Devin Booker Car Novels & Stories

My Emily, I'd kill anyone that lays a filthy hand on her. Devin was still standing at the corner of the barboy. He was on a black padded shell bomber jacket and fitted black jeans. He was quaffing and looking at him turned my tummy. His black hair was neatly cut and it fell on his sides. I kept moving without direction as Devin distracted me and made me swell with so much anger. I stood for a minute and sat at the barboy's stool ordering a glass of distilled whiskey. I was letting Devin get me overly irritated and it sucked.

ALICE Devon's face was hard, his jaw set in a tight line. He cut a quick glance sideways, his eyes locking onto mine through the glass for a split second before he slammed his foot down on the pedal. In an instant, it turned into a terrifying race between Devon and the man driving the cab. Cars screeched around us as Devon kept trying to block the cab and force it off the road. "I would hate to have two people die on me today," the man said with a cold chuckle, accelerating even faster.

I hit the stone floor hard enough to rattle my teeth. Pain shot through my ribs, my burned thigh screaming, but the shock only lasted a heartbeat. Then I saw him. Devon Warner stood on the podium in Simon’s place, black suit hugging every lethal inch of him, that faint white scar on his throat glowing under the torchlight like a taunt. My lips curved before I could stop them. A smirk. “I knew you wouldn’t just die like that,” I said, voice rough but steady.

That it wasn’t worth the drive down there and back, just for a small appointment. I actually hated him for how he was treating our daughter, and I hated him for making me miss important things like this. She was in Forks, hours away from family and friends, going to important appointments alone. I’d never forgiven him. I sat down on the sofa and just carried on reading my book. The men were talking about something completely uninteresting to me and watching something.. Once again, completely uninteresting. My phone started buzzing and when I looked I saw it was Alex calling.

“I just got off work and we came out here to get some privacy.” The cop’s headlights gave me enough light to see him once he swayed into the beams. “You look familiar,” he said. “What’s your name?” I glanced at his uniform for the first time and realized he was a Zachary cop, and not from Baton Rouge. Josie tensed beside me. My mother didn’t leave our family with a good reputation. “Maverick Booker.” “I thought so,” he said. “The football king, huh? Well, too bad I know where you grew up. You mind emptying your pockets for me, son?”

A figure stepped out of the vapor, walking slowly, deliberately onto the grated steel. It was Devon. He was alive, dressed in a sharp, pristine suit, totally unmarked by the brutal execution Noah had witnessed. But his eyes were utterly blank, devoid of his usual arrogant spark. In his right hand, he held a sleek, silver briefcase. In his left hand, he held a phone, pressed to his ear. “Hello, Ethan,” Devon said, his voice terrifyingly calm, completely stripped of his usual cynicism. Ethan stared at his architect, the betrayal hitting him harder than the gunshot. “Devon. What have you done?”

I took a sip and asked if neither of them wanted a glass. “Boss, we're working.” Finn interjected. “Mmmhmm, alright.”. “Tell me, Finn, do you have enough detail on Devon?”. “Yes, the driver he contacted upon arrival is on our side.” I smiled. “How's that enough?” “We know Devon to be thorough; if we have his driver, we have a close proximity to his location, and if there's another thing we know, Devon trusts his drivers; hence he tends to use just one for his missions, and old habits die.

They played in a loop, a sinister lullaby. She didn’t have time to dwell. A black car waited near the runway, idling like it knew her name. The driver—silent, built like a boxer, face unreadable—opened the door without a word. Inside the car was a leather folder. Her name etched on the cover in silver ink. She opened it cautiously. OPERATION: VELVET DAGGER Target: Viktor Novák. Czech arms financier. Connected to Serrano’s European network. Allegedly supplies weapons to breakaway factions in Eastern Europe and West Africa.

They can help me find out who’s behind the strawberry incident. My car makes a sudden halt in front of the lounge, it’s massive. Devon’s black sedan is already waiting for me, he comes out of his car wearing a light cashmere sweater, his light dark hair slightly wet as if he just came out of the shower. “You made it.” My voice is hell bright, Devon eyes me wistfully before making his way into the lounge, it reeks of cocktails and money. Devon leads me to the elevator and he presses the secret button that takes us down.

I said, smiling at him. If there was one comfort in all of this, it was that Ezra was safe away from the evils of Blacktree. They would never get their claws in him again. He would be safe here. “Hey, while you were with Ezekiel, did you ever come across someone named Devon? He’s about 6’4, pale skin, shaggy brown hair, and has a jagged scar on his right cheek?” Ezra squinted in concentration as he thought for a moment before nodding slowly.