OWNED BY THE DEVIL I LOVED
1192 Words
Chapter One: The Devil in the Alley:
The night I met him, I learned how fast the world could turn violent.
Rain fell in sheets, cold and relentless, soaking through my clothes until the fabric clung to my skin like a second layer I couldn’t peel away. My breaths came out ragged, tearing from my chest as I ran, the sound of my heels striking the pavement far too loud in the empty street.
I shouldn’t have stayed late.
I shouldn’t have taken the shortcut.
And I definitely shouldn’t have ignored the warning curling in my gut the moment I felt eyes on my back.
Footsteps echoed behind me.
Not one pair.
More.
“Hey!” a voice called out. “Slow down!”
Panic flooded my veins. I didn’t slow down.
I turned sharply into a narrow alley, the smell of damp concrete and rot slamming into me. Trash bins lined the walls, overflowing, the alley lit only by a flickering streetlamp at the far end. My heel slipped on wet ground, and I barely managed to keep myself upright.
Stupid. Stupid.
I spun around just as three men stepped into the alley’s mouth, blocking my escape. Their faces were half-hidden in shadow, but their smiles were clear enough.
Predatory. Expectant.
“Running makes it more fun,” one of them said.
My back hit the brick wall, cold seeping through my dress. I clutched my bag to my chest like it might protect me, my fingers numb, my heart slamming so hard it hurt.
“I don’t want trouble,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound firm.
They laughed.
That was when I felt it.
A presence.
Not loud. Not obvious. Heavy. Like the air itself had thickened.
I looked past them—and saw him.
He stood near the end of the alley, partially swallowed by shadow, tall and unmoving, rain sliding off the sharp lines of his shoulders. He didn’t look surprised. Didn’t look curious.
He looked… irritated.
Like an interruption had occurred.
For one foolish second, hope flared in my chest.
Then he spoke.
“You’re standing where you shouldn’t be.”
His voice was low, calm, and carried effortlessly through the rain. It wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be.
One of the men scoffed and turned. “Who the hell are—”
The stranger took one step forward.
Just one.
Something in his posture made the men hesitate. The laughter died quickly, replaced by tension so sharp it felt like it might cut.
“This alley,” the stranger continued, “is mine.”
Silence.
Rain hit the ground like gunfire.
“You don’t own streets,” another man snapped, trying to sound brave.
The stranger tilted his head slightly, as if considering something trivial.
Then the night exploded.
A gunshot cracked the air, deafening and sudden. One of the men collapsed before I even understood what had happened, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. I screamed, my hands flying to my mouth as chaos erupted.
The stranger moved.
Fast. Precise. Brutal.
I pressed myself against the wall, heart in my throat, as fists flew and blood splattered the wet pavement. There was no hesitation in him—no wasted movement. He was violence given shape, rain and shadow clinging to him as he dismantled them with terrifying ease.
When it was over, the alley fell silent again.
Two bodies lay still on the ground. The third man was on his knees, sobbing, clutching a broken arm.
The stranger crouched in front of him.
“Tell them,” he said quietly. “Tell them what happens when they cross into my territory.”
He released him with a shove.
The man scrambled away, crying, disappearing into the rain.
Only then did the stranger turn to me.
My knees felt weak. I hadn’t realized I was shaking until he looked at my hands.
“You’re trembling,” he observed.
I nodded, unable to speak.
Up close, he was worse.
Rain slicked his dark hair back from his face, revealing sharp cheekbones and a jaw that looked like it had been carved from stone. His eyes—God—his eyes were impossibly dark, unreadable, fixed on me with an intensity that made my pulse stumble.
I felt exposed. Seen. Claimed.
“I didn’t see anything,” I blurted out. “I swear.”
A slow smile curved his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Everyone sees something.”
He stepped closer.
The space between us vanished, and suddenly I was painfully aware of how close we were. Of the heat radiating from him despite the cold rain. Of how my back was pressed firmly to the wall with nowhere to go.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
I glanced down. A scrape on my knee stung, blood mixing with rainwater.
“It’s nothing.”
His gaze lingered there for a second too long before lifting back to my face. His eyes darkened.
“Everything is something,” he murmured.
His hand came up, bracing against the wall beside my head. He wasn’t touching me—but the threat of it was everywhere. My breath hitched as his scent surrounded me. Leather. Smoke. Something dangerously male.
“Why did you help me?” I asked quietly.
He leaned closer, his mouth near my ear. I could feel his breath, warm and steady, against my earlobe His gaze lingering on my skin.
“I didn’t help you,” he said. “You were in my way.”
My heart pounded.
“Then why am I still here?”
His gaze dropped—slowly—to my lips. The look was dark, assessing, possessive. My stomach tightened, a confusing heat curling low despite my fear.
“Because,” he said softly, “you’re interesting.”
I swallowed.
Rain dripped from his lashes. His fingers flexed against the wall, like he was restraining himself from touching me.
“You should be screaming,” he continued. “Or begging.”
“I’m not either,” I whispered.
A spark of something dangerous lit in his eyes.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re not.”
For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between us. The rain. My breath.His gaze pinning me in place.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear—but still not touching.
“And that,” he whispered, “is why you’re coming with me.”
My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.
“I—I don’t even know your name.”
“You don’t need it.”
His hand finally moved—gripping my wrist, firm and warm, sending a jolt straight through me. Not painful. Not gentle. Certain.
“Do you always take what you want?” I asked, my voice barely steady.
His lips curved again, dark and unapologetic.
“Only when it’s already mine.” he said darkly,and I wondered when and how did I become his .
He guided me forward, out of the alley, into the rain-soaked night.
And somehow, terrifyingly…
I followed.
- Writer
