Auctioned to the devil [M × M]

Tobias' POV

Never in a million years did I think I'd be here.

On a stage. On my knees. My Hands tied behind my back with a rope biting into skin that's already blistered. A single spotlight burns down from above, harsh and hollow, illuminating the sweat sliding down my spine.

There are six of us tonight. Boys my age, younger and some even older, all victims. The crowd doesn't care. Age is a number and pain is a currency. They came for blood, beauty and pleasure.

They'll get it.

A number is pinned to my bare chest-43, black on white. I can't look down at it, but I feel it. Like a brand, a tattoo, a grave marker.

My knees ache on the polished stone floor. They made us kneel the moment we were dragged out of the tiny room behind the stage without a warning or explanation but just a command "Down."

I didn't move fast enough and got a boot to the ribs for my hesitation. Which hurt so much I still can't fully breathe.

Someone behind the curtain calls out bids in a smooth, lilting voice. "Lot Forty-Two. Pure. Obedient. Unmarked."

The crowd murmurs. A few claps. The number ticks higher and higher. I stopped listening.

I tug at the rope behind my back again, with all my attempts useless. It's knotted too tightly, rough and unrelenting. My wrists are raw, my skin splitted in some places and I think I'm bleeding but I don't care.

They stripped us of everything. Our name, dignity, identity and clothes too. All I wear is a thin piece of silk around my hips which offers no warmth or safety. Only exposure.

The boy next to me is crying again. Small, sharp sounds-like he's trying not to be heard. Like it matters. He's maybe seventeen. Pretty in a way that makes my stomach twist. I don't know his name.

They told us not to speak. I disobeyed once and got punished so I stay quiet now. Not because I want to,but because I have to.

Rule One: Don't speak unless spoken to.

Rule Two: Never look them in the eyes.

Rule Three: You are property. Not a person.

I hate those rules. It makes me feel more like an animal instead of a human being.

"Lot Forty-Three."

My heart stops.

That's me.

The spotlight shrinks and closes in. It's just me now with nothing but bones and breath in a ring of fire. I stare into the white and pretend I don't feel my hands shake. Pretend I'm not here.

"Rare acquisition," the announcer purrs. "He is young, defiant, untouched."

That last word makes bile rise in my throat.

"He'll fight you," they add with a chuckle. "But isn't that part of the fun?"

Laughter ripples through the dark like a plague.

I stare into the shadows. I can't see faces-just silhouettes in tuxedos and gowns, masks covering everything but their eyes. Some lean forward. Others whisper. One licks his lips like he's already tasted me.

I focus on a fixed point above them. A crystal chandelier. Beautiful and grotesque. Like everything here.

Bidding begins.

It starts low then Jumps high.

$100,000.

$150,000.

$275,000.

$300,000.

I stopped listening again. It's not real. None of it is real. It can't be. I was sketching floor plans for a dream café in my apartment three nights ago. Drinking cheap instant coffee. Watching the rain paint streaks on my window.

Now I'm merchandise.

I feel something shift in the crowd. A new presence, heavy and electric. The air chills and goosebumps rise on my skin.

Then I hear it. "One million." His voice is quiet.

But it cuts through the room like a scalpel. The room goes silent. No counterbids or murmurs. Only stillness.

The announcer clears his throat. "We... have a bid of one million dollars for Lot Forty-Three. Going once. Going twice..."

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Sold."

The crowd erupts in polite applause. A bell rings overhead.And just like that, I'm gone.

Sold.

---

I wasn't untie. Two guards lift me to my feet by my arms and drag me offstage like a sack of grain. My legs don't cooperate. My knees buckle with every step. One of them curses and tightens his grip.

"Fucking pretty boy," he spits. "Think you're special? He'll break you in a week."

I don't answer. I couldn't even glare at him because of how tired and weak I was.

I'm taken through a maze of corridors, each colder and more lifeless than the last. I try to memorize turns, exits, anything-but everything looks the same. White walls, gray floors and cameras in the corners.

Eventually, we reach a private room. Dark mahogany, dim lighting, an expensive leather armchair facing the door and empty.

"He'll be here soon," one of the guards grunts.

They drop me onto a padded ottoman in the center of the room and leave. The door clicks shut behind them and locks. I stay still.

The ropes are too tight-cutting deep and unforgiving. My shoulders burn like they've been set alight.

And the fear?

It's thick in my throat, sour and rotting, like something I should've spat out hours ago. But I won't let it show.

This is it. This is where he sees what he paid for.

The silence is deafening. Time drips slowly, like blood from an open wound. I wonder what he'll look like.

Old?

Fat?

Smiling?

But when the door finally opens, none of those things walk in.

He does. Tall, cold and impossibly elegant.

Dressed Black on black. With a Suit sharp as sin. His dark hair slicked back and a face like carved stone looking flawless and cruel. And his eyes like storms, gray-blue and unreadable.

He shuts the door behind him with a soft click and says nothing. Just looks at me and studies me like I'm a puzzle he already knows the answer to.

My spine goes rigid and I stare back, looking carefully and deliberately. Not in defiance but not submission either.

He steps closer and I brace myself.

He circles me once, twice, like a predator with time to kill. His shoes make no sound on the floor and he doesn't touch me or speak.

And then he stops behind me and I feel the heat of his body.

His voice brushes my ear like a knife wrapped in velvet.

"You're smaller than I expected."

I say nothing.

"Pretty, though."

Still nothing.

He chuckles, and it's a dark sound. Not amused. Amused people have hearts. He doesn't. I can feel it.

"Do you know who I am, Forty-Three?"

I swallow. "No."

Wrong answer.

His hand snaps into my hair, jerks my head back so I'm looking up at him with his face is calm.

"I paid one million dollars for you," he says softly. "Speak again without permission, and I'll make you regret it."

The pain isn't the worst part. It's the way my stomach twists at his touch.

He lets me go, and I suck in a shaky breath.

"My name is Benjamin Shaai," he says, moving in front of me again. "But you will call me Sir. Understood?"

I nod.

"Good."

He pulls a blade from his pocket, it is small, curved, beautiful. It flashes once in the low light before slicing through the rope around my wrists. It falls in coils to the floor.

My arms drop and my shoulders scream. I don't move and he kneels in front of me. Close, way too close.

"From now on," he says, his voice low, intimate, "you don't speak unless I allow it. You don't move unless I told you to. You don't come unless I command it. You pleasure is mine."

My chest heaves.

"You belong to me, Tobias."

My heart stutters. How does he know my name He smiles which was not kind. "I make it my business to know what I own."

He rises to his feet and walks to the door.

Pauses.

"One last thing," he says without turning.

"There's no escape. Try to run, and I'll make sure you beg me to kill you." The door opens.

Then he's gone.

And I'm left kneeling in the dark, my wrists bruised, throat dry and my heart pounding like a war drum.

This is it, I'm Owned.

But not I'm broken.

Not yet or never.

Benjamin's POV

New York is my fortress, and I am its king.

Its ruthless king.

From my black and gold throne high above the underground rink, I watched over the sinful scenes taking place-the half-naked, leather-clad, and rope-bound bodies lined on a stage. Nothing I haven't seen before. I don't feel any different.

This is an auction.

A place where humans are sold to pleasure-seeking members of society.

A safe space where people are bought-used to explore fantasies and kinks.

A place where closeted men buy younger men, using them for their bodies in a game of pleasure and submission.

"Our source confirmed Nikolai's presence here today." Standing tall and formidable beside me, Alexi-my second-in-command and half-brother-scanned every inch of the room.

The space was filled with elites-politicians, businessmen, and mob bosses-dressed in expensive suits, their faces hidden behind masks that showed only their eyes and lips.

I followed Alexi's gaze, locking on two unfamiliar men who'd just arrived.

Though I didn't know either by name-yet-they would've had to pay a handsome sum just to be considered for entrance, with another member vouching for them.

"They're our newest recruits," Alexi said. "They'll be the ones to transport Nikolai to the warehouse when we capture him."

Nikolai, that snake.

I trusted him. Put him in charge of my drugs and gun shipment that arrived at the port two days ago for safe transport to the warehouse.

And what did that bastard do?

He stole part of the shipment, thinking I wouldn't know. He seems to have forgotten-I have eyes everywhere. I know every damn thing that goes on in my empire.

One of my informants confirmed his name was on the invite list tonight. Hence, my presence.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. The auction is about to begin." A voice announced from behind the curtain onstage.

"Hope our men are on standby," I said, glancing at Alexi.

"Yes, boss."

"Make sure he doesn't leave this place or try to escape. I want him brought to the warehouse alive. He will be an example to those who think they can steal from me and go scot-free."

My voice filled with the anger already rising inside me.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to THE VEIL. A place where we provide people to fulfill your darkest desires. Shuuuuuuu... I didn't say that." The announcer purred with a wicked laugh.

"Tonight, we've brought forward six of our finest young men-specially picked for your expensive tastes."

The stage, once dark, now shone with bright overhead lights, revealing the six young men displayed and ready to be sold to the highest bidder.

They were naked-exposed-with only a short silk cloth wrapped around their hips. The audience looked at them with hungry eyes. Some of the young men were clearly the age of their sons-or grandsons.

"To start the auction, Lot Forty-One. He is young, soft, and breakable." The announcer laughed.

"May the highest bidder win."

"$100,000."

"$200,000."

"$350,000."

"$350,000 going... going... and... sold."

As I analyzed the young men on stage, my eyes caught one in particular. The more I looked at him, the faster my heart beat.

He was different.

He looked everyone in the eye.

He looked scared-but defiant.

He looked unbroken, unlike the others.

Not a single tear streaked his face.

"Uhmmmm..." Interesting. Intriguing. I thought to myself. His body looked like he worked out every fucking day of his life. And his lips-fuck-they looked delicious. Plump. Inviting. I imagined how they'd look wrapped around my lips.

Or around my cock.

How he'd take it... like a good boy, or would I have to force him into submission?

Fuck.

I was already hard-just thinking about whether he'd fight me... or let me in.

"Alexi. Get me everything on Lot Forty-Three," I ordered.

"Yes, boss."

Alexi put in a call.

"Hack into the Veil's camera system. Boss wants info on Lot Forty-Three. Now."

"Pico's on it, boss," Alexi reported.

"Good."

Damn right, I'm the boss. I have both men and women ready for my desires at my fingertips.

But this... this was different.

I just couldn't take my eyes off him.

"Lot Forty-Three," the announcer said coolly.

"Rare acquisition," he purred. "Young. Defiant. Untouched."

"He'll fight you," he added with a chuckle. "But isn't that part of the fun?" Laughter rippled through the room.

Bidding began.

$100,000.

$150,000.

$275,000.

$300,000.

"Boss." Alexi murmured beside me.

"Tobias Shane. Twenty-one. Orphan. Father abandoned him and his mother when he was seven. Mother died when he was twelve. His uncle, Miguel Rodriguez-a drunkard and drug addict-took him in. Dropped out of high school. Couldn't afford it anymore. Never been in a relationship. Virgin."

Virgin.

Untouched.

Fuck.

If anything, it made me harder.

"I'm going to buy him," I informed Alexi.

"Are you sure, boss?" he asked.

"Are you fucking questioning my decision?" I growled.

"Of course not." Alexi muttered through clenched teeth.

"One million," I said without blinking. My voice cut through the room like a scalpel.

Silence.

The announcer cleared his throat.

"We... have a bid of one million dollars for Lot Forty-Three. Going once. Going twice..."

"Sold."

The crowd erupted in polite applause. A bell rang overhead.

"It's going to be fun breaking him."

I muttered to myself with a smirk.

Will he fight me?

Or break easily?

"Interesting." I purred, still smirking.

My purchase was being dragged off stage-but not without putting up a fight.

In all my years attending auctions like this, I'd never purchased anyone.

I only came to show them who was still king of New York.

I didn't support the sale of young men to those hungry, desperate-looking men.

"Make sure he's taken to the private room. I'll be with him soon-and no one is allowed to lay a finger on him. I don't want damaged goods." I ordered.

"Yes, boss."Alexi bit out, glaring at the stage as he left.

I entered the private room and shut the door behind me with a soft click. My prize was already inside.

I studied him like a puzzle I was about to solve. I could feel how tense he was from where I stood.

He stared back carefully and deliberately-fear and defiance swirling in his eyes. How he could pull that off, in this situation, amused me.

I stepped closer.

I circled him once... then twice-like a predator.

Then I stopped behind him, feeling the tension radiating off his body.

"You're smaller than I expected," I whispered against his ear. He remained quiet. Still staring.

"Pretty, though." Still nothing. I chuckled.

"Do you know who I am, Forty-Three?" "No," he replied.

I snapped my hand into his hair, jerking his head back until his eyes met mine.

"I paid one million dollars for you," I said softly.

"Speak again without permission, and I'll make you regret it."

"My name is Benjamin Shaai," I said, moving in front of him.

"But you'll call me sir. Understood?" He nodded, his jaw tightening. I smirked.

I pulled a small pocket blade from my pocket-one my mother gave me-and sliced through the rope around his wrists. It fell to the floor.

I moved closer. I squatted in front of him.

"From now on," I said in a low voice, "you don't speak unless I allow it. You don't move unless ordered by me. You don't come unless I command it. Your pleasure is mine."

His chest heaved. "You belong to me, Tobias." I could see the questions in his eyes. I smirked.

"I make it my business to know what I own."

I rose to my feet and walked toward the door.

I paused.

"One last thing," I said without turning.

"There's no escape. Try to run, and I'll make sure you beg me to kill you." I opened the door and walked out.

Alexi and my head of security, Dimitri, were waiting. "Nikolai's been captured and taken to the warehouse," Alexi informed me. "Good," I replied, adjusting my cufflinks.

Then I faced Dimitri. "Have Tobias taken to the estate. I want him in the room next to mine."

"The driver's outside," Alexi added. "The guns are ready to be shipped to Monaco after your inspection."

"Let's go," I said, walking down the dimly lit hallway. My mind wandered back to Tobias.

Will he surrender?

Or will his defiance last?

"It's been a long time since I've indulged in something like this." I smirked.

Let the fucking game begin.

Tobias' POV

Later, when I'm alone and the world is quiet-when it doesn't feel fuzzy and dark-I'll replay three days ago in my mind, trying to remember how I felt before my life was upended.

I'll recall coming home to my apartment from my shitty job, collapsing on my queen-size bed, staring at the cracks on the ceiling.

The same apartment I shared with my uncle-since we were evicted from the last one for unpaid rent.

The car ride is silent. My questions hang in the air, unanswered, ignored by the two men who had dragged me out of that room and shoved me into this car.

I sit frozen. My wrists still ache, tingling from where the rough rope once bit into my skin. The silence is deafening, broken only by the ragged sound of my own breathing.

My mind races like a frantic animal trapped in a cage. My heart pounds against my ribcage, too fast, too loud.

Benjamin Shaai.

The name alone feels like a heavy stone on my chest. A ruthless mafia boss. The king of New York's ugly underbelly. And now... my owner.

Everyone in New York knows the name Benjamin Shaai. Rumors say no one has seen his real face. The only people who have are his men and close associates. He rules with an iron fist, kills for the slightest mistake.

That's why they call him The Devil.

And here I am... bought by the devil himself.

The man who paid a million dollars for my body.

For my supposed "untouched" soul.

His words echo in my ears-cold and possessive.

"You belong to me, Tobias."

The name sounded alien on his tongue. It hadn't been spoken with such menace since my mother died.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice the car had stopped. I only noticed when the door opened and a voice snapped:

"Out."

I looked up.

"What the fuck are you looking at? Get out. Or do you want me to drag you out again?" one of the men growled, voice sharp with warning.

I climbed out slowly, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

The devil has a castle.

The estate is a fortress-five stories of glass, stone, and steel, set against pine trees and cliffs. Security cameras blink like unblinking eyes. Floodlights sweep the grounds. Armed guards patrol like soldiers.

Everyone here carries a gun. Escape is a fantasy. If I run, I'll be gunned down-or ripped apart by those patrol dogs. Reality crashes down.

This is my life now. Thanks a lot, Uncle.

"Follow," the man snaps.

Inside, the house smells like leather and power. Every piece of furniture screams money. The art is bold and dangerous.

"This isn't a museum. Move. I don't have all day," the man barks again. I quicken my pace. We stop at a large door, guarded by a faceless man.

I'm shoved inside. The door locks behind me.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" I bang on the door. "Why did you lock me in?! I'm not a fucking animal! Open the damn door!"

Silence.

No one responds.

I slump against the door and slide down to the floor.

"Fuck," I whisper.

The room is large. A king-size bed, a dresser. No windows-only two doors. I try the first: a bathroom with a navy-blue interior. The second? Locked.

Some time passes. Then a knock. The door opens. An older woman in a navy-blue gown enters, carrying folded clothes. She sets them on the bed.

"These are for you. The boss said you should freshen up and change. He wants you ready for him when he returns," she says softly, her eyes almost kind. Then she leaves.

She reminds me of my mother.

But her memory is fading. The details blur, and what scares me the most... is waking up one day and not remembering her face at all.

I look at the clothes with a flare of anger. That bastard wants to sample what he bought. Like I'm a fucking product. I snatch the clothes and walk into the bathroom. I'm not doing this for him. I stink. We weren't even given soap or water at the auction house.

The hot water hits my skin like fire and I breathe again. I scrub until I feel raw. I don't stop until the water turns cold. Then I dress in the fresh clothes.

For the first time in days, I feel like myself again. But when I walk out, I'm not alone.

Benjamin.

He's sitting on the bed, legs crossed. His presence shifts the air-heavy with control, laced with something darker.

He studies me. His eyes roam from my face to my bare feet. My muscles tighten.

"Hmm... You cleaned up nicely," he purrs. "Good boy." A surge of desire rushed through me as he called me a good boy.

"I didn't clean up for you," I bite. "I did it for myself."

I held his gaze, my jaw clenched. I know I'm playing with fire. But I won't submit. Not to him.

He stands and walks toward me. I take a step back, but not in fear-in defiance.

We play this game of power until my back hits the wall. He's inches away. I can feel his breath.

"It seems you've forgotten my rules," he whispers. "You need a reminder of what I'm capable of."

His hand slams against my throat. Tightens.

I choke, struggling, gasping-tapping his wrist-until he finally lets go. I fall to my knees, coughing.

He returns to the bed. Calm. As if nothing just happened. Then he starts to undress. First his suit. Then his tie.

"What are you doing?" I ask, panic rising.

No answer.

He begins unbuttoning his shirt. "What are you trying to do?" I asked again "What does it look like?" he finally says, his eyes dark.

"To the bed. All fours. Face down. Ass up."

"No." I spit it out, shaking. "If you think I'm going to let you touch me, you're dead wrong."

"No?" he repeats, like a challenge.

He walks toward me again. My heart pounds.

Too fast. Too loud.

"Stop," I say, wanting to put space between us.

Then a stupid idea hit me. I blurted it out before I could stop myself. "Let me go," I said, voice shaking. "I promise, I'll pay you back."

"Pay me back?" he mocks. "A million dollars? How?"

"I have a job. If you let me go, I'll pay you in installments."

"That shitty job of yours?" he scoffs. "You don't even make rent. You think you'll pay off a million?"

"Fine. You'll work for me."

"What's the job?" I said

He meets my eyes. "You'll be my personal whore."

A pause. Then that cold, satisfied smile.

I stood there frozen, the air around me thick with humiliation and rage.

My fists clenched. My throat burned.