Beauty and the Devil

chapter 5

Samantha’s POV

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I was still crouched beside Michael, brushing hair from his bloodied forehead like it would fix something. Like anything could.

I looked up at Clyde.

His face was unreadable. Not cold. Not angry. Just... solid. Like whatever human emotion once lived in him had long since withered under the weight of whatever made him this way.

“How?” I whispered, my voice a thread.

Michael’s eyes darted to mine. He looked smaller somehow, kneeling there on the marble, shoulders caved in with guilt. He swallowed hard.

“I was supposed to move a batch,” he mumbled. “Pills. Just hold them, move them fast, take a cut.”

I stared at him, stunned. “You said you were done.”

“I thought I was. But then they offered—” His voice cracked. “It was easy money. For school. For us. I didn’t know they’d... someone jacked the whole thing. Took everything. And now he wants me to pay for it.”

“How much?”

Michael hesitated. “A hundred thousand.”

The number dropped like a dead weight in my chest.

I stood up slowly, facing Clyde. “Please. Let him go. I’ll repay it. I’ll work for you. However long it takes.”

Clyde didn’t blink. He smiled — that cool, cruel curl of his lip that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, you’ll work it off,” he said. “Otherwise, your brother goes swimming with the fish.”

My stomach dropped. I flinched, and his smile widened slightly.

“I heard you had silky hands,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze moved over me — not hungrily, but like he was making calculations. I felt my skin crawl under the weight of it.

“I was lied to,” he said. “You don’t know how to massage. But that’s fine.”

His hand snapped out and grabbed my wrist — not hard, not soft. Possessive. Final.

“I’ll teach you.”

He shoved me gently but firmly toward the table.

“Get undressed.”

Michael scrambled to his feet. “Don’t touch her!”

Clyde didn’t even look at him. Just pushed — one smooth motion — and Michael collapsed back to the floor with a thud and a gasp.

“Please,” I said, spinning toward Clyde, holding my hands out like a shield. “Don’t touch Michael. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want, just—please—”

I reached for my blouse with trembling fingers.

Unbuttoned the top. Then the second.

His eyes didn’t leave me. Not once.

“Out,” he said without raising his voice.

Michael looked at me, his mouth open like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just turned and walked out, shoulders hunched, head bowed.

The door shut behind him.

I pulled the blouse off slowly, holding it to my chest for a second too long before dropping it to the floor. I stood there, arms crossed over my bra, breathing fast.

Clyde stepped forward, reached down to the waistband of my jeans, and pointed.

“Take those off too.”

I hesitated. Just for a second.

Then I slipped out of them.

He didn’t leer. Didn’t gloat. Just gathered my clothes in one hand and walked to the window. I heard the latch click.

And then he threw them out.

I blinked, stunned, a cold burst of air hitting my skin like a slap.

“What... what are you doing?”

But he was already pulling something from a drawer. A scrap of black lace and silk. He tossed it at me — it landed against my chest like a dare.

“Put this on.”

I stared down at the thing. It wasn’t a uniform. It wasn’t even lingerie. It was costume-level provocative — something meant for power, not pleasure.

“And then,” he added, voice low and sharp, “get on the bed.”

I didn’t move.

“Legs astride,” he said.

I stood there, still holding the fabric in my hands, trying to remember how to breathe.