The Devil's Hand: A Thriller Novels & Stories

And if you thought the shadows had been laid to rest, then you saw what happened in that hospital room. Yes, she’s back. Tiffany. Not defeated. Not silenced. Not gone. Her shadow waits, and her vengeance has only just begun. So this is not goodbye, dear readers. This is only a pause. The fire still burns, and when it returns, it will burn brighter, darker, and more merciless than before. From the depths of my heart Thank you for making The Devil’s Handmaiden unforgettable. Thank you for giving Aurora her voice. And thank you, for proving that no story, no matter how dark, is ever truly alone when it is shared.

Arya Santanu's breathing was so heavy, the vapor of her breath had a very hot temperature. "Die ...." Arya Santanu moved very quickly. With one hand, the young man grabbed one of the bandit's faces. Slowly his hand turned into a demonic hand. Hot steam emerged from the cracks in his hand. The demon hand looked like flowing lava. And the lava came from his blood that changed shape. ARGH!!!

“Those pretty eyes can’t stop following Lisa. You’re thinking, ‘what kind of assholes would make someone in her condition work for them?’ Am I right?” “No, I was…” “Well, that is what happened when you think of messing with me. It didn’t take more than two bullets. Yours will be a worse fate if you dare me, I assure you,” the devil dropped before lifting his cup of coffee to his lips. He did it to her? Of course. The food in my mouth suddenly nauseated me, and I pushed it down with a forceful gulp of water. “Excuse me.” I shot up from my chair and left.

His touch was incredibly firm, his palm heavy, silently forcing my locked fingers to relax under his pressure until my hand lay flat beneath his. "Let them celebrate thoroughly tonight, Anya," Devon said, his voice dripping with a dark, chilling amusement that sent a thrill of anticipation through my veins. "The higher they climb on the back of your stolen success, the more spectacular, devastating, and absolute their fall will be when I pull the literal ground out from beneath their feet." He slowly pulled his hand back, turning his gaze out his own window as the Maybach made a sharp turn into a massive, heavily gated private driveway lined with ancient, towering oak trees.

As the heavy doors swung open with a loud creak, the scene inside the throne room made her blood turn to ice. In the middle of the room knelt a man whose body was already covered with blood. His clothes were torn and soaked red, and he was shaking violently from pain and fear. Standing in front of the broken man was the devil himself - King Malakar. He was holding a whip embedded with thorns, drops of blood still clinging to the cruel metal spikes. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his clothes were splattered with crimson.

His mouth was on mine again, harder this time, his kiss filled with frustration and heat. I lost myself in it, in him, in the way his body fit against mine like we were made for this, for each other, even if it was built on danger and lies. I knew I shouldn’t trust him. I knew I should pull away. But my body had other plans. His hands moved down my body, sliding beneath my shirt, fingers skimming over bare skin. I shivered at his touch, my breath catching as his hand moved lower, teasing me with the promise of what was to come.

Charlie’s hand slammed against the mirror, holding herself steady as Taylor slowly went down on her. Inner Devil 2: ‘Oh, my Satan! I feel like Rose in Titanic—except Jack’s not sketching me; he’s scuba diving!’ Inner Devil: ‘We don’t know what they were doing in that car, okay? Everyone saw the handprint, but maybe they were just… playing Uno. Intense, emotionally charged Uno.’ Inner Devil 2: ‘Well, someone just laid down a Draw 4 between my thighs.’

DANTE'S POV People call me the Devil of New York. They're not wrong. I've killed men for less than a dirty look. I've gutted rats who thought they could steal from me. I've fucked women who begged for mercy and made them beg for more pain instead. My empire runs on blood, loyalty, and fear. That's the only language this rotten world understands. And tonight, I reminded everyone of it. Crawford thought he could play me. Thought he could borrow money from my syndicate, promise returns, and then ghost like I'm some dumb fuck banker. No. You don't spit in my face and walk away.

He wasted no time in expressing his fury, his voice a thunderous growl. "Do any of you have any idea what you've brought upon us? Do you have any idea how much business alliances and trusted allies you al have cost me?" The room was paralyzed by his wrath, and none of us dared to meet his eyes. The tension was suffocating, and the fear that had gripped us was almost tangible. The man that stod before me looked nothing like the man I desperately used to crave. This one felt like the real devil, the same one the FBI painted a picture of to me. He didn’t even spare me a glance but i could rarely get the words out of my mouth.

“You know I could make all this go away. I can make the charges disappear, but I’m going to need something from you first.” I knew what it was before he even said it. “Sign the papers,” he leaned down to tuck a strand of hair from my face while maintaining eye contact with me. “And then disappear from my life, forever.” He said it with so much certainty that I felt like he had driven a stake clean through my heart, impaling me with his words. I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it all before it finally settled in my head. Curtis Blackwood was the fucking devil.