get used to Greg's way of greeting his secretary, but each time, it sent an ick down his stomach, and although he was oblivious, now he knew why. “I can't believe this….. Mr Thorne, you called me out for a prank.” Jessica said, breaking with a slight chuckle at intervals of her words. “Nah… just messing with you,” Liam said. “I called you out for a different reason.” He started.

Julian Thorne was the cold, professional shark Damian was working with, the guy who was supposed to be dropping the environmental scandal. I entered the default password for basic corporate files (a simple one I knew from my time at Richard Holdings) and the video opened. It wasn’t a corporate file. It was a grainy video of a private meeting. The camera was hidden high in a dark, expensive restaurant booth. Declan and Tasha were sitting at a table with the cold eyed predator himself, Julian Thorne. My blood turned to ice. They weren’t just plotting a takeover, they were working with Damian’s most aggressive ally.

The ones that stayed were squeaky clean. It was in the tagged photos that she saw Amelia out at expensive restaurants, not with teammates, but with strangers. Older men. One in particular kept showing up. Damien Thorne. The name hit her like ice water. Damien was more than just a financial advisor. He was the syndicate’s golden boy with slick suit, perfect smile and a reputation for making athletes “rich.” He’d been on the periphery of the investigation into the men’s side, but they’d never pinned anything on him.

Mister Yair checked Damian with medical equipment and soon came to a conclusion. "Mister Yair, how is Damian?" Patrick blurted out asking. "If I'm not mistaken, Damian has been attacked and suffered damages to his nerves in the past, which worsen over time, rendering him immobile," Mister Yair said confidently. "Yes, that's right. I've indeed suffered injuries before at the hands of the Libertons." Damian nodded. The Libertons were the Scammells' competitors in business and Damian had been involved in a conflict with the Libertons two years ago, which ended with him being injured by a few Libertons. Since then, he started experiencing discomfort in his legs, which progressed into a complete

i forgot how to breath. Damon Darkthorn stood at the diner entrance.he looked….different.five years had carved him something much worse.His shoulders were broader,he had a scar across his jaw.the suit he wore looked so expensive.worth more than my yearly check.his icy blue eyes didn’t look as cold as before,they looked empty.longing. Darian stepped in just behind him.Same face,same scar which I assumed where marks from war.But his eyes,oh God of the moon.They looked hunted.Troubled.

I scrolled to the name: Markus Thorne. Thorne was a reporter for a major sports investigative desk, known for his hostility toward established club owners and his particular venom for Titan Energy’s monopolistic practices. He wanted Damian's blood; I just intended to deliver it in small, precise doses. I pressed the call button, ensuring my voice was low, flat, and entirely professional. “Thorne,” I greeted when he picked up on the second ring.