When the Devil Learned to Love

Episode 4: The Puppet Master

“LOOK OUT THE WINDOW, MIRA. DO IT NOW!”

The voice on the phone was deep, raspy, and terrifyingly calm.

I bolted upright in my bed. My heart felt like it was trying to punch through my ribs. The room was pitch black. The red numbers on my alarm clock read 03:14 AM.

The black phone—the "gift" Aarav had given me—was glowing in my hand. I hadn't even heard it ring. I had just woken up with the vibration buzzing against my nightstand like an angry hornet.

"Mr. Voss?" I whispered, my voice thick with sleep. "What is happening?"

"I said, look out the window," he repeated.

I scrambled out of bed. My bare feet slapped against the cold wooden floor. I rushed to the window and pulled back the cheap, dusty curtains.

I lived on the fourth floor of a run-down building. The street below was usually empty at this hour.

But tonight, there was a car.

A sleek, black sedan with tinted windows. It was parked directly across the street, under the flickering yellow streetlamp. It looked like a shark swimming in a pool of goldfish. The engine was running. I could see the white smoke from the exhaust pipe swirling in the cold night air.

"Do you see me?" Aarav asked through the phone.

I shivered. "Yes. Why are you here?"

"I am not there," he said. "My men are. They are watching the building."

"Why?" I demanded. Anger started to replace the fear. "Am I a prisoner?"

"You are an asset," Aarav replied. "And assets need to be protected. Someone was asking questions about you at the archives today. A man with a scar on his cheek."

My blood ran cold.

A scar on the cheek. That sounded like one of the men from the night of the fire. One of the men who killed my parents.

"Is he... is he coming for me?" I asked, my hand gripping the phone so tight my knuckles turned white.

"He was," Aarav said. "We took care of it."

Took care of it.

That meant the man was dead. Aarav had killed someone tonight, and now he was calling me at 3 AM to tell me.

"Go back to sleep, Mira," Aarav said. His voice softened, just a fraction. It was almost... gentle. "Nothing touches you unless I allow it. You belong to me now."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stared down at the black car. It sat there, silent and deadly.

He said it to comfort me. You belong to me. But it didn't feel like comfort. It felt like a chain wrapping around my neck.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. I sat on the floor, hugging my knees, watching the car.

He was protecting me from the monsters. But what happened when the protector was the biggest monster of them all?

The next morning, the city was gray and rainy. The rain lashed against the windows of the subway train, blurring the world outside.

I wasn't going to work. Not yet.

I had left the black phone—the tracker—in my desk drawer at the office. I told the security guard I was going out for a "coffee run."

I needed to talk to Saul.

Saul was the only reason I was alive. He was an old police detective who had been the first one on the scene when my house burned down. He had found me hiding in the bushes, covered in soot. He was the one who erased my name from the system. He was the one who helped me become "Mira Kael."

I met him in the back of a noisy, greasy diner near the train station. The place smelled like frying bacon and stale cigarettes.

Saul looked terrible. He was older now, his face lined with deep wrinkles, his hands shaking as he held his coffee cup.

"You shouldn't be here, kid," Saul hissed, looking over his shoulder. "I told you. Stay away from Voss."

"I found something," I whispered, leaning over the sticky table. "Project Lazarus. Sector 7."

Saul dropped his cup. Coffee splashed onto the table, a brown puddle spreading toward us.

"Don't," he said. His eyes were wide with panic. "Don't say that name."

"What is it, Saul? Is it a weapon?"

"It's not a weapon," Saul said, his voice trembling. "It's a tomb. Sector 7 is where they took the... the test subjects. Years ago. Before the fire."

He grabbed my hand. His skin was cold and clammy.

"Mira, listen to me. Aarav Voss didn't just inherit that company. He was made by it. They did things to him. And now he's doing it to others. If you go to Sector 7, you won't come back."

"I have to," I said stubbornly. "He trusts me. I'm on the executive floor now."

Saul looked at me with pure horror. "He doesn't trust anyone. He's playing with you. You're a mouse walking into a snake's mouth and thinking you're friends because he hasn't bitten you yet."

He squeezed my hand. "Get out. Pack a bag. Leave the city. I know a guy in Canada who can—"

Bzzzt.

My pocket vibrated.

I froze.

I had left the black phone at the office. I was sure of it.

I reached into my pocket. It wasn't a phone.

It was the ID badge. The Voss Industries badge clipped to my coat.

The vibration was coming from the plastic card.

"Oh no," I whispered.

The screen on the wall of the diner—the TV that was playing the morning news—suddenly glitched. The news anchor disappeared.

The screen turned black. Then, a single white eye appeared on the screen. The Voss logo.

The diner went silent. Everyone looked at the TV.

Then, my badge spoke. A tiny, hidden speaker inside the plastic.

"Finish your coffee, Mira. The car is outside."

Saul turned pale. He looked at me, then at the badge, then at the window.

Outside, three black SUVs had blocked the street.

"Run," Saul whispered. He pushed me away. "He knows. Run!"

"I can't," I said, tears stinging my eyes. "If I run, they'll hurt you."

I stood up. My legs felt like lead. I walked to the door of the diner.

The rain soaked me instantly. The door of the middle SUV opened. A large man in a suit stepped out and held it open for me.

I didn't fight. I got in.

I had tried to be smart. I had tried to be a spy.

But Aarav was always ten steps ahead.

They didn't take me to the office.

They took me to a building on the edge of the city. It looked like an old warehouse, but inside, it was a state-of-the-art gym.

The air smelled of sweat, leather, and metal.

The room was dimly lit. In the center, there was a boxing ring.

Aarav was there.

He was shirtless.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe. His back was to me. He was hitting a heavy bag. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Each hit sounded like a gunshot. His muscles rippled under his skin, slick with sweat.

But it wasn't his strength that shocked me. It was his scars.

His back was a map of pain. Long, jagged white lines crisscrossed his skin. Burn marks. Knife wounds. It looked like someone had tried to carve him apart piece by piece.

He stopped punching. He didn't turn around. He grabbed a towel and wiped his face.

"You left your phone at your desk," he said. His voice echoed in the large room.

"I... I forgot it," I lied.

He turned around slowly. His chest was heaving slightly. His gray eyes were dark, like a storm cloud about to burst.

"Lying to me is an insult, Mira," he said. "Do you think I am stupid?"

He walked toward me. He looked dangerous. Violent.

He stopped two feet away. He threw a pair of boxing gloves at my chest. I caught them instinctively.

"Put them on," he ordered.

"What?"

"Put. Them. On."

I fumbled with the velcro. My hands were shaking. I strapped the gloves on.

"You want to play games?" Aarav said, stepping onto the mat. "You want to run around the city meeting old cops? You want to be a hero?"

He raised his fists.

"Defend yourself."

"I don't want to fight you," I said, backing away.

"Too bad!"

He lunged.

It wasn't a real punch. It was a feint. But it was fast. I ducked, barely missing his fist.

"Fast," he grunted. "Good."

He swept his leg low. I jumped over it.

I had taken self-defense classes for years. I knew how to run. I knew how to dodge.

"Stop it!" I yelled.

"Make me!" he roared.

He came at me again. This time, I didn't run. I swung. My gloved fist connected with his shoulder. It was like hitting a brick wall. He didn't even flinch.

He grabbed my arm. He pulled me in. He spun me around and pinned my back against his chest. His arm locked around my throat—not choking me, but holding me in place.

We were frozen there. My back against his bare, sweaty chest. His heart hammering against my spine. His breath hot on my ear.

"You met with Detective Saul Miller," Aarav whispered into my ear. "He lives at 42 Oak Street. He has a cat named patches. He has a bad heart condition."

I stopped struggling. I went completely still.

"Don't," I choked out. "Please. He has nothing to do with this."

"He has everything to do with this," Aarav said. "He is a loose end. And I cut loose ends."

He let go of me. I stumbled forward, spinning around to face him.

He walked over to a bench and picked up a remote control. He pressed a button.

A giant screen on the wall flickered to life.

It was a live video feed.

It was the inside of Saul’s apartment. Saul was sitting in his armchair, holding his head in his hands. He looked terrified.

On his chest, right over his heart, was a tiny red dot. A laser sight.

"No!" I screamed. I ran toward the screen, as if I could stop it. "Aarav, don't! He's an old man!"

Aarav stood there, the remote in his hand. His face was unreadable.

"I could end him right now," Aarav said calmly. "One text message. That's all it takes."

I fell to my knees. The boxing gloves felt heavy, like lead weights.

"What do you want?" I sobbed. "I'll do anything. Just don't hurt him."

Aarav walked over to me. He crouched down so he was at eye level. He reached out and touched my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"I don't want you to do 'anything'," he said softly. "I want you to obey."

He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. His touch was confusing—it was violent, yet tender.

"You are looking for answers, Mira. You want to know about Sector 7? You want to know about the monsters?"

He leaned in closer. Our noses were almost touching.

"I am the monster," he whispered. "And you are inside my cage now. If you try to leave, people get hurt. If you lie to me, people get hurt. The only way everyone stays alive... is if you stay right here. By my side."

He looked at the screen again.

"Say it," he commanded.

"I'll stay," I whispered. "I won't run. I won't lie."

"Say: I am yours."

I looked at Saul's terrified face on the screen. I looked at the red dot.

I looked at Aarav. The man who had killed my parents. The man who was currently saving me from other killers. The man who made my body burn with a mixture of hate and desire.

"I am yours," I said.

Aarav stared at me for a long moment. Then, he pressed a button on the remote.

The red dot on Saul’s chest disappeared.

"Good girl," Aarav said.

He stood up and offered me a hand.

"Get cleaned up. We have a gala to attend tonight. You need to look perfect."

I looked at his hand. The hand that held the power of life and death.

I took it. He pulled me up effortlessly.

As I walked to the locker room, I pulled off the boxing gloves. My hands were red and sore.

He thought he had broken me. He thought he had won.

I looked in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes red from crying. But underneath the tears, there was something else.

Rage.

He wanted me to be his. Fine. I would be his. I would be the perfect asset. I would be the perfect doll.

I would get so close to him that he wouldn't see the knife until it was buried in his heart.

I am yours, Aarav, I thought, splashing cold water on my face. But you are going to regret owning me.

I dried my face. The terrified girl was gone.

The spy was back. And this time, she was playing for keeps.