Page 1 of Delivered to the Devil

PROLOGUE

“Burden”

by Opeth

Janos

Six months later

I stare at the unconscious woman in the bed. Her torso is a cruel canvas of bloody patches of gauze and swollen tissue. Even with her body hidden beneath the comforter, the vision remains vivid in my brain. So do her glittery green eyes and the terror, the longing, and the lust I’ve seen within them.

Those eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I want to see them watch me with that special combination of fear and a plea for protection that has drawn me to her since the first night I had her helpless in my hands. Lately, all I’ve seen in them is pain, if anything at all. Her milky skin is even paler than usual—like a ghost—and I know she’ll forever haunt me once she’s gone. This tiny woman has imprinted herself on me in ways nothing ever has.

I can’t let her go. I just can’t.

Grabbing my phone, I type out a text, delete the words, and type out a new message. Gabor has been crystal clear about me not getting her a doctor, so I have to be very careful about my choice of words. He can’t know I’ve fallen for this girl. He can’t know about my disloyalty. So I take my time, consider the bestway to spin this, and compose a message in a sober, rational tone.

If I don’t get the girl a doctor, you’ll have another body on your hands, and this one won’t be as easy to get rid of as the last one. Her family will ask questions, the embassy too, and bribing the police might be a risky, difficult affair.

After hitting send, I wait ten minutes, rotating the phone in my hand, clenching it in my fist, and hoping to God that Gabor will take my advice. He usually does, but this time, his sadistic urges seem to have gotten the better of him, and I’m afraid no rationale will get through to him.

For ten more minutes, I stare at the ghostlike girl in front of me. She looks dead. Maybe she already is or is about to be. It would be the merciful thing to do—let her drift off like this.

Fuck mercy.I’m not letting her go.

I dart up from the chair and press two fingers to her neck. Her pulse is weak, but it’s still there.

I want to shake her shoulders and slap her face to make her wake up—make her bright green eyes open and stare up at me. But I don’t. I can’t bear the screams when she’s awake. They tear at my soul, cutting me like the knife that cut her. I should have stopped Gabor. I should have ripped the knife from his hands the moment he drew blood. I should have dug it into his gut and made sure he could never hurt her again.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I force the bloody mental image of his intestines spilling from his stomach out of my mind and go to the living room, where I shut the door to keep the sound of my agitated pacing from waking up Rebecca. Another ten minutes pass before my phone vibrates with an incoming call.

“She needs a doctor,now, or she’ll die,” I say, raising my voice.

“Are you deaf, Janos? I told you to get rid of her. Slice her throat, bury her alive, or dump her in some drug den and pumpher full of fentanyl. I don’t care how. Just do it. No doctor for the whore.”

With that, he hangs up, and the edges of my phone dig into my hand as I clench it so hard I think I’ll crush it. My mind rages with ideas of how I could end Gabor, maybe even use his own suggestions against him—slice his throat in his sleep or drug him just enough to incapacitate him, then bury him alive.

I can’t, though.

I simply can’t betray the man who brought me out of the gutter, gave me a life worth living, and taught me everything I know—not like that.

But I can’t let her die either.

CHAPTER 1

“Atlantic”

by Sleep Token

Rebecca

Present time

I gather the dishes on my tray and gaze up at the sunset over Donau. To my right, the Chain Bridge connects the old Pest-side to the Buda-side, and to my left, the Citadella watches over the city from its place upon the hill. Both are mesmerizing sights, but neither can compete with my favorite—the castle that towers above the water across the river.

I smile to myself. Not even Izsák’s derisive voice and the repugnant garlic odor that always comes with it can ruin the peace.

“I don’t pay you to stand around like a fucking mannequin, Rebecca.”

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