Devon Debauchery Novels & Stories

Kylie pulls her hand from my grip, flustered, throwing a dirty glare at Lyla. “Nah, what's the fun in that? Go on, tiger, pounce on me. But remember, you run that dirty little mouth of yours, and I'll show you exactly how foul I can be.” Lyla glowered. I go up to my locker and pull the things out that I require. I just want to get out of this hallway as soon as possible. I don't want them hurting Kylie or anyone else for that matter. Suddenly, I hear heavy breathing behind me. I turn around to find that it's Devon. Devon is known for organizing rave parties at his farmhouse often. It is rumored that he drugs girls and sleeps with them. He stands uncomfortably close to me, hovering all over m

Devon knew she was being sarcastic on purpose, but he didn't have a word to refute. His mansion has always relied on monthly commissions from Tibble Corporation shares. Recently, Tibble Group was attacked by Zillah, and Mrs. Victoria was defeated. If they want to restore the former glory, they don't know when or where they will get the commission money to share with Mr. Devon. So, during this time, Mr. Devon lives a very difficult life. Mr. Devon's face turned black, his tone was not good. “You enter someone else's house but don't knock. What was the sound just now? What the hell are you doing?”

She was really a good con artist. She told him before that her last name was Devon, Bae Devon and she was a club goer went club dancer to loosen her financial tightness. He didn't even know that everything about Bae Devon is fake, like she wasn't really a regular performer in the club, and she was never a daughter of a police officer in Boulder.

"You broke your arm, your face is all swelled up. Couldn't whatever this is have waited until you were fully recuperated?" Devon stares at his ceiling and sighs. No, he can't tell him. He's been up to a lot, he's hidden a lot. How will he explain? Where will he begin? He broke all the rules. He's entirely in the wrong, and Sam wouldn't understand. He knows it. So he prefers to change the subject. "Do you have any whiskey?" "No, I don't." "Come on," Devon says. "I need something." "You've become an alcoholic," he remarks. "You can't go a day without drinking. Doesn't that strike you as odd? Doesn't that concern you, even if only a little?"

Bienley smiles drunkenly before he rested his head on Devon's shoulder. "I don't like men, I don't like you. I am a Casanova and I only like chicks, not d*cks," he mumbled incoherently while tapping Devon's chest with his index finger. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself, Mr. Casanova?" Without a hint of amusement, Devon leaned closer to his ear and whispered. Devon received no response except a heavy sigh, which made him smile. He has no idea whether the pale guy heard him, but he is well aware of what he is going through.

"You gave her that money willingly. Last I checked, you were practically celebrating. So happy about this." "Things changed." She changed them. "She's in my territory now, Dmitri. That's all that matters." A beat of silence. Then — "The devil is coming down to hell, gentlemen." His voice dropped away from the phone as he announced it to the room. "Brace yourselves." I ended the call. Good mood. Excellent, in fact. Time to let the beast out.

"Well, we definitely know something's going on there, but what? Is it drugs, human trafficking, what? There isn't anyone here that sends up a red flag, and we've looked into the towns around us. There's some potential there but nothing we can pin down. I say we set up some sort of surveillance out there and see what we get." "I like that idea Ty, I don't want anything fucking up our little paradise here." Devon was the youngest by a year. Of all of us, he must've had the best childhood until he was fourteen and his parents got killed in a car crash. Then shit went to hell fast when he ended up with a drunken uncle who liked talking with his fists.

She slid down the wall, clutching her hair, completely losing her mind to paranoia and terror. Back in his apartment, Devon sat on the floor, leaning against the broken bathroom door. He held the small audio recorder in his hands, staring at it blankly. He didn't cry. He was too hollow to cry. He had stood by while his parents insulted the woman he loved. He had allowed his father to slap her. He had slept with her best friend. He had watched Arthur Sterling carry her away, and he had done absolutely nothing to stop it. Devon looked at the spot on the sofa where Vanessa had been sitting. The hatred he felt was entirely consuming. He had thrown away the only pure, innocent woman in his life.

When we arrived at the well lit arena, I was shocked to see what used to be a training ground turn into a cemetery hosting dead bodies. “Dante Moretti.” I muttered between closed teeth. “Salvatore.” I heard someone calling. My anger resurfaced, the time to the brim. I glanced to where the spectators usually sit and watch the fight and there he was, seated like a king between two guards. Suddenly, my eyes darted to the figure beside him. I was burning with fury when it fell on Fabien crouched to the floor like a dog, a chain hanging around his neck, extending down to his hands. He had been bound by Dante with no hope of survival.

DANTE'S POV People call me the Devil of New York. They're not wrong. I've killed men for less than a dirty look. I've gutted rats who thought they could steal from me. I've fucked women who begged for mercy and made them beg for more pain instead. My empire runs on blood, loyalty, and fear. That's the only language this rotten world understands. And tonight, I reminded everyone of it. Crawford thought he could play me. Thought he could borrow money from my syndicate, promise returns, and then ghost like I'm some dumb fuck banker. No. You don't spit in my face and walk away.