Because I'm the devil
Who's searching for redemption
— I Wanna Be Your Slave by Maneskin

Stepping out of my car, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and answered the incoming call. "Doctor Martin," I greeted cautiously.

"Mr. Gray, it's been a while," she greeted back as I climbed up the marble steps to the front door of the Stanford's family home. "Does anyone besides Miss Preston's family and yours know about her admittance to this institute?" she asked.

I frowned. "No. Just William, Scarlet, and me. Is something wrong?"

"She's been receiving letters recently," she sighed deeply. "I've emailed you pictures of the letters and the envelopes that were used. If you have the time, please do check it out."

"I'll do that," I said, walking through the empty living room to the indoor lift. "In the meantime, please increase the security around her."

"I will, Mr. Gray."

I ended the call and went straight to my email, immediately opening Doctor Martin's message. I leaned against a pillar and scrolled through all the pictures. The envelopes were all the same: plain red with golden lace trimmings on the edges. But what fully caught my attention was the insignia used — a burning rose. My forehead creased at the coincidence.

Was it really just that? Or was it a clue to the nightmares I used to get? The nightmares that urged me to have my arm inked with an image of a burning rose.

I skimmed through a few letters, noting the name inscribed at the bottom of each paper. I hadn't heard or read of that name before. But something about it seemed familiar.

Letting out a breath, I slipped my phone back into my pocket before stepping inside the lift. I pressed the button to the third floor and crossed my arms, shutting my eyes to calm the fuck down. I would have to look into that matter once this thing with my father was done.

I entered my father's office, keeping a smooth expression on my face. He was standing by the glass windows that overlooked the back of the house.

My father was a man who emitted dominance wherever he went, and respect came to him without him having to ask for it. One would assume that a person as influential as him would have a great deal of loyal people on his feet, but the reality was a far cry. People bowed willingly for the rich and powerful out of fear. It was only in rare moments that one would bow in true loyalty.

"You're lucky you didn't join the dinner tonight with the Lowell's," he said in a disapproving voice. "I don't understand the desperation of that young lady. I already made it perfectly clear that I won't be accepting this marriage of convenience nonsense."

"I did warn you about Scarlet's temperament." I slumped down on the couch and stretched my long legs. "Did she throw a fit?" I asked.

My father snorted as though what I said was a total understatement to what actually happened in this house two hours ago, and I presumed it was. After all, Scarlet was a drama queen, majoring in Performing Arts, and she was bordering psychoticism with the obsessive behavior she had towards me.

"She broke a few of our china after I told them once more that there was no hope for an engagement between our families. Surprisingly, her parents were more accepting of the refusal."

He heaved a great sigh and walked over to his wooden desk, gesturing to a small box with his face twisted in contempt. I rose to my feet in alarm, taking long strides towards him. Nearing the package, the stench of rotting flesh hit my nostrils, and my nose flared.

I glanced inside the box to find a dismembered ear before looking at my father's stern face. "Who decided to grace us with their threats this time?" I asked grimly.

"Elliot and Gina Bradford."

"Why am I not surprised?" I scoffed, running a hand through my hair. "They've been coming after us for a while now."

Elliot and Gina were going a bit thick with their threats to my family after my father refused to accept their business deal that was shady as fuck, even when they promised to be honest. It would be damn foolish to trust them since they were infamous for not keeping their word and going against a signed contract. They might own a well-known jewelry store downtown, but within the walls of their righteous and glorious front, they operated in the human trafficking business. And that was something my father would never want to be associated with. He would rather drive a bullet straight to his head than affiliate himself to a bunch of deranged criminals.

I'm a father of two children, he said to me when I asked about it.

I watched my father as he sat on his polished leather wing chair. He leaned back and looked me straight in the eye, his face cleared of any emotion. "I want you to take care of this tonight. Send them a message and make it memorable," he ordered.

"That's my specialty," I smirked, turning on my heel and heading for the door. As I reached for the handle, I glanced over my shoulder. "Do you know anything about The Marchioness?"

"Where did you hear that name?"

"Someone else is aware of Aila's whereabouts."

His eyebrows furrowed, and his gaze turned cold. "Come back here as soon as you're finished. There's a lot we have to discuss."

"Is this about Hyo–Jin?" I questioned.

Hurt flashed in my father's eyes as he nodded firmly.

Of course, it had to be about her.

●      ●      ●

Locating Elliot's right-hand man in the middle of a busy, wet night in Boston was funnily easy to do. It was even easier having three of my family's aides abduct him after a filling dinner with Elliot and Gina. He was drunk out of his mind, mumbling gibberish at the back seat of his Chevy that I carjacked before picking him up at the entrance of the restaurant.

"Where are we headed?" he drawled, and I glanced at him through the rearview mirror. He was peering out the window with his face sticking to the glass. "This isn't the road," he said.

"It is," I insisted, focusing on the pavement ahead. "With the heavy rain, it's almost impossible to squeeze through traffic. We're taking an alternate road."

"Jose, when did you get an accent?" he murmured unsurely. There was a momentary pause before he spoke again, sounding furious. "And who is this other person in my car?!" he demanded.

I chuckled deeply. "I'm the person who'll bring you several steps closer to death. It's nice to meet your acquaintance, Micah Carrillo."

Another few seconds of tense silence. He was processing my words, putting two and two together to fit the puzzle, and when he finally did, it was like cold water had been poured over him, and he sobered up in an instant. His fists started pounding on the windows as he shouted, demanding to be released.

"I really didn't want to do this," I warned, pulling out a syringe from the roller bag he insisted I brought along with me. That asshole loved his narcotics more than gambling.

"You're fucking dead, bastard!"

Without delay, I pivoted halfway on the seat and stabbed his leg with the syringe, emptying the contents into his bloodstream. His eyes were wide and coated with fear as he stared at me, his body slowly slumping back on the leather seat. The effects of this drug were instant, a personal favorite of mine for men like Micah. His lips parted in realization upon seeing my face, knowing exactly what was going to happen to him.

"Gray," he sputtered, eyes closing, "Stanford."

I straightened my posture, returning the syringe into its designated pocket before peering out the windshield at the heavy rain. I signaled to my driver, and he turned to a narrow road. It was a shortcut to a warehouse that only a few people were aware of. It would take another fifteen minutes to reach our destination, and by then, the drug I injected on Micah would wear off, but with the amount of alcohol in his system, I'd have to regain his consciousness using a different method.

I had my men carry Micah out of the car as I carried on ahead to the abandoned warehouse. There was a rumpty wooden stool at the center, and I beckoned for them to sit him there as I dragged a more decent-looking chair across. I settled down on it, watching as they secured both his hands to the seat. My arms crossed against my chest as they poured ice-cold water on him, drenching his body entirely and jolting him awake. He gasped loudly, eyes snapping open and instantly landing on me.

"You!" he growled, his attempt to lunge forward, causing the chair to fall forward. He landed face-first on the cemented ground, a cry of pain leaving his lips.

I cringed, shaking my head at his stupidity. I didn't even do anything yet, and he had already broken his own nose.

"Get this bloody twat up," I ordered, keeping my eyes at his writhing body before rubbing my temples with my forefinger and thumb.

I didn't think the infamous Micah Carrillo was such a dumbass.

The second his chair was up again, he raised his head to look at me and flashed a grin. Blood trickled down his broken nose, staining his mouth and teeth with crimson. Turning away, he spat out the blood and leaned his head back as he belted out a cynical laugh.

"What do you want, Gray?" he said a second later, unamused.

"We received the package you sent today. I was merely wondering whose ear it belonged to."

"Daddy Dearest didn't teach you anything, rich boy?" he mocked. "Everybody knows that curiosity killed the cat."

I stood to my feet with a heavy breath, keeping my eyes trained on his. "As far as humans are concerned, the only thing a healthy curiosity can kill is ignorance."

I took long strides towards him like a lion cornering his prey, my eyes dead of any emotion but hunger. Panic flashed through his dark eyes, his shoulders slumping in concession.

"What happened to your arrogance?" I asked, circling him. He hissed in response, ducking his head away from me. I noted the silver earring on his right ear before coming back to stand in front of him. It was what their kith and kin wore to identify themselves. "I wonder what Elliot and Gina will do once they receive a package with your ear inside."

"Do it. I have nothing to lose."

"Your bravery is much appreciated," I said, walking away from him and gesturing to my men to drag him along. "But sadly, I don't like getting my hands dirty unnecessarily."

His protesting made me glance over my shoulder. He was resisting their tight hold on him, despite knowing there was no way he would leave this place without a scratch. His nose was his own doing. I couldn't possibly count that in what he deserved. I climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor with him in tow behind me, the wet, chilly wind that entered from the broken walls welcoming me. I stopped right in front of the opening that offered a fantastic view of a Victorian mansion.

"Do you recognize that house, Mr. Carrillo?" I asked, listening to his heavy breathing behind me. "Do you even know where we are right now?"

"No," he breathed out in realization.

"That's right, Mr. Carrillo. You're in the Bradford Family's old warehouse, and that" — I pointed to the mansion in the distance — "is where they keep most of their illegal money."

"How-how did you know?"

I scoffed, whirling around to face him. "The elites are never the cleanest and purest despite the image they portray. The business you have associated yourself with is one of the dirtiest amongst them and the ones that are experiencing a steady decline in income. Isn't that why you're threatening us?"

"You're all fucking hypocrites. Every family and business in that damn I—" A groan of pain left his mouth when a fist collided with his stomach, and I quickly shot my men a glare.

"Like I said," I cleared my throat, "the rich carry their own shit to deal with, and I prefer making a statement than making measly threats."

As my mouth spat out those final words, a massive explosion disrupted the silence in the calm night, bright flashes of orange and red illuminating Micah Carrillo's face as his eyes widened. His lips parted in utter shock, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped visibly.

It was known that Elliot and Gina Bradford were desperate to become members of a high-class, secret society. They were greedy for the connections, the power they would gain, and the money that came along with the partnership. Aside from their untrustworthy habits, abduction and human trafficking were deeply frowned upon within that society. There were no exemptions.

"He'll come for you," Micah said breathily.

"I can't wait." I walked past him and headed for the staircase, wanting to drown the rest of my night with a bottle of whiskey while I looked into those letters Doctor Martin sent.

"Word has it that you have a woman."

My entire body stilled as I stopped dead on my heels, blood draining from my face at his words. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as I clenched my fist tight, hoping that he meant someone else and not her.

"You destroyed what matters to them. They'll find that woman and use her to ruin you."

"Then allow me to swear this now." My jaw tightened until I felt the muscles tick. "Ending your life means showing mercy. And as long as I'm alive, I'll make all of you suffer. I'll make you pay." I peered over my shoulder to look at Micah straight in the eye. "I always make good on my promises."