Page 95 of Delivered to the Devil

Gabor holds out a hand, inviting us inside as he steps to the side. The room is a huge office. Tall windows stretch along one side, creating a whole wall of glass that lets the bright summer light in, enhancing the façade of deceit.

Janos shoves me inside with a harshness as deceptive as the sun and places me with my back to the light. Then he makes himself comfortable in one of the armchairs while Gabor goes to lean against a heavy desk on my other side.

Most men would remain standing like Gabor, using their size to intimidate. But not Janos. His air of authority is so acute that his tall, bulky size almost seems redundant. Sitting down only enhances his confidence, making the effect that much more powerful.

I realize this must be why Gabor holds him in such high regard—at least part of it. Gabor respects this kind of unwavering command, and I think he might even fear Janos a bit himself. His finger that discreetly taps the desk seems to reflect a nervousness I haven’t spotted in him before. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance against Janos—not physically or intellectually.

Suddenly, it hits me: the only reason Janos hasn’t taken over Gabor’s criminal empire is because he’s loyal.

But not loyal enough to let Gabor have me.

Fear spikes in my veins as I remember what Janos will do if Gabor refuses to negotiate. I try my darndest to hide my trepidation, clutching my hands and staring at the floor, but I know I look as brave as a lamb facing a hungry wolf. But maybe it’s for the best. Gabor doesn’t know Janos is on my side, and a display of confidence might provoke him.

CHAPTER 45

“The Offering”

by Sleep Token

Janos

“So, the whore is back. What a lovely surprise,” Gabor says in Hungarian, rubbing his hands together as he roams his eyes over Rebecca’s slender figure with sadistic hunger. His expression hardens as he turns his attention to me. “But I did tell you to get rid of her, Janos, and you clearly didn’t.” He gestures his hand up and down the living proof that I disobeyed. He lets the statement hang in the air as if to enhance the implicit threat, but it doesn’t faze me.

I stare back at him. “You also told me to clean up your messes and stop you if you went too far.”

Gabor’s jaw twitches. He knows I’m right, but he can’t let this blatant display of disobedience go—not for his own pride and not for his reputation. But I’m prepared to take the consequence as long as he directs it at me and not Rebecca.

“I must say, I’m impressed by your boldness, bringing her back here.” He goes to a side table to pour two glasses of scotch. “And I’m curious to know why you’d be so stupid to bring her back here. It’s not like you, Janos.” He hands me a tumbler and returns to lean against the desk, taking a sip of his glass as he waits for an explanation.

Taking my time, I take a sip of the rich liquor and set the glass aside before speaking. “The girl came back to me.” I shrug. “Figured it was my turn to have fun with her.”

Gabor breaks out into a laugh and slams his glass onto the table. “The bitch came back?” With three long strides, he closes the distance to Rebecca and grabs her jaw. He keeps going in Hungarian as he lifts her head and studies her. “The whores do tend to latch on to you, Janos. And this one in particular. But I want to know the real reason why you brought her here.” He turns his head to look at me. “You could have finished her off or dumped her in some drug den. Why flaunt your disobedience in my face like this?” His grip on Rebecca’s jaw hardens as he says the last words, drawing a whimper from her.

“I want to buy her,” I say.

His jaw tics as he turns his head to watch Rebecca, then looks back at me. “Buy her? This cunt?”

I shrug. “She was a lot of fun.”

“Indeed, she was.” Gabor leans back to take in her slim figure. Then he releases her jaw and slaps her across the face, and I rein in the urge to rush to Rebecca as she yelps and cups her cheek. “But notthatfun.”

Grabbing Rebecca’s jaw again, he looks me over with suspicion in his eyes. “You did always seem protective of her.”

I shrug. “She got to me. Like she got to you.”

His expression tightens. He doesn’t like me reminding him how he lost control—nearly brought Rebecca to Germany, considered having me killed for stopping him from cutting her feet, and then killing that other girl. Loss of control is a weakness to Gabor. And so are emotions.

“Did you fuck her?” he asks.

I don’t hesitate. “Yes,” I say. Lying would anger him worse than anything.

His eyes go deadly as he watches me, and Rebecca’s breathing speeds up as he digs his fingers into her jaw. This is the pivotal moment that determines the outcome of this deal. My whole system is on high alert even as I remain relaxed in the chair, ready to pounce if Gabor tries something.

“If this gets in the way of business, I’ll kill her myself. And I’ll make you watch,” Gabor says, nostrils flaring.

I don’t doubt him for a second. Gabor’s business is everything to him. Like a child he has nurtured and brought up and molded to his liking. The same way he has with me. That’s why he won’t kill me, and that’s why there’s a chance he’ll let me keep my “toy.”

“It won’t,” I say as readily as my confession. This is where Gabor and I differ. He sometimes struggles to retain control, and that’s probably why he was so adamant about teaching me the importance of it—and why he respects me so much.

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