LOGINShare
Don't test me, little mouse.
Last Updated:
2024-10-29 19:42:56Sherryl didn't understand his expression, subtly going back to eating her food while occasionally glancing at Dallion, who hadn't spoken about the matter. She didn’t understand the mafia families here. She had heard about celebrating birthdays, but celebrating the ones who had already passed away and weren’t even around? She didn’t know why they were still counting the years.
Every once in a while, Sherryl glanced at him, and at one fine moment, Dallion’s eyes snapped at her, clearly annoyed by her constant stares. Sherryl quickly looked away. How could this man sense everything around him, as though he had invisible eyes at the back of his head? "Dallion, aren’t you going to take part in the celebration?" asked his stepmother, her voice sweet as sugar, making Sherryl twitch slightly. She could see why Dallion didn't get along with his stepmother and stepsister. They were overly sweet to the point of making her skin crawl. Their attitude, mixed with their superficial charm, didn't help matters either. But then again, she had heard that most people in the Cross empire behaved like this—high and mighty, dripping with pompous airs. "I'll bring some flowers to her grave," Dallion responded calmly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin before standing up from his seat. "What about here? The decoration? We need to make this place look grand for the occasion," stated Rose, his stepsister, excited for the upcoming gathering. Dallion leaned over the table, grabbing a few grapes and popping them into his mouth. "I’ll pass," he replied nonchalantly. Sherryl discreetly glanced at the other family members. Grace his elder sister, didn’t comment and continued to eat in silence. The mother-daughter duo, however, stared at Dallion, clearly unhappy with his lack of contribution. His stepmother, Flora, began, "She wouldn’t be happy—" "She was my mother, not yours," Dallion interrupted coldly before she could continue. The already tense atmosphere in the dining room turned dead silent. Sherryl felt awkward, as though she were intruding on something she had no right to witness. She debated excusing herself, maybe claiming to need a breath of fresh air, but that would probably make things more uncomfortable. There was definitely something unspoken within the Cross family. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Dallion continued, his tone clipped. "I have somewhere to be. Have a lovely day, ladies and gentlemen." His eyes flicked to Sherryl, silently commanding her to follow him. She was almost done with her meal, just two more spoonfuls in her bowl. Reluctantly, Sherryl abandoned the food, setting the spoon down quietly. Though he hadn’t said much, his icy tone lingered, making it clear there was no room for argument. Following him closely, Sherryl padded barefoot along the cold marble floors. The chill from the rainy weather outside seeped into the floors of the mansion, leaving the entire place feeling cold and unwelcoming. She didn’t know where they were headed, but she trailed after him anyway, silently complying with his unspoken order. At the door, a maid hurriedly moved to grab Dallion’s coat from the stand. Before she could help him into it, Dallion raised a hand to stop her. "Give it to her," he said, motioning toward Sherryl. The maid didn’t hesitate, practically shoving the coat into Sherryl’s hands before scurrying away. Knowing better than to argue, Sherryl stepped forward, opening the jacket and helping him into it without a word. Dallion moved past the mansion's entrance, waiting for his car to be brought around. Sherryl kept her distance, standing a few paces away, though she noticed him glancing toward her. "What’s with the distance?" Dallion’s voice cut through the quiet, his tone edged with irritation. Sherryl could tell his mood was foul. Was it the preparations for his deceased mother’s memorial that had him on edge? He had seemed fine earlier in the day, but ever since they stepped into the dining room, his mood had darkened. She took a small step closer, though the gap between them was still considerable—at least four full steps. When she met his gaze again, his narrowed eyes were fixed on her. Swallowing nervously, she took another step. What had she done to annoy him? She hadn’t said a word since they left the dining room, and she had helped him with his coat, hadn’t she? "Don’t test me, little mouse. Stand here," he ordered, pointing to the spot beside him. Her heart quivered slightly at his commanding tone, but she kept her face neutral. Taking two more steps, she moved closer, waiting as his car finally pulled up. The driver was also the same right hand man she had seen him with when he'd bought her, She had learnt his name and she knew him from his silence and nimble movements, she watched as Frankie stepped out and opened the door for Dallion. As a mere companion to the crime boss, Sherryl wasn’t offered the same courtesy. Not that she expected it. She climbed into the backseat on her own, sitting across from Dallion, who, once again, kept his intense gaze locked on her. Sherryl tried to ignore him, focusing instead on the interior of the luxury vehicle as it started to move. But after a solid minute of feeling his eyes boring into her, she gave up. Looking directly at him, she waited for him to speak. "You have beautiful green eyes," he finally said, his tone unexpectedly calm. "How did you acquire those?" She blinked, surprised. "My mother said I got them from my father," she replied, watching him tip his head slightly. "Said?" Dallion's red eyes darkened with curiosity. "Did he die?" His bluntness made Sherryl wince internally, but she had to admit it didn’t bother her as much as it once might have. Dallion had a way of stabbing people with his words, but she had come to expect it. It was just... him. "No," she answered softly, "he didn’t die." "What happened, then?" Dallion's eyes narrowed slightly. "Did he run away?" Sherryl hesitated, knowing Dallion wouldn’t let the matter drop until he got the full story. She sighed softly. "I don’t know. He went to work one morning and never came back. My mother said he just... disappeared."Related chapters
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. They sold you
Sherry hoped that her father was still alive and safe. A number of possibilities could be pulled up on what might have happened that the man had to leave his wife and daughter alone. One of them, the worst that her mother had to hear the most, was that her father had run away with another woman. Sherry didn’t believe it, though. Not with the stories she had heard from her mother about how they had spent their few years together. Another possibility that had come up was that he had been taken away by a rival mafia group. Because her father was a manager at one of the largest technological companies in the city and thinking about it now, she realized it was the Cross technology company. Though not many outsiders dared to mess with the Cross empire’s territory, it didn’t stop the lesser gangs residing in the shadows from taking people for their own personal use, even killing them. "You’re still waiting for his return," Dallion stated. Sherry didn’t answer him and instead stayed qui
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Eyes off my mouse
"When I was in the confinement cell, there was a nail lying on the ground which I didn’t know of," no one could know with the full darkness one was surrounded by and left to spend time in. "I stepped on the nail." "Must have hurt really bad," his words suddenly turned gentle, but Sherry wasn’t sure if she heard it right. Dallion ran his thumb much more gently from one side to the other, making her heart leap and her body jerk. His grip remained firm around her ankle. Sherry could feel his hand touching her skin, the warmth of it making her fret. "Dallion?" she spoke softly, for him to respond with a hum. "What is it?" What was what? He was holding her ankle without letting go. "Could you please let go of my leg?" She kept her speech docile, with a certain passive aggressiveness in it, wanting him to drop her leg. But instead of listening to her request, Dallion only ran his finger over her feet. "Why, little mouse? Let me demonstrate something for you, so that you can keep
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. If you ever need help
Sherry was taken aback by the mild threat, and for a minute, she wondered if Dallion was joking about gouging the man’s eyes out. When she turned to look at the man, Rivers seemed to have stopped staring at her and had instead gone to fetch himself a drink. Dallion walked to one of the empty couches, where no one sat, leaning his back completely as he crossed his legs, eyes locking on the woman who was standing in the room with a young girl sitting down on her knees. "I see your little mouse has been taking good care of you," he chimed in, glancing at the boy who hadn’t raised his eyes to anyone but his mistress' legs, massaging her ankles now. "Luke is a lovely boy, isn’t he?" the woman smiled, looking down at her captive, whom she had personally acquired from a hidden auction, unlike Dallion, who had snatched Sherryl from the black market. "Your little mouse hasn’t learned the code of conduct for captives," the woman remarked, her red eyes sizing Sherry up. Sherry hadn’t dropp
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. keep your emotions in check
While Sherryl was lost in her own thoughts, the people in the room couldn’t help but keep their ears on Dallion's words. Captives, reduced to nothing but dust beneath the feet of mafia bosses and their powerful elites, were treated with derogatory remarks, degraded by their owners, as their lives belonged to the ones who had bought or captured them. Yet, very few actually called the captives by their real names—something that once in a while raised the eyebrows of the others in the room. Dallion, though noticing the gaze, didn’t bother with such trivialities when there were more pressing matters on his mind. While Sherry behaved as a good captive should, keeping her eyes and head down, she couldn’t shake the feeling of two pairs of eyes locked on her. Both belonged to mafia elites, but neither belonged to her captor. One was a man, the other a woman, the one who had wanted Dallion to allow her to punish Sherry, and the third eye she was now sensing was of the woman who had earlier
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. spokes person for captive association
Sherry could somewhat relate to this as she had seen or gone through things like this before. The city she used to live in, especially after her mother passed away, was far from what one would call decent, let alone luxurious. As Dallion had pointed out, if a person failed to bring in money, someone else in the family would have to step up to keep them afloat. Her city had been in a constant state of crisis, where jobs were scarce, and opportunities for a better life were even scarcer. The people barely made it through, and everything from food to basic necessities was overpriced, making it hard for anyone to live a decent life. Most of the city’s residents knew the dealings between the local officials and those in higher power. Money that was supposed to be used for development or relief always disappeared, never reaching the people who needed it most. The corruption ran deep, affecting everyone. "You think it’s right?" she asked Dallion. "Which part?" he replied casually.
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Ask something else
The weather today seemed strangely better, with the sunset beginning to cast its fading glow, illuminating the horizon. It must have been because it had rained last night—enough to grant a break to the lands. Even though the sun's rays didn’t break through the window fully and weren’t warm, Sherry could still feel the heat just by the light touching her skin. It had been so long since she had seen sunlight, and an unconscious smile crept onto her lips. She turned her face toward the window, her eyes closed, savoring the fleeting warmth. Dallion noticed the small smile on her lips. Such a simple girl, he thought. He could see how she found joy in the smallest of things, completely oblivious to the darkness surrounding her. 'Dali, do you know what’s beautiful about this flower here?' echoed a voice from his past, without him even closing his eyes. 'It’s the simplicity. The flower doesn’t stand out like the rest.' Young Dallion had stared at the flower in the woman’s hand. 'Place a
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. I answer only to him
Reaching back the mansion, Sherry got down to follow right behind Dallion. Before becoming a captive, her hands and time were usually full—working endlessly to make her living, saving every dime so that one day she could use it—Her money! She realized the cash she had been stashing away must still be there unless someone had found it! More than anything right now, Sherry couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to the money she had saved all those years. It wasn't much, just a good sum of seventeen hundred dollars, but it was the most she'd saved until now. Thinking about how her foster aunt May and uncle Larry had sold her off like a commodity for chump change made her stomach churn. She wondered if sharing a piece of it with them could’ve avoided this, kept her from becoming someone’s property. But then, she shook her head internally—there was no reasoning with scum like that. Her relatives didn’t deserve even a penny from her pocket after what they had done. Who knew peop
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. That's what I like
Nickison, the butler, was making his way from the dining room to the kitchen when he caught sight of Lady Rose doing what she did best—scolding and belittling the workers of the Cross empire. On a second glance, he realized it wasn’t one of the usual servants but Master Dallion’s little mouse, Sherryl Rain. His footsteps faltered. Rose didn’t spare anyone, not even those who weren’t part of the empire. The young mafia queen enjoyed watching the staff cower, asserting her dominance to remind them who held the real power. Even he, a long-standing butler, had not been spared from her biting tongue. After overhearing Sherryl’s defiant words, Nickison pressed his lips together, knowing trouble was brewing. He was well aware that the walls of the mansion were about to shake. "He’s my brother, so you’re indirectly obligated to serve me the same way you serve him," Rose taunted, shoving Sherryl’s head as though she were a toy to be played with. "Didn’t you hear me? Come to my room," she o
Latest chapter
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Body mind and soul
Sherryl’s heart sank like a stone. The word collar clawed at her dignity, and she stiffened, her voice breaking slightly as she replied, "I am not an animal, Dallion." "Then the mark it is," he declared without hesitation. Her widening eyes didn’t faze him. "What? No!" she stepped back, her pulse quickening. But with every step she took, Dallion's gaze grew colder, cutting through her resistance like frost slicing through fragile glass. "Do not test me, Sherryl Rain," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "I’ve told you before, I don’t tolerate defiance. If we were in someone else’s home tonight, you'd be in far worse trouble. Not all men are as... considerate as I am." The weight of his words pressed down on her. Her stomach churned, but her mind couldn’t resist the urge to retort. "Then don’t take me to t
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. something more
"Good evening, Mr. Dallion," greeted the man, his tone formal but laced with an undercurrent of tension. He inclined his head slightly, his well-groomed blonde hair shifting momentarily before settling back into place. "Evening, Jerry Locks," Dallion replied, his casual smile betraying nothing. Sherryl instinctively shifted closer to Dallion, her movements subtle but unmistakable, like a bird seeking shelter from a brewing storm. "Is this your so-called captive?" Jerry Locks asked, his lips curving into a thin, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "You should be careful about parading her around without a proper tag. It sends the wrong message, like she’s available for... anyone’s attention." Sherryl stiffened at his words, her gut twisting with disgust. She tried to mask her emotions, but the slight curl of her lips betrayed her thoughts. It didn’t matter, though. Jerry Locks noticed. He was the man Dallion'
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Isn't over
As Dallion finished his drink, Alexander's remarks continued to play in his mind, “Changing a captive's mindset after what they endure is no easy task.” His voice carried the weight of experience, as someone deeply familiar with the workings of underground organizations. Though the Cross empire didn’t house its operations near the City, but in the shadows of Bone lake and it's neighbors, Alexander as one of the four strong Mafias, ensured he knew every breath and whisper that echoed through the cities. Dallion inclined his head slightly, understanding the layers of Alexander's words. The torment inflicted to captives in those places didn’t just break bodies—it shattered wills, molding captives into submissive beings who clung to their captors for survival. The fear of rebellion, fueled by the knowledge of inevitable punishment, kept them compliant. Anyone who entered those gates rarely emerged unchanged. The few who resisted either
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. You're impossible
Sherry stood silently behind Dallion, her head tilted slightly downward, avoiding the scrutinizing gazes of the mafia elites. Her presence, while unnoticed by some, still drew lingering whispers among those who couldn’t understand why the Cross Empire’s most feared don had brought along someone so out of place. Meanwhile, Dallion entertained a small group of sycophants, his sharp tongue delivering sarcastic barbs that left no room for retorts. "Mr. Cross, you should consider visiting our new penthouse. Father had it refurbished just last month. Would you be interested in an exclusive tour?" proposed one of the women, her voice laced with obvious admiration. "Why not? Perhaps the next business meeting could be hosted there," Dallion replied smoothly, his smirk disarming yet dripping with mockery. He cast a questioning glance at the others. "What do you all think?" A murmur of agreement ripple
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. I have no idea what your talking about
"I have no idea what you’re talking about, Master Dallion,” Sherry replied, her voice steady, while her heart beat against her chest like a warning bell. She fought to keep her pulse hidden from his sharp eyes, knowing well how closely he was observing her. Dallion’s smile remained unmoved, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes that made her wary of his intentions. He took a step forward, closer than she liked, murmuring, “Shall we retrace the moment that made those cheeks of yours go crimson? You're quite the little mouse, aren’t you? Oh, excuse me, my bad. Big mouse,” he added, his tone mockingly apologetic. “I'm a kind master, after all. Who else would tailor a name specifically for their captive, hmm?” “Could you please avoid calling me that?” She gave a slight frown, finding his words unnervingly odd yet infuriating. She knew he was playing with her, trying to get under her skin. “But didn’t you protest when I called y
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. It's nothing
Sherry shrugged, feigning indifference. “People in power are all the same, they take what they can, whenever they can.” “True,” he murmured, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. “But remember, even those who think they’re untouchable always have someone above them, a bigger fish ready to devour them when they get out of line.” He took another long puff, letting the smoke curl through the cold air. “Master Dallion…” Sherry hesitated before finally asking, “Why did you... why did you decide to buy me?” The question had haunted her since the day she had asked him the very same question, the enigmatic mafia boss with a reputation for ruthlessness. She couldn’t shake the words she'd overheard about his supposed hatred for captives, especially after what had happened to a close friend of his. For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching her as though weighing his response.
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Hand on the wall
Sherryl had never done anything to provoke them, yet the resentment seemed to have deep roots, tangled and hidden in her past. Ever since she was a child, her mere presence was treated like a bad omen. After her father’s abrupt disappearance, she and her mother had been ostracized, left to fend for themselves. All she had wanted back then was to fit in, to be like the other kids, to have friends. But over time, she learned to avoid the stones hurled at her and the cruel words thrown even more viciously. That’s when she stopped trying to be accepted, resigning herself to being an outcast alongside her mother, unwanted and unseen. A faint shuffle drew her attention back inside, where Dallion was standing by the door, his gaze fixed on something in the night sky. "Clearer skies here compared to the city. Must be the lack of traffic and noise," he murmured, his voice soft yet unmistak
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. You've lost that privilege
Hearing the crack and pop sound made Sherryl's eyes snap from looking at the man’s finger, which he now cradled as he collapsed to the floor, his back pressed against the table, whining and grimacing in agony. Sherryl’s gaze shifted from the magistrate to Dallion, who maintained an unnervingly calm demeanor as if he hadn't just inflicted excruciating pain to someone. It seemed that Dallion took particular pleasure in tormenting people's fingers; the sound resonated in the now dim room, where the atmosphere had turned dark and cold. Her heart raced, but it wasn't fear that fueled the rhythm, this time round it was sheer disbelief. With the way Rose had contorted and twisted her arm a week ago, Sherryl had always known that Dark mafias were strong and merciless, but to crush a human's bone with just a few fingers was another matter entirely. It had seemed impossible before, but witnessing it firsthand made her body tremble slightly a
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Consider it you only warning
If the magistrate had thought everything was over and Dallion was just another busy body who had come by to cause ruckus, he was wrong.It was just seconds ago he'd stepped out, but it was also the same seconds he'd used to walk back in.This time Sheryl had walked in with him.After all they were here for the keys to her house.The dim, bluish glow from the neon lights outside was barely able to seep through the windows, shadowing the narrow office. The charged lamp on the desk flickered weakly, its flame dying out as if it too refused to illuminate the grim faces within the room. Dallion glanced at the man before him. whose round belly pressed against his too-tight belt, each movement slightly straining the fabric of his trousers. His thick, fur-lined coat draped over him in an attempt to stave off the creeping cold. It wasn’t the first time Dallion encountered a power-abusing official who grew fat off the backs of struggling communities.
