THE DEVIL'S TOY CAME FOR REVENGE

HENDRIX

The spotlight burned against my skin like a brand, but I kept my face blank and empty. Terrified in the way a prey should look when cornered by predators wearing expensive suits.

Don't flinch and don't let them see.

Around me, the underground auction hall reeked of cigar smoke, aged whiskey and the particular cologne wealthy men wore when they wanted to smell like power. I stood on the raised platform in clothes deliberately chosen to make me look young, softer and more breakable than my twenty three years-white linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest vulnerability, dark trousers that hung loose on my deliberately underfed frame.

The auctioneer's voice droned through my value like I was a livestock. "Gentlemen, this one comes from the Kozlov acquisition. Low-level, informant, fluent in four languages, trained in data extraction, No visible scarring, compliant disposition."

Compliant. The word tasted like ash in my mouth, but I let my shoulders curve inward, I'd practiced this posture for six months.

My handler, Vera, had been clear. "You need to be thought by someone high enough in the food chain to access the real records, someone close to the Veyra family, preferably Erdem himself."

Erdem Veyra. The name alone made my jaw clench, but I forced my face to remain soft, doe-eyed and harmless.

"We'll start the bidding at fifty thousand euros," the auctioneer announced.

Hand rose like sharks sensing blood. I counted them without moving my eyes-seven bidders, all dangerous, none of them was the one I needed.

Then the room changed.

It was subtle at first then a shift in the air, the way conversations died mid-sentence, how even the auctioneer's voice gained a nervous edge. I felt it before I saw him: a presence that made the space feel smaller and more suffocating.

I lifted my gaze just enough to see him enter from the private balcony entrance.

Erdem Veyra.

ERDEM

The auction was beneath me but Silas had insisted there was valuable intelligence to be extracted from the Kozlov collapse. I'd come mostly to remind the other families that even their scraps required my permission to claim.

I hadn't come for the boy on the platform but the moment I saw him, something in my chest tightened with irritation.

He stood in the spotlight like a saint awaiting martyrdom-all soft edges and trembling vulnerability, dark hair falling across a face too pretty for the world he'd been dragged into, His eyes were downcast, lashes casting shadows on sharp cheekbones, delicate wrists and slim throat, the kind of beauty that made stupid men feel powerful and smart men suspicious.

I was neither stupid nor convinced.

"Seventy-five thousand," someone called out. Dmitri Volkov, a mid-tier arms dealer with a taste for breaking things.

The boy's breathing quickened, fear, probably real but his hands-his hands stayed perfectly still at his sides, fingers loose, weight balanced. That wasn't the posture of someone drowning in terror, that was training.

Interesting.

"One hundred thousand," another voice countered.

I watched the boy's throat work as he swallowed, watched the way his gaze flickered toward the exits-three of them, I noted and he'd already mapped them all. His pulse jumped visibly at his neck, but his feet stayed planted in a stance that could shift into movement in half a heartbeat.

The auctioneer was sweating now, sensing the room's tension. "One hundred thousand to the gentleman in-"

"Five hundred thousand euros," I said.

The room went silent.

Every head turned toward me, the boy's eyes snapped up for a fraction of a second-long enough for me to catch something sharp and burning beneath the fear before he dropped his gaze again.

There you are.

The auctioneer stammered. "F-five hundred thousand to Mr. Veyra, any counter offers?"

Silence, no one was stupid enough to bid against me, not here, not for something this trivial. The message was clear: I'd bought him not because he was valuable, but because I could, because fear in pretty packaging amused me.

Let them think that.

"Sold to Mr. Veyra for five hundred thousand euros."

I didn't move from my position at the balcony rail. My head of security, Konstantin, descended to collect my purchase. The boy didn't resist as they removed him from the platform.

HENDRIX

They led me through a service corridor that smelled of mildew and old blood, two guards flanked me, professional and silent. I kept my steps small and uncertain, like someone who'd forgotten how to walk without chains.

Inside my mind was a razor.

Erdem Veyra bought me. Phase one complete.

I'd expected it to feel like victory instead, it felt like stepping into a bear trap voluntarily and hoping I was fast enough to escape before it closed.

The corridor opened into private garage where a black armored car waited, engine purring. One of the guards opened the rear door and I climbed in with appropriately clumsy fear, making myself small against the leather seat.

The door on the opposite side opened.

Erdem Veyra slid into the seat across from me.

Up close, he was worse than the photographs Vera had provided. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black suit tailored precisely enough to cost more than most people earned in a year.

Dark hair swept back from a face that would've been handsome if it weren't so cold-sharp jaw, straight nose, and eyes the color of smoke before a fire, he looked like something carved from marble and cruelty, beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful.

He didn't look at me immediately, instead, he poured himself a drink from the car's bar with movements so controlled they seemed choreographed, two fingers of whiskey, no ice, he took a sip then finally turned his attention to me.

I made myself meet his eyes for exactly two seconds before dropping my gaze.

"What's your name?" His voice was deep.

"Hendrix," I whispered.

"Hendrix," he repeated. "No family name?"

"I don't remember it, sir." The 'sir' came out naturally.

He made a sound that might've been amusement. "The Kozlovs kept you for how long?"

"Eighteen months, sir." A lie, I'd never been with the Kozlovs but the story had been planted deep enough in their records to survive basic scrutiny.

"And before that?"

"Different hands, I stopped counting."

That part was closer to truth than I wanted, the underworld had a way of passing people around like currency. Liora and I had survived it together until we hadn't.

Erdem took another sip of whiskey, studying me over the rim of his glass. "You're afraid."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, fear is honest." He set the glass down. "But you're also calculating, I watched you on that platform."

My heart kicked against my ribs, but I kept my breathing steady. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Yes you do." He leaned forward slightly and the space between us became suffocating. "So let me be clear, Hendrix. I don't care who you think you are, I bought you and you will stay alive as long as you're useful or entertaining, possibly both."

He reached out and I forced myself not to flinch as his fingers caught my chin, tilting my face toward the light. His touch was clinical and assessing, the way someone might examine a horse before purchase.

"Pretty," he murmured. "But pretty things break easily in my house."

"I'm going to kill this man,' I thought, staring into those smoke-colored eyes. "I'm going to find out what you did to Liora and then I'm going to destroy you piece by piece.

Out loud, I whispered, "Yes, sir?"

He released me and sat back, apparently satisfied. "We'll be at the estate in thirty minutes, you'll be given rules. Break them and you'll discover I'm significantly less patient than the Kozlovs."

The car began to move, pulling out of the garage and into the night. Through the tinted windows, I watched the city blur past-streetlights, late-night cafes, normal people living normal lives.

I pressed my thumbnail into the soft flesh of my palm, using the pain to stay focused.

Across from me, Erdem Veyra sipped his whiskey and watched me with the expression of a man who'd just acquired a new toy he planned to break slowly.

Neither of us spoke again.

But in silence, I felt the weight of what was coming-the person I'd have to become to survive long enough to make him pay.

For you, Liora, I thought, pressing my thumb harder into my palm until I felt the skin break. For you, I'll become whatever monster I need to be.

The car drove on into the darkness, carrying mt towards the devil's house, and the devil watched me with eyes that saw too much.