Sergeant Dornan Novels & Stories

Sofia turned to see a tall, imposing woman with close-cropped silver hair standing outside, an amused smirk on her face. "If you two lovebirds are quite finished," the woman said, her voice dry, "we've got work to do." Luca chuckled, shaking his head as he opened his door. "Sofia," he said, "meet Vivian Blackwood. Former CIA operative, current information broker, and the closest thing I have to a fairy godmother." As Sofia stepped out of the car, she felt a mix of anticipation and trepidation. They were about to dive headfirst into a world of danger and intrigue, with no guarantee of success or survival.

Of all the places he should be now, this was not the best. "Wow, Josh," Don exclaimed. "If it isn't his assistant himself." Josh, I guessed, was Don's assistant and also the one who led me in here. The look in Don's eyes was almost manic, and I could tell that he was on a killing spree. He lifted his gun towards Antonio. Now that I wasn't going to have. In a swift motion, I pointed my gun at Josh, and luckily for me, Don was looking away. I pulled the trigger, and Josh screamed.

Wilbet hated the sight of my tears. Forcing myself to breathe, I shook my head. "That is Malcolm Laurent," he scoffed, as if the name irritated him. "A very powerful man. Some say he has affiliates with the Mafia, and you were standing there chatting with him like a damn fool." I curled my fingers into my palm, feeling my nails dig into the flesh there. Wilbet turned to me harshly, grabbing my face. "Tell me, dear wife, did you embarrass me?" I knew "embarrass" was code for Did you tell him I hit you?

utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=Caupcayke&wp_originator=o6abAKlxASMRKvPqU5y8hFbTL5JEB%2B1mSit2cezx911yZ8IBeinxWqt4VO0uVHeC5TREKe2u5nEvb96z5fnRQAEDxjajU6GOA2pShAhqGRqvADgDnlA2%2FxbuHC0CIm%2Fl There's the link for Torn within, i'd really appreciate it if you check it out 🥰 Thanks once again and Love y'all❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ Your favorite noise maker –Caupcayke🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

I felt his terror through the pack bond before he moved. Ronan looked directly at him. "Forward." Joren didn't. Ronan didn't raise his voice. "Now." The warrior stepped out of formation. Slowly. Every eye followed him. Gideon continued. "Silas Dorne." Another warrior farther back shut his eyes. Fuck. He came forward before Ronan even ordered him. Then, "Calder Fen." A third man made a broken sound. He wasn't standing with the others. He'd been near the main doors. Older than the first two. Gray beginning at his temples. And I recognized him. I'd seen him carrying a sleeping little girl downstairs that morning. His daughter.

He said as he walked towards the door. "And I am Carlos, why don't you sleep food will be brought to you soon" he said and walked out the door, she felt light headed all of a sudden and knew something was it the water he gave her. A shaky exhale escaped her. Her stomach turned. The room began to blur. She swayed, blackness tugged on her subconscious, and then it dragged her all the way under. Later in the Don's office Carlos walked in and saw Marco busy with some work as usual, his friend was such a workaholic, he thought. He did not look up when Carlos entered so he sat down at the edge of Marco's table and said.

To repay Victor for saving my life, I gave up a brilliant career as one of America's finest neurosurgeons and willingly became his trophy wife. For seven years, Victor lavished money on me and treated me with bone-deep tenderness. Yet his obsessive rules suffocated me. Every other week, I had to subject my scalp to agonizing bleach treatments to keep my hair icy platinum. I had to bathe in a discontinued Venetian white iris perfume. And I had to wear a fake beauty mark at the corner of my right eye. I once mistook it all for the obsessive devotion of a Mafia Don. Then, on the eve of our wedding of the century, I found a wall covered with portraits of another woman. The measurements of my gow

“Which is totally beside the point, I could arrange for the girls be transferred. It would be simple enough.” “No.” His voice was hard. Firm. “Here are three pictures. Do you know these men?” She frowned down at the photos and pointed to one. “This is Aleski Dornovo, he’s a Breed trainer, ex-Russian Elite hit squad. He was sort of black ops for many years.” She tapped the next one. “Graco, he’s one of the older Breeds at the lab. Very quiet. Colder than the others. This is Cavalier. He’s dead on the inside,” she said sadly. “He came from another lab just ahead of the rescues. I heard it was a brutal lab to be in.”

The door swung open. Donovan stood there. Relief, so profound it was dizzying, washed over me. Donovan, Ronan’s head of household. A mountain of a man with a shaved head and a permanent, stern frown. He was dressed not in Lancaster black, but in dark, tactical gear streaked with dirt. In his hand was a combat knife, its tip dark. “Donovan,” I breathed.

The door open, snapping my attention to it, my spirit dropped when John came in. I was hoping it was Marco sneaking. “Donna.” He stared, was confirming the bullshit the journalist has said. I shook my head, swallowing the thick lumps that have formed in my throat. “Where's Marco.” My voice broke, “I ask a question.” I demanded when he didn't say anything. His stare was fixed on the floor, I saw him fisting his palm and his body shook as if he were holding back his emotions. “Don is dead.” Even is voice was more broken than mine.