Owed to the devil

Chapte: 3

You ever feel like life’s out to get you?

Because I swear, the moment I stepped back into this cursed house, the universe sent an email to hell like, “Hey, she’s back. Unleash chaos.”

I barely slept that night. The ceiling fan creaked like it was possessed, Jolene had the TV volume on full blast, and my dad was passed out in the hallway — snoring like a dying bear. Classic.

But I wasn’t about to sit around moping. I had bills to cover, books to buy, supplies for my sculpture project. I didn’t have the luxury of throwing pity parties. I needed money — fast.

So I threw on a clean-enough T-shirt, tied my curls up, and hit the streets with a smile that felt like it might c***k in half.

I checked every corner shop, gas station, pizza joint — nothing.

Then, fate finally winked at me from a shady corkboard outside a liquor store.

“BAR STAFF WANTED — Night shifts, Cash Pay, Ask for Reza.”

Did it scream “danger”? Maybe. But I was broke, desperate, and slightly delusional from heatstroke.

So of course, I called.

---

Reza’s Bar was on the edge of town — the part where streetlights flicker like they’re on their last breath and everyone pretends not to hear screams after 10 p.m.

But I walked in with my head held high and my resume printed on cheap paper in a plastic sleeve.

“Ahh, Isla, right?” Reza was thin, slick, and smelled like cologne that hadn’t been cool since 2005. “You’re perfect. Young, pretty. You’ll bring in customers.”

Okay, kind of a weird compliment, but I smiled and nodded.

“I just need something behind the counter,” I told him. “Drinks, cleanup, whatever.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Come in tomorrow night. Black clothes, no heels. We’ll start you behind the bar.”

Cool. Chill. Sketchy but manageable.

I skipped home feeling like I’d won the lottery.

Spoiler: I hadn’t.

---

The next night, I showed up in jeans, boots, and a black tank top.

Reza’s assistant barely looked at me as she shoved a cheap plastic outfit in my hands. “Change. You’re not behind the bar tonight.”

“What?”

“Owner changed the lineup. You’re filling in for a dancer.”

I blinked at her like she’d just grown a third eye. “I’m sorry, a what now?”

She shrugged, already bored of my existence. “Put it on. Go onstage when your name’s called.”

My blood ran cold. The outfit was basically lingerie with glitter. There was no way. No way I was getting on some stage and— Nope. Not happening.

But when I turned to leave, two security guys were blocking the hallway.

“You don’t want to make the boss angry,” the woman said flatly. “Just do one song. You’ll get your cash.”

My heart pounded. I felt like I was being smothered.

I should’ve screamed. Fought. Ran.

But instead, I stood there — frozen. Because deep down, a part of me knew: I had no backup. No one to call. And nowhere else to go.

The music pulsed like a threat through the walls. The lights flashed. The voices blurred. Someone pushed me forward.

And that’s when I saw him.

---

He was sitting in the VIP corner — far from the noise, surrounded by shadows.

Tall. Broad shoulders. A tailored black shirt stretched across his chest, unbuttoned just enough to hint at trouble. He sat with his legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clasped like a man who made decisions.

And his eyes.

Oh, God, his eyes.

Sharp, hawk-like. Silver-gray, with something molten and wrong lurking behind them. He wasn’t just watching. He was calculating.

The moment our eyes met, the breath locked in my lungs.

It was like something ancient had noticed me — and decided I was worth its time.

I didn’t know his name. I didn’t know why he looked at me like he’d seen me before.

But I knew, instinctively, this man was dangerous.

Someone grabbed my wrist, ready to shove me onstage.

Then, his voice cut through the noise — deep, cold, and bone-level commanding.

“She’s with me.”

Everything stopped. Even the music.

The guy dragging me froze.

Reza practically ran from the back room. “Sir, I—I didn’t know—”

“She’s not one of your girls,” the man said, standing. “Is she?”

Reza gulped. “N-no, of course not. Just a misunderstanding.”

“Good.”

The man took two strides toward me, reached out, and with zero hesitation, removed the glittery excuse of a robe they’d thrown on me. He draped his own black coat over my shoulders, covering me completely.

“Come with me.”

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t.

My legs moved before my brain caught up.

He walked like someone used to being obeyed. Like danger would kneel for him if he told it to.

And I followed him out of that place, like a lost lamb that was just found by it's shepherd.