The Devil's Hand: A Thriller Novels & Stories

' Elian cried out, voice cracking as he twisted toward the sound, arms outstretched into the mist. But the pull reversed, yanking him backward with brutal force. A grip clamped around his throat—iron fingers digging in, crushing his windpipe. Air fled his lungs in a choked gasp. He spun, vision blurring, to face his tormentor. The wolf was gone, dissolved into swirling shadows that reformed into the devil's leering form. Towering and grotesque, with curling horns and leathery wings half-unfurled, the fiend's crimson eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. An evil grin split its fanged maw, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. 'Did you think it would be so easy, little bride?' the devil hissed,

he told me as he forced me to remove the other hand from my cleavage. Upon hearing this, I tightened my jaws and reached for the holster of the tight shorts I wore. I felt the dagger still well hidden there, as I was about to bring it out, I noticed the shadow of someone approaching. “Let go of me.” I said, struggling to free herself. However, the man was not taking it. He pinned me to the wall, holding my hand and his other hand on my neck. Just then, Dante and his men happened to pass by and when I saw him, my eyes widened.

Lucian’s note had come with a final line: “The devil doesn’t wear horns. He wears charm. Find his weakness.” Ayla exhaled slowly. She was no longer Ayla Monroe. Not here. Tonight, she was a ghost. Inside, the gala pulsed with orchestrated elegance. Women in gowns worth more than Ayla’s rent glided past men with blood-stained hands wrapped in Armani. Waiters floated by with champagne. It would’ve been beautiful if she didn’t know who half these people were — or what they’d done to get here. Lucian’s voice echoed in her mind: “Serrano traffics secrets. You’ll be one of them by midnight if you fail.”

His palm was open and inviting, but I hesitated. I mean, who in their right mind would shake hands on something like this? I looked at his hand, every inch of me screaming to take it, but reason held me back. Because let’s be real, if the devil you know is bad, the one who despises your demons just as fiercely as you do? Well, that could be a whole different level of hell. But maybe, just maybe, that kind of "worse" is what I needed right now. I nodded.

No humanity, just hunger. “You’re him,” she whispered. “The Devil of the Underworld.” He bowed his head slightly, a mockery of courtly manners. “Dante Moretti. Though most only whisper my name.” Her heart pounded. Dante Moretti wasn’t just a crime lord—he was a myth. A monster in a designer suit. A man with more blood on his hands than the war itself. Rumors said he didn’t age, didn’t bleed, didn’t sleep. That he struck deals in shadows, and those who betrayed him were never found again. Or if they were, it was in pieces.

A thread of envy that pulled tight every time the Devil’s hands mapped the mortal’s body like a territory, every time those claws dragged over soft skin Caelum had only seen in flashes—hanging from the cross, drenched in sweat and pain, eyes too bright and stubborn for someone who should have broken. Now that same soft skin flushed under a different kind of heat. Under a different kind of strain. He watched the Devil’s hands settle on her hips, fingers spanning her so easily. He watched them slide up, over her ribs, around her waist, down again. Greedy. Possessive. Intimate. Every touch a claim. Caelum’s throat felt dry as bone dust.

He leans in closer, his hot breath fanning my face as he looked down at me. "I think you are mistaken about something, little one. You belong to me. You were mine from the moment you clung to me desperately begging for help. But you weren't saved by some hero, a knight in shining armor who would do your bidding and just accept it when you tell him no. No darling, I'm the devil and you are mine.” With this his lips crashed down against mine.

My thighs shook, torn between clamping shut and kicking him into hell. I whimpered, biting my lip until I tasted copper. His thumb found my clit, circling it slowly, tauntingly. A low hiss escaped my lips, my eyelids fluttering shut against the pleasure he forced into me. “Devil.” He chuckled, low and wicked. “You keep saying that.” His fingers slid lower, through my slick, and my breath hitched. “Yet here you are,” he murmured, “dripping for the devil.” His fingers thrust deeper, harder, and my back arched off the bed, helpless.

I felt a tight grip around the wrist of my left hand. "Let's go, we are getting late". The devil said while trying to drag me out of the hall. "Ahh" "Leave the hand of the girl man. You are hurting her". That man said. There was no fourth person present in the hall. "You are no one to tell me what should I do and whatnot. Just mind your own business". The devil was throwing fireballs with his eyes. Oh God, I haven't seen him in this much anger before. It is looking like he is ready to break his jaw and chew him raw. This is scaring me.

The devil spoke with a mocking tone, "My beautiful visitors, I think you were dying to see me. Now I’m here, but I was in the middle of something. I suppose I’ll have to finish it in front of you." With that, the devil lifted the barely conscious woman, preparing to deliver a fatal blow. Zack sprang into action, using all the strength he could muster to punch the devil. At the same time, Petra threw a knife-like device at the devil’s arm. This device, crafted by the Angels of the Burning Sun’s science tech team, had the power to break bones in ordinary humans. However, it only managed to scratch the devil slightly, though it was enough to make him release the woman.