Chapter 3: Sold to the Devil
Akin woke to a sharp pain stabbing the back of his head. His eyes fluttered open, and he groaned, his fingers brushing the floor. Cold, hard wood pressed against his cheek. He was still in the apartment, sprawled where he'd fallen after his father shoved him into the coat rack. His head throbbed, and when he touched it, his fingers came away sticky with blood. He sat up slowly, his vision blurry, trying to piece together what happened. His father's voice, angry and slurred, echoed in his mind. Then the hit. Then nothing.
A loud crash jolted him fully awake. It came from the living room, followed by a desperate, "Please, I'll get the money! Just give me more time!" That was his father, sounding panicked, almost sobbing.
Akin's heart pounded. What was going on? He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his skull. He stumbled out of the hallway and into the living room. The sight stopped him cold. His father was on his knees, his hands clasped together, begging a man who stood over him. The man was tall, dressed in a black coat, his eyes cold and glowing faintly red in the light. Droko, Rolex Night's Shade, though Akin didn't know his name yet. All he knew was that this guy looked dangerous, like he could snap someone in half without blinking.
Akin took a step forward, his voice shaky. "Dad, what's happening? Who's this?"
His father head whipped around, his face red and sweaty. "Shut up, Akin! Go back inside!" His voice was sharp, but there was fear in it, too.
Akin froze, his eyes flicking between his father and the stranger. Something was wrong—really wrong. He squared his shoulders, ignoring the pain in his head, and stared at the man. "Who are you?"
Before the man could answer, his father lunged up and slapped Akin hard across the face. The sting burned his cheek, and he stumbled back, shocked. "I said keep your mouth shut!" his father yelled. "This is all because of you!"
Akin's hand went to his face, his eyes wide. "Because of me? What are you talking about?" His voice cracked, confusion and anger mixing in his chest. How was any of this his fault?
The man in the coat—Droko—spoke, his voice low and smooth, like he was enjoying the scene. "Your father owes Mr. Night a lot of money, kid. A huge debt. And if he doesn't pay up today…" He trailed off, his lips curling into a smirk. "Well, let's just say no one can predict what'll happen."
Akin's stomach dropped. Mr. Night. The name hit him like a punch. Rolex Night, the richest, most ruthless man in the city. Everyone knew his name, even if they'd never seen him. He owned half the underground businesses—clubs, casinos, things people didn't talk about openly. Akin had heard stories: Night was a monster in a suit, someone who didn't forgive debts. And now his father owed him?
Akin turned to Victor, his voice rising. "You borrowed from *him*? Are you trying to get us killed? Why would you do that?"
His father didn't meet his eyes. He dropped back to his knees, his hands shaking as he begged Droko. "Please, I'll find a way! I swear, just don't hurt me!"
Droko's smirk widened, but his eyes stayed cold. "There's another way to settle this," he said, his gaze sliding to Akin.
Akin's heart skipped. He took a step back, fear crawling up his spine. "Why are you looking at me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Droko's smile was all teeth. "If your father wants to stay alive, you'll be the payment."
Akin's breath caught. Payment? What did that mean? Before he could say anything, his father voice cut through, quick and desperate. "Yes! Take him! He's yours!"
Akin's head snapped toward his father. "What?" he yelled, his voice breaking. "You're selling me? You're just giving me away?" Anger burned in his chest, hot and raw. He'd always known his father was a drunk, a bully, but this? This was betrayal on a level he couldn't comprehend.
His father didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on Droko, nodding like a dog desperate to please. "Take him," he repeated. "I don't want him. He's nothing but trouble. Just take him and we're square."
Akin's hands balled into fists. "You can't do this!" he shouted, stepping toward his father. "I'm your son! You can't just—"
Pain exploded at the back of his neck, sharp and sudden. He didn't see the hit coming—Droko moved too fast. The world tilted, and Akin's legs gave out. He collapsed, darkness swallowing him again.
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When Akin woke, his head was pounding worse than before. He was slumped against a leather seat, the low hum of an engine vibrating around him. A car. He blinked, his vision clearing enough to see the city lights flashing by outside tinted windows. His hands were bound behind him, the rope cutting into his wrists. Panic surged in his chest. Where was he?
The car slowed, then stopped. The door flew open, and rough hands yanked him out. Akin stumbled, his knees hitting the ground hard. The air was cold, and the ground beneath him was smooth, like stone. He looked up, his breath catching. A massive mansion loomed above him, its windows dark, its walls towering like a fortress. Two men in black suits dragged him forward, forcing him to his knees.
Footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. Akin's heart raced as he lifted his head. A man stood before him, tall and imposing, dressed in a sharp black suit. His dark hair was slicked back, his face all hard angles, and his eyes—God, his eyes were like nothing Akin had ever seen. Cold, piercing, almost black, like they could see right through him. Rolex Night.
Akin froze, his breath stuck in his throat. This was the man his father had sold him to. And now, face-to-face with the demon himself, Akin felt something shift inside him—a strange, unfamiliar pull he couldn't explain.
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