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Promised punishment
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2024-10-29 19:42:56Related chapters
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. I haven't begun... but you're my first
Lady Ada leaned against the opulent mahogany table, her eyes glinting with a mixture of disdain and curiosity as she directed her venomous words toward Dallion. "What assistance can I provide, Mr. Cross? Don’t mind the maid’s foolishness; the help rarely knows their place or who they’re speaking to." Sherry, still reeling from the earlier insults, kicks and multreatment of the maid, glanced at the maid and felt a surge of empathy for her plight. But anger swelled within her, directed at both Lady Ada and Dallion for allowing this abuse to unfold. She didn’t regret her boldness; if anything, she felt a strange satisfaction in defying the lady's dress. Dallion could punish her later; the lady deserved every bit of humiliation. "I share your sentiments," Dallion replied smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. "People of a lesser status often fail to comprehend the weight of their actions."
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Don't sulk little mouse
Sherry kept a careful distance from Dallion as the black SUV jostled over the potholed road of Bone Lake City. Every bump made her feel more trapped in this twisted life she never asked for. She longed to return to the life she once knew, yet deep down, she questioned if she ever truly had a life before. The words of a woman in the dimly lit cell echoed in her mind, casting shadows over her thoughts. Her adoptive parents had sold her, she silently cursed Uncle Larry and Aunt May for being so heartless with her, despite her efforts to help them run their small workshop.Despite her desire to believe that her relatives hadn’t sold her off to the underworld, the likelihood of it gnawed at her insides. The timing of her disappearance felt all too coincidental; it was as if fate had conspired against her. If she had been sold by those who were supposed to care for her, where could she even go now? Friends? She barely had any left. The ones she knew back in the city whi
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. What he sees in you
Sherry sat at the edge of the plush leather couch in the room, her fingers tracing the seams of high end fashioned clothes nervously. The lavish, dimly lit penthouse she now found herself in was a far cry from her old life, and every opulent detail seemed to scream that she didn’t belong. A sudden chill ran down her spine when she remembered the list of rules Dallion had recited before locking her in that cold, isolated room for hours.“Don’t leave the room. Don’t eat anything except what Butler Nickson gives you. Don’t speak to anyone. Don’t touch anything. Don’t even think about running away. You’re mine, and you’ll listen only to me.”So many don’ts. She’d already broken two. Would Dallion find out? Could she claim it was Lady Grace who brought her out, leaving her with no choice?The woman in question stood by the window, her silhouette illuminated by the city lights reflecting through the glass. Sherry couldn’t shake the feeling that getting
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Heart's corruption
Sherry looked up only to meet the mafia heiress dark eyes glued on her, confusion instantly clouding her features, her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the situation. Across from her, the mafiress—who went by Grace—smirked, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "I get it. That’s exactly how I felt when Dallion told me he bought a maid—you," she emphasized. The word confused didn’t even begin to capture Sherry’s emotions. Dallion hated captives. He’d made that clear. So why would he buy her off the black market? Grace leaned back casually, flipping open an ornate box and rummaging through it. "Hate?" she scoffed, "That doesn’t even cover it. He loathes them. The mere idea of a captive especially from the Bluebeard market disgusts him." She pulled out a kaleidoscope, the type Sherry had only seen at fairs in distant villages in cinemas. The colors swirled hypnotically as Grace turned it to catch the light. "So, have you two met before?" she asked, though her attention was sti
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Find her now
Dallion had just wrapped up a tense meeting with one of the magistrates from two towns over about a pending case on one of their Mafia who had a pending case. He had made sure the magistrate had understood him clearly and there was no way the old magistrate was going to act against him. He leaned back in his black luxury sedan, the vehicle slicing through the night with its tinted windows concealing him from the world outside. Rain pounded mercilessly against the car, not the gentle, soothing kind, but like a strong and a fierce downpour that seemed to fall straight from the depths of hell. The slick, wet streets reflected the streetlights like shattered glass. In the front seat, his driver wore a black leather jacket, collar raised high to protect his neck from the biting cold. His eyes, hidden behind dark aviators, flicked from side to side as he navigated through the rain-soaked streets. Every raindrop that hit the windshield was wiped away with mechanical precision, but the st
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Time for your punishment
Nickison gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat at his master's question. What was he going to reply? "Answer quickly, Nickison. Don't keep me waiting here," Dallion spoke to him intimidatingly. His voice still in an even tone, never raised until now. The few years he had worked for this man in this very mansion as the butler, Nickison had not once heard him raise his voice. But maybe if he had, it would be less dangerous than the smiling expression now directed at him, sending chills through his bones. Nickison bowed deeply, hoping his master wouldn’t cut his neck off for this simple mistake. "Master Dallion, Lady Grace had the girl out of the room when I was asked to supervise the kitchen," he explained. As simple as the matter was, a lot of powerful people like Dallion didn’t leave room for mistakes. He held his breath, waiting to hear the young master of the Cross empire mansion say something.
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Is the punishment enough
Sherryl Rain stood in the rain, her eyelashes dripping with the water that slid from her wet hair to her forehead, then down to her eyes. If she hadn't been sure before, now there was no doubt: the man who had bought her off the black market was a devil. Dallion was cold and evil, with no trace of humanity in his soul. It wasn't just the darkness that surrounded them—the rain blurred her vision, making it hard to tell weeds from plants. When she crouched down, pulling out weeds by mistake, she realized she had also yanked out some of the good plants, which Dallion had already planned to punish her for further. But, just as Dallion had said, the rain finally let up, leaving only the cold wind to lash against her, making her shiver in the drenched dress that clung to her body, heavy and cumbersome from all the water it had absorbed. Now able to see the garden more clearly, she glanced down at the ruined plants and grimaced internally. Kill me now, she thought. Hiding the good ones
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Have you learned your lesson?
Sherry was staring at Dallion, listening to his serious words about the plants in front of them. The topic had shifted from the weeds to the plants she had mistakenly pulled out. There was a certain earnestness in his voice, as if he had planted them himself. Narcissist, she thought. This was her punishment, but here he was, crouching next to her, though in far better condition. Her drenched clothes clung to her body, heavy with moisture, and she felt like she was freezing in the middle of winter. She glanced at his muddy hands, which were busy replanting the uprooted plant. "Did you get it?" he asked, flicking his hand across her forehead, sending specks of mud onto her nose. "Stop daydreaming and staring at me. I know I’m handsome." Narcissist man, Sherry thought again, only to see Dallion narrow his eyes as if he had heard her. Could he read her mind? She gulped when his intense gaze didn’t leave her face. "I apologize for my rudeness," she said, ducking her head, wishing his
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The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Tasted this lips
Was she supposed to nod and smile, pretending to share his twisted sense of humor? Or should she keep quiet, blending into the car seat as if she were part of its upholstery? "Women who’ve tasted these lips don’t let go that easily," Dallion mused suddenly, his voice shifting to something almost playful. "They keep coming back. Even if I insult them, they can't resist. Masochists, wouldn’t you agree?" Sherry blinked, her mind scrambling for an answer. How was she supposed to comment on his past entanglements? But she could understand why women, even those with a semblance of self-respect, might flock to him. It wasn’t just his sharp jawline or commanding presence—it was the arrogance he wore like armor, daring anyone to challenge him. "Tell me, Sherry," Dallion’s tone turned curious, almost teasing. "What do you think people say about me? Through your eyes." He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs casually, though his gaze pinned her like a hawk sizing up its prey. "It do
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. somewhere else
Sherryl stilled her heart, trying to push down the swell of emotions that threatened to rise. She didn’t want to show him how much his actions perplexed her. The seconds stretched endlessly, and her thoughts tangled, trying to make sense of why Dallion had just gifted her something as significant as a family heirloom—a pendant that once belonged to his mother. Yet here he was, standing right in front of her, his expression as unreadable as ever, his sharp crimson gaze boring into her soul. It wasn’t fear anymore. Or at least, that’s what Sherryl told herself. Maybe at first, she had been terrified of this mafia lord, after all, he had stabbed the auctioneer who sold her in the black market with the precision and grace of someone unbothered by consequence. The sheer memory sent a shiver down her spine. Yet tonight, in this secluded attic, he had her thinking, questioning his motives. Why her? Why this? Sherryl recalled the
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. doesn't change much
Sheryl had thought the mark Dallion was talking about was either a tattoo with the Cross empire's emblem but she was wrong, after giving the locket to her, she was about to ask him another question when she felt a sudden pain in her arm.Sherryl flinched at the sudden pain of the cold metal brushing her skin, a sharp blade grazing against her hand as if it were testing her limits. The nick wasn’t deep but just enough to sting, drawing a thin line of crimson that dripped slowly. Dallion released her hand, his dark, brooding eyes watching her reaction with the intensity of a predator. She yanked her hand away, clutching it against her chest, but her gaze dropped instinctively to the shallow cut he had made. "Why did you do that?" she asked breathlessly, her voice barely above a whisper, her shock painted vividly on her face. Was he so cold-blooded that he decided to use her as his personal toy to torment, a pawn in his twisted game?
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. close your eyes
The Cross Empire Sherryl’s curiosity got the better of her, despite the fear curling in her stomach. "What is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Dallion leaned closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "The eternal vow. A bond that ties your very existence to mine. A mark that cannot be undone, binding you to me forever. Body, mind, and soul." Dallion, instead of giving her a direct answer, raised his hand, placing a finger on his lips in a motion to silence her. "It's a secret, little mouse. One that's not to be spoken of," he said with a teasing smirk that didn’t quite reach his cold, calculating eyes. Then, with the same intensity, he added, "Tell me, Sherryl. What do you think you’ll receive today?" Sherryl Rain fought the urge to roll her eyes but instead replied with cautious neutrality, “How would I know, Master Dallion?”
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
