All Chapters of Possessed by the Devil: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

LeonI woke up to an empty bed.At first, I didn’t think much of it. Tamara usually got up earlier than me some mornings, slipping out quietly like she didn’t want to disturb me. I stretched, dragged a hand over my face, and laid there for a second, listening to the silence. The sheets beside me were already cold. She’d been gone for a while.“Probably in the kitchen,” I muttered to myself, throwing the blanket off and sitting up. My knuckles cracked as I stretched again, and I ran my hand over the side of the bed where she should have been. Empty.I pulled on a shirt and went downstairs. The house felt wrong..too empty for her to be anywhere inside, like a stage with no actors. Usually, when Tamara was awake, I’d hear little sounds…footsteps, a cabinet opening, even the low hum of the coffee machine. Today, nothing.Martha was wiping down the counter when I walked into the kitchen. She looked up and froze a little, like she always did when I appeared too suddenly.“Morning,” I said f

TamaraJasper’s apartment was never quiet at night. The city noises never stopped—the echo of cars down the block, a neighbor’s music bleeding faintly through the wall, the occasional dog barking like it was guarding the whole street. But that night, it felt louder. Every sound carried weight, like the air itself was listening.I couldn’t sleep. I’d been turning from one side to the other, the blanket twisting around me, the pillow growing hot under my cheek. Jasper was in the next room, probably passed out already. He had work in the morning, though I doubted he’d make it with me camped here. I knew I was turning his life upside down. Again.I sat up finally, grabbing one of Jasper’s hoodies from the chair. It smelled faintly like detergent, faintly like him. I pulled it over my head and padded into the kitchen for water. The fridge light was too bright. I squinted against it, sipping slow, trying to calm the restless beat of my chest.That was when I heard it.At first it was nothin

LeonThe house felt like a holding cell. Too quiet, all of it waiting for something to go bang. I got up slow, shoulder still pissed from the last fight. Healed faster than I should have. That was the rumor. I let the bed hold the last of the warmth and stared at the ceiling until my head stopped spinning.Boots on carpet. Sean before he said anything. He never knocked unless he wanted something serious or he’d found trouble. He was at the door before I could even pull on a shirt.“You got coffee?” I asked. Bad habit. I always asked stupid questions until the first word dropped.He didn’t answer. He closed the door, then dropped into the chair across from me like he was trying to force his weight into the room. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Dark circles, jaw too set. His hands were clean. No blood. That meant he’d been talking, not doing.“All right,” he said finally. “We got chatter.”I watched him. Let him say it again.“Who?” I asked. Short. Direct.“Feds.” He didn’t smile. “Thia

LeonThe warehouse always smelled like old fights, oil, sweat, dust that never left the floorboards. We left the lights low on purpose; shadows helped with the paperwork of fear. Men were spread out in the corners, backs to the walls, hands on belts. I had Sean beside me like I always did. He didn’t move unless I said so. That steadied the room more than my words could.The guy was tied to a chair under a single bulb that swung when the door shut. He wasn’t a looker…pale, nervous, a face you forget. He tried to look like he was used to trouble and that it didn’t bother him. It didn’t take long to see the lie. His shirt was damp at the collar, throat working like he had a bird caught in it.“Boss,” Sean said once, like a cue. I nodded. He stepped back and let me take the air.I walked slowly because fast moves scare men into saying the wrong things. The bulb hummed. My boots made that same dull thud I liked to hear when I was thinking. I didn’t bring a cigarette in; I wanted the room t

TamaraJasper came in like a storm had just passed through him. The door banged so hard the picture on the wall jumped. He didn’t call my name, didn’t laugh like he usually did when he was trying to hide something. He just stood in the hallway and leaned on the frame, breathing like he’d been running.I set the kettle down slowly, the clink of metal louder than it should have been. I could see the bruise spreading on his cheek from where I stood. It was ugly and dark and I felt my stomach drop to my knees for him before I could even move.“Jas?” I said. My voice sounded small in the kitchen.He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m okay,” he said. Thin. The kind of voice that tells you it’s not true. He shuffled toward me and then stopped, like he didn’t have the right to be close. I wanted to smack him for that.I wrapped my hands around a cloth and went to him. I cleaned his face the way I always did when he came back with cuts and bruises, gentle, because I wanted h