Novel & Cerita El Diablo Prisoner

The chilling revelation that his family might be entangled in a web of captivity enveloped him, transforming the dungeon into a haunting tableau of despair. Thorian, his gaze piercing and unsympathetic, confronted the prisoners with a stern inquiry. "Which one of you was making that sound?" His disdain for them was evident, shaped by the stern teachings of his uncle Delvin, who often asserted that those confined in this dungeon must have committed egregious acts, deserving of no mercy.

"Ready to talk, or do you want to do this the hard way?" The prisoner laughed, though it held no humor. "You are wasting your fucking time. I'm not snitching on my boss, never." "Wrong answer," Deangelo growled, grasping one of the man's fingers and pressing the sharp blade against it. The prisoner huffed, defiant. "I'm not afraid of you. All those stories about you are just myths." Silvia and Hugo erupted in laughter. "Hmm, the myths are about to become true, really quick," Silvia commented.

"My gift." ........... From the Brethren city’s prison cell, Narco is transferred to a famous and isolated prison home for the most dangerous prisoners around the world known as the La Isla del Diablo or Devil's Island, a secluded island infested with sharks and ferocious predators. A place where Death is inevitable if prisoners attempted a daring escape. Access to visitors is strictly forbidden.

Impatient to devour the flesh of his victims. Having their screeching screams and pleas fill his ears, it was always melodious to his ears. He loved when his victims please for their life, like it depended on him. Which it did at that point. But no matter the pleas, he never forgives. If he was nice with them, he would let them chose how he would kill them. But forgiveness was never in his chronicle, thus his name...El diablo. But first, he would exercise a little patience and wait for his men to give the feedback he asked for. Then he would hunt down his victims by himself and collects back what was stolen from him.

My heart pounded in my chest furiously when the guards took me back to my room and I saw Diablo waiting for me, his eyes blazing with anger. "You tried to fucking escape?" He growled in disbelief, his voice low and menacing. "You tried to leave me after I made you so comfortable and free." It's obvious that he is made and my stay from now on will probably be rough, he will definitely take away all the privileges I have right now but I won't stop trying to escape. I struggled against the guards grip, but they are too strong. "I won't be held captive." I spat, while trying to defy Diablo... I won't be his prisoner and he can't force me to love him or be with him.

The prisoner breathed in the vapors and responded with a cough before slowly opening his eyes. "Who are you? Why did they bring you here?" asked the woman who until a while ago was Mira. Her voice was soft as she looked at the prisoner with concern. She saw that the prisoner was about to speak and she leaned her ear closer to hear him. The prisoner looked at her languidly and said in a weak voice, "El...Dion… Please… Let me go home…" After which, the prisoner closed his eyes and once again lost consciousness.

Prisoner two-zero-zero-one ...... "As long as you're here, you are no Declan Oliver, you would be referred as Prisoner two-zero-zero-one. Do you understand?" I ignored the question, continuing my descent to a place I would then start to call home for the time being. Getting deep in thoughts, the officer stopped abruptly, making my forehead connect to his rough and musky smelling uniform. "Are you listening to me kid? When I ask you something, you answer, got it?" Pitch raised, he asked without turning his back.

Guests lurched to their feet, phones shaking in fear in their hands Framed in the doorway was Lorenzo Alexander, known as EL DIABLO (the Devil) in the underground world. A black suit clung to him like sin, cigar smoke curling with the scent of danger. He didn’t walk the aisle he claimed it. Slow. Deliberate and Deadly.

The crowd had scattered, leaving only the scorched earth and empty poles behind. Diego was there, freshened up after his bath, his usual cold expression settling over his face like armor. “You left early,” he said, nodding toward me. I shrugged. “Had to check on Annabelle. Patty Mama said she fainted.” Diego’s eyes flicked sharply. “She’s not made for this world.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Maybe. But she’ll have to be.” His gaze hardened. “The four prisoners from Lorenzo’s men, the refugees we caught in Istanbul, they’re next. We’ve got to make an example.”