Donovan Lamb Novels & Stories

The knife clattered to the floor before Roman drove his knee into the man’s stomach, folding him like paper. The bar was silent except for the groans of the men at Roman’s feet. Even the music had been cut. I could feel dozens of eyes on us, everyone in the bar realizing at once that this wasn’t some random fight. It was a strategic attack. And from the way the three men cowered on the ground, it was clear they knew exactly who Roman was. I, however, didn’t. Not really. “Roman…” My voice broke as his eyes finally shifted to me.

“Damon Vyon?” I nodded, “Yes. Do you know him? I mean everyone in New York would know him.” “I only got to know about him a couple of weeks ago,” Luca said, a sudden look of reverence falling on his face. “I heard he’s not just a bad guy, but a feared powerful one.” He snapped his fingers then as if snatching the thoughts away from his head. “Anyway, Don Vyon bought you off some slave market?”

He laughed again. I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep myself from gasping. This was beyond bad. Way worse. Donovan wasn’t just a bad leader. He was a traitor to his people, but I wondered what his end game was. He was going to try and take me for everything I had. “And your son? Does he know?” Donovan nodded. “He’s a loyal pup. He knows everything and what to do.” The wolves seemed to like that answer. They reached into their coats and dropped a stack of papers on Donovan’s desk.

“I’ll do it.” After Sky’s voice fell, a person stepped out from the crowd. It was a middle-aged man who looked to be in his 40s. He wore a black suit and did not look like a martial artist. Instead, he had the appearance of a successful businessman. It was none other than Donovan. Donovan inherited Winston’s True Energy and had become an eighth-ranked grandmaster. He had been tormented since his one-sided defeat at the hands of Tobias. After Tobias died, he never found the chance to prove his strength or bring glory to the Blithes.

"Miss Lambert, wait a moment." I stopped, turning to face him with a puzzled expression. I didn’t know him well—what could he want? He walked up to me, almost as if he was reflecting on something. "I never imagined you’d become so successful, Miss Lambert." I smiled politely. "Thank you. It’s an honor to work with you." Suddenly, his expression shifted, a mix of regret and sadness clouding his face. He let out a heavy sigh. "It’s a shame Mr. Donovan can’t see how impressive you’ve become. He would have been so proud."

They watch the room with the same sharp focus. “Luna Sophia.” Donovan’s smile stays shallow. “Thank you for seeing me on short notice.” “Cut to it, Donovan.” I cross my arms. “What do you want?” His smile slips a fraction. “Direct. I appreciate that.” He scans the damaged walls, the sleeping wolves, and the general disorder. “I heard about the tragedy. The Crimson Moon attack. Your son.” “Don’t.” The word comes out hard. “Do not say his name.” Donovan raises his hands. “My apologies. I only wanted to express condolences and discuss the future of our alliance.”

"He came here alone. No weapons. No backup. He's not attacking. He's making a point." "The point is that he can reach you. He was inside my penthouse, Essa. He took photos of you in my home." His voice cracked on the last word, and the sound of it—the Don's voice cracking—made my chest ache. "I promised I'd keep you safe."

Donovan added fuel to the fire. David merely barked in a low voice. "Stand aside." Donovan was afraid of his brother-in-law, so he obediently stepped aside. David did not even look at Yuna. He asked Mayson, "Mr. Mills, what did Donovan do to be kicked out of the team?" "Mr. Kirk, about this–"

Donovan teased as I smiled. The stares returned. “Who is that talking to Donovan? She seems important,” someone said. “Yeah. Mr Smith doesn’t associate with just anyone in public. This is a first. Now I’m curious about who she is,” another replied. Donovan Smith was the former senior director of a huge fashion house here in Greenville. Although now retired, his opinions were highly valued and he was still seen as an icon. During his prime, he had won the Avery Contour Award three consecutive times.

How could Donovan be so mean? She heard sure footsteps and rushed to her feet, her heart pounding as the door was opened to reveal Donovan. She observed Donovan's curly hair, now longer and more pronounced, triggering memories of his past cruelty when he bullied her as a child. But this time, he stood before her as an adult, his hair lending him an air of rugged allure rather than innocence. It no longer softened his features; instead, it accentuated his confident demeanor, transforming him into a figure of unsettling allure, like a wealthy male model untouched by the burdens of the world.