Vended To Don Damon Novels & Stories

I look at Barbara, who is leaning in close to the receiver, her expression hardening. “You should have killed his wife when I asked you to do it,” Damon continues. “Kidnapping her is dumb. Did you think I was stupid when I asked you to kill her instead of kidnapping her?” “What do you want, Damon?” Barbara snaps into the phone. “I want what I asked for when Daniel first reached out to me. Bring Jade to the old shipyard. Right now. I have a chopper waiting, clean passports, and a secured wire transfer of one hundred million dollars. Double what you asked Zayn for.”

One elderly donor tried to feed shrimp to a floral centerpiece shaped like a swan. The absurdity of it all might have amused Damon on a different night. But here, under the scrutiny of his father and the constant parade of potential wives, it only fueled his irritation. By the time woman number nine began pitching a joint cryptocurrency venture built on blockchain accountability, Damon had had enough. He stepped outside to the marble balcony, exhaling like a man breaking surface after drowning. Vincent followed a minute later, hands clasped behind his back. “You’re being rude,” he said.

Why are my feelings flashing like neon lights? Still my shoulder slumps in relief. At least someone isn’t unreasonable putting a blame on me. I’m still mulling this over when one of Nero’s men bursts into the dining room. “The Don is back.”

Like he expected me to cry. “She got that good little breed-me face. I’d knot her. Raw. In front of everyone. Make her beg for it. Bet she’d love it. I mean—fuck—you could sell that pussy and build a palace on the profits.” And then. Then the part that shattered me. Because Damon… Damon laughed. He actually fucking laughed. A low chuckle, deep in his chest, dark and cruel and casual. He didn’t stop the man. Didn’t growl. Didn’t even glare. Just turned slightly and muttered—

"Damon, don't push your luck! Double the market price—how can you even ask for that?" "I'm just talking business. You're free to decline," Damon replied. "There's no way I'll agree to that! Market price, not a penny more!" Richard growled. Damon nodded. "Then, I'm afraid I have to say no deal. I'm not selling." Before Richard could respond, Damon was already out the door. Cyrus wanted to chase after him, but Richard stopped him. "Come back! Even if you catch up to him, he won't sell to you. We were wrong from the start."

He stayed inside her for a long minute, grinding, making sure it took. When he finally pulled out, he pushed her knees up to her chest and watched his seed leak from her ruined pussy. “Beautiful,” he muttered. Then he scooped some up on his fingers and shoved them into her mouth. “Clean it. Taste what your life is now.” She sucked weakly, Damon stood up, naked and glistening with sweat, and walked over to a closet. He pulled out a thick leather cuff set—ankles and wrists, connected by a short chain.

“I don’t use any of my merchandise, Cara.” Well, my bad to assume that. Damon definitely does not look like an addict. Maybe he tried once or twice, but I know the difference between whether one is addicted or not. I’m not an expert, but I do hope my intuition to trust him is right. “Oh, okay.” I nodded, trying not to argue. Damon clicked something on his ear and then suddenly spoke to Davien, which had me confused for a moment. “Davien, send a doctor to my room now.”

A sinister grin slowly made its way to Dante's lips and a shiver went down my spine at the sight of it. That perfectly asymmetrical face of his, that predatory gaze and the strands of thick, dark hair falling down his face, it gave him the perfect villain appearance. "Is that so?" He breathed, his voice now taking a darker tone. He was no longer making any attempt to come forward and I knew something in him had snapped. "Sadly, I won't be able to say the same thing about Daddy and Mommy." I felt my breathing cease for a moment. "I won't be able to say the same thing about your little boyfriend, who just signed an arms deal with me."

Vicious, the head of my soldiers informed me through the blue tooth in my ear. I stared at Angela, who was eagerly waiting for me to commend her for her success. “Waste them, all.” I instructed, staring straight at her while doing so. Her confused stare morphed into horror when the TV in the room was turned on. She watched her dogs been taken down one after the other. “You bastard!” She growled, finally drown her innocent facade. “You knew all along.” “Angela… " I tsk. “I wouldn't here alive and breathing if I was stupid and easy access. I am Marco Alfonso, VENOM and The Don.” I reminded her, it's obvious she had forgotten who she was dealing with.

How could I have raised a son so blind? The words hit harder than a bullet. Vincent staggered. "You're saying... Lucy was a fraud? She lied... her father never saved me...?" His breath hitched. "H-How's that possible? In my last life..." His voice splintered, head about to burst. Because everything he'd believed—every damn thing—had come from Lucy's lips. Suddenly, it hit him—when he'd ordered Avila and the babies locked in the cellar, one of his men had muttered, "Don, if you put the kids in too, they won't last three days..."