Only devils in disguise

Sherry could feel the fear beginning to seep into her bones like poison.

She had watched a minute ago how Mary and others were auctioned, Lyon had left immediately asking his subordinates to end finalize everything and leave. He had asked them to let the other three remaining back to the cell until next week because he had urgent business, but his subordinates didn't pay attention to his words.

Now standing on display for an audience of ruthless men, she was more than just nervous—she was terrified. Her heart pounded with the kind of dread that left her skin cold despite the cool, cloudy weather outside. The clouds loomed heavy and dark, promising a storm, but the real storm was already brewing in her chest. Her palms were clammy, and a light sheen of perspiration had started to settle on her skin.

She kept her gaze low, unable to meet the gazes of the men who stood before her. There was no pity in their eyes—only cruelty. Some sneered with greedy smiles, and others licked their lips, their minds already imagining what they'd do if she fell into their hands.

The air was thick with tension as Sherry recalled her earlier mistake. She had bitten the finger of one of the men—the bidder—when he’d tried to touch her. And now, she feared what he might do in retaliation. This wasn’t a world where kindness or decency prevailed. In the shadows of the underground mafia syndicate, her fate was in the hands of wolves disguised in expensive suits and polished shoes.

"Ah, this is Sherry," the bidder announced, his voice slick and serpentine. "Young, fresh… just brought in." He paused for dramatic effect, reading from a document held in his hands. The document wasn’t just any record—it was her life, sold by her trusted family. Her foster family she'd regarded as her relatives for years, they had traded her off for money, had sealed her fate in ink. Every piece of her existence reduced to a few lines on paper.

The bidder’s smirk widened as he eyed her. Sherry couldn’t move, couldn't speak. She had to stand there, bound and silent, while these men decided her worth. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, a stark contrast to her pale, trembling skin.

The bidder turned, whispering to the guardsman beside him. Their conversation was quick, urgent.

"Are you sure we can sell her already?" the bidder asked, his voice low. "Didn’t the boss say no new slaves should be sold until they’re broken in?"

The guardsman shrugged, glancing at the paper in his hand. He wasn’t literate, but he didn’t need to be to know what the boss wanted. "Her name's on the list. The boss himself sent her. If she wasn’t ready, she wouldn’t be standing here now." He shoved the folder back toward the bidder. "Just sell her. Low price, if you’re worried."

The bidder gave a reluctant nod and turned back toward the crowd. His slimy grin was back, full of malice and greed.

"Gentlemen," he called out, raising his voice to command attention. "Feast your eyes on this beauty. Untouched. Unspoiled." He moved closer to Penny, his hand reaching out to grasp a lock of her hair. "Look at this… so smooth, like silk." He rubbed the strands between his fingers as though savoring every moment. Sherry remained still, forcing herself not to react, but the revulsion she felt churned inside her.

The bidder leaned closer, lowering his voice, though loud enough for the audience to hear. "Imagine those soft legs wrapped around you… warm and tight… the first to break her in." His words were met with chuckles and dark murmurs from the crowd. The air smelled of cigars and cheap cologne, a scent that only intensified the dread pooling in Sherry's stomach. She could almost feel their hands on her, their eyes stripping her naked in front of everyone.

The bidder gave her hair a harsh tug, causing Sherry to wince involuntarily. "She’s shy now, but she’ll scream for you when you break her in." His grin widened as the men in the crowd stirred, some whispering, others grinning like sharks smelling blood in the water.

"Fifty thousand," a man barked from the crowd, breaking the sickening silence.

"Ah! We have our first bid!" the bidder exclaimed, his voice dripping with glee. He let Sherry’s hair drop as he turned to face the crowd. "Look at that, gentlemen. The game is on!"

The bids came fast, a flurry of numbers called out like wolves tearing apart prey. "Seventy-five!" shouted one man. "Eighty!" cried another. The amounts kept climbing, and with each new bid, Sherry’s terror grew.

She kept her gaze down, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. She wanted to run, to scream, but there was nowhere to go. Her hands were bound, her body on display like a piece of meat at an auction. And now, it wasn’t just men—there was a woman too, her cold eyes gleaming with cruel interest as she upped the bid to one hundred and fifty thousand. Sherry had heard stories about the female mafia bosses—vicious, ruthless women who were just as cruel as the men they worked with.

"Two hundred thousand!" shouted a voice from the back. Sherry looked up for the first time, her eyes wide with panic. The man who had bid was tall, dressed in a sleek grey suit. His red eyes glowed like embers in the dim light. A Mafia. Next to him stood another man, holding an umbrella over his head even though there wasn’t a drop of rain. The second man’s smile sent a chill down Sherry’s spine. There was something wrong with him—something dangerous lurking beneath his calm demeanor.

The crowd quieted as the bids kept rising. "Three hundred thousand." "Four hundred!" The numbers kept climbing, and with every shout, Sherry’s heart pounded louder in her chest. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the shadows and escape this nightmare, but there was no escape.

And then came the voice she dreaded most.

"Five hundred thousand," came the smooth, low voice of a man at the back of the room. The bidder paused, as did the crowd. Heads turned, murmurs ran through the room. Half a million for a captive was unheard of, even in the dark underbelly of the mafia world.

Sherry’s breath caught in her throat as she strained to see who had made the bid. At the far end of the room, standing with his hands casually in his pockets, was a man in a crisp black suit. His hair was dark, and his eyes… his eyes were cold as ice. He didn’t smirk like the others, didn’t grin with hunger or lust. He simply stood there, a silent predator surveying his prey.

The crowd shifted uneasily. Even the bidder seemed uncertain now. "Five hundred thousand," he repeated, as if to confirm what he’d heard. "That’s quite the offer, my friend."

The man in black didn’t respond, his eyes never leaving Sherry.

"Going once… going twice…" the bidder hesitated, glancing nervously at the guardsman who stood nearby. But the guardsman gave a small nod. The boss’s orders were clear.

"Sold!" the bidder shouted, slamming the gavel down. The room erupted in murmurs and whispers, but Sherry barely heard them. Her body felt numb, her mind reeling from the terror and disbelief. She had been sold, bought by a man who didn’t look at her like the others—but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

As the man in black approached the stage, Sherry’s heart pounded in her chest. She didn’t know what fate awaited her, but one thing was certain: in this world, there were no saviors, only devils in disguise.