All Chapters of The Devil's Claim... His little mouse.: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Bone lake Coastal City....Year 2014, Midnight The relentless downpour drenched the dimly lit streets of Bone lake, a coastal city where the sea roared under the storm's fury. The streetlights flickered, barely illuminating the narrow alleyways. Deep puddles formed, reflecting the towering shadows of forgotten buildings in this forsaken part of town. Beneath a broken street lamp, a young woman named Sherry Rain stood, clinging to her black umbrella, the rain slapping down like a symphony of whispers and screams. Her jade green eyes darted nervously across the empty street as her aunt and uncle huddled under another umbrella a few feet away. The city's underworld had kept them on edge for weeks. Every delivery felt like walking through a minefield. Tonight was no different. "Aunt May, do you think Mr Jason will show up?" Sherry asked, her voice barely rising above the sound of the rain. "The storm’s getting worse, I don't think the rain is going to stop any time soon." "He will c

The early hours of the morning were typically silent, but today, a soft drizzle accompanied the heavy clouds that still blanketed the sky. The mansion that stood at the heart of the sprawling estate was a fortress, with guards stationed at every entrance, their cold gazes alert for any disturbance. Inside the vast underground levels, the clinking of metal against the concrete floor echoed. Sherry's eyes fluttered open as the noise roused her. She sat up slowly, her body aching from the night spent on a hard, cold cot. She rubbed her eyes and took in her surroundings—the dim, damp room that had been her prison for what felt like weeks. The steel door of her cell clanked open with a low groan, and Sherry felt a small surge of relief. The prospect of stepping outside, of breathing air that wasn’t stifled by the smell of fear and sweat, was a small consolation in her otherwise grim situation. As she rose to her feet, she saw other pr

The narrow corridor felt like a tomb, the pale lights overhead flickering intermittently, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Sherry's footsteps echoed down the cold concrete floor as she passed the holding cells, each lined with steel bars and flickering red lights. The captives inside sat motionless, their faces a mixture of despair and defiance. Some leaned against the wall, others curled into themselves, trying to shield their broken spirits. It had been five days since Sherry was dragged into The Basement, the infamous underground lair of The Bone lake Syndicate, a sprawling mafia organization that traded in secrets, power—and human lives. She'd spent two of those days in an isolation room, a punishment she was told would ‘teach her to behave.’ But she knew the real reason—they were trying to break her down before branding her, marking her like they did every other captive in this place. It was the same warning she’d heard from Raphael, her cellmate. The branding was a sign of o

Meanwhile at the center of Bone lake city.... Dallion "Black Death" Cross strode through the bustling streets of Bone lake, a place known for its shady deals and underworld connections. The sound of chatter, clinking coins, and distant laughter mixed with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and burning cigars. It was a maze of alleys and crooked streets, a place where power wasn’t just bought with money, but with blood and favors. As his black leather shoes clicked on the cobblestones, men and women quickly moved out of his way, lowering their gazes in a mixture of fear and respect. Mr Cross was no ordinary man. In fact, in the dark underbelly of the city, he was considered more of a myth than flesh and blood. The Black Death wasn’t just a nickname; it was a title he'd earned through merciless violence, swift executions, and a reputation that left most either shaking or dead. He wore a tailored black suit, his muscular frame exuding

Sherry had been trembling in the shadowy corner of the auction house, her hands bound, her lips dry from hours of fear and silence. She had heard whispers about the type of men who frequented these places—men who controlled half the city’s crime syndicates, men who bought and sold people like cattle. When the murmur among the crowd quieted, Sherry's heart pounded. All eyes started to move toward a figure in the farthest corner of the room. At first, he was only a silhouette, backlit by the dim lights of the warehouse, but as he walked, the sea of people parted, a wave of instinctual fear making them clear the way. She heard murmurs—something about "Don Dallion." Sherry dared not breathe as his dark shape came closer. He moved with a grace that could only come from a lifetime of dominance. People feared him, respected him, and for good reason. His steps were slow, deliberate, each one bringing him closer to where she stood on the platform. Sh