Delivered to the devil, p.1
Delivered to the Devil, page 1
DELIVERED TO THE DEVIL
ELLA JACOBS
DELIVERED TO THE DEVIL
Copyright © 2024 by Ella Jacobs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
http://www.ellajacobs.com
Editing by: Nice Girl Naughty Edits
ISBN 978-87-974182-9-1
First Edition: May 2024
SHA-256 hash: eff8c6be56491aeb046e5218c
22a6ffdf56fe74f7432cefd2d3c399022fea41b
And the ocean of sorrow is you
- “Burden” by Opeth
CONTENTS
CONTENT WARNING
PLAYLIST
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
ABOUT ELLA JACOBS
ALSO BY ELLA JACOBS
CONTENT WARNING
Dear reader
This book deals with heavy subject matter such as ongoing trauma, abuse, heavy non-con, and suicidal ideations. The writing is explicit and will pull you into the FMC's mind and let you experience the angst and abuse right alongside her. It gets very uncomfortable, and if any of these things are triggers for you, I urge you to turn around.
But if you dare to dive in, go ahead and join me on this dark journey and be prepared to have your emotions torn to shreds.
This story is too dark for a warm and fuzzy HEA. You’ll find no hearts and roses on this path. But I will offer a little light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. You’ve been warned.
On the next page, you’ll find a list of trigger warnings. I can’t guarantee it’s exhaustive, but I’ve done my best to make it so.
Love
Ella
Triggers:
Abuse
Corruption
Bondage
Degradation
Dissociation
Drowning games
Face slapping
Facilitation of rape/abuse/assault
Forced sodomy
Knife play/cutting
Heavy non-con
Illegal caretaking
Jealous/possessive behavior
Light prostitution
Manipulation
Mental captivity
Mentions of attempted and actual murder
Mentions of drugs (selling and forced use)
MfM
Off-page dismemberment (finger)
Ongoing trauma
Rape
Self-harm
Spitting
Stalking
Stockholm syndrome
Suicidal ideations
Verbal humiliation
Violence
Voyeurism
PLAYLIST
A lot of thought has gone into this playlist. I wanted to capture the angst and the bleak atmosphere of the book—the desperation and the yearning—in music, and I've spent a lot of time finding the right songs to express these emotions and pairing one with each chapter.
I hope this playlist will create a more immersive experience and maybe even introduce you to some amazing bands.
Listen on Spotify
Burden – Opeth
1 Atlantic – Sleep Token
2 Celestial Violence – Ihsahn
3 Isolation Years – Opeth
4 Crawling – Linkin Park
5 Slave – Leprous
6 Windowpane – Opeth
7 Rule of Nines – Spiritbox
8 Take Aim – Sleep Token
9 Sámr – Ihsahn
10 Pain With an Anchor – Mastodon
11 Numb – Linkin Park
12 Give – Sleep Token
13 Beautiful Lie – 30 Seconds to Mars
14
Leashes – Leprous
15 Novocaine – Too Close To Much & Bad Omens
16 Levitate – Sleep Token
17 Borders – Kalandra
18 Just Pretend – Bad Omens
19 Blood Trails to Love – Ihsahn
20 Soulless Existence – Lorna Shore
21 Bring Me Back to Life – Evanescence
22 Waiting Game – Kalandra
23 Elysian Woes – Opeth
24 Death of Peace of Mind – Bad Omens
25 Eyes of Serpent – Mastodon
26 Had it All – Mastodon
27 The Flood – Leprous
28 High Water – Sleep Token
29 In my Time of Need – Opeth
30 Vore – Sleep Token
31 Take This Life – In Flames
32 Last Resort – Falling in Reverse
33 L’Enfant Sauvage – Gojira
34 Oblivion – Mastodon
35 Bonneville – Leprous
36 My Immortal – Evanescence
37 Coil – Opeth
38 After – Ihsahn
39 Take Me Back to Eden – Sleep Token
40
Fear is the Weakness – In Flames
41 It Never Ends - Bring Me the Horizon
42 Riptide – Will Ramos & The Gnarly Neighbor
43 Blessed Be – Spiritbox
44 While We Sleep - Insomnium
45 The Offering – Sleep Token
46 And I Return to Nothingness – Lorna Shore
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 best way 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
“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 pump her 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.”
Ignoring him, I cast a final glance at the castle. The sunset forms a golden halo around the old building, and wispy, purple clouds lend the sky a fairytale-like hue. It’s almost a replica of the postcard I’ve been dreaming myself away into since I was thirteen.
Fifteen years later, and I’m finally here—away from the nauseatingly yellow rapeseed fields of Southern Denmark. Even after three months here, I can’t seem to get enough of this beautiful view.
I make my way inside the restaurant, push through the swinging door to the kitchen, and inhale the delicious scent of chicken and paprika. I know what I’ll be having for dinner on my break tonight.
“Chicken Paprikash again today?” Elek asks, probably reading my thoughts on my sniffing nose. Glancing up from the frying pan, he gives me a lingering look, and his eyes light up with something beyond friendly politeness.
“Yes, please,” I say with a quick smile that can’t be interpreted as the flirty one he seems to be hoping for.
He’s a great cook, and his Hungarian chicken dish alone could almost make me consider dating him. Plus, he’s attentive and helpful. The moment I prop my tray on my hip to make room on the cluttered table, he’s at my side, holding the tray while shoving things aside.
“Thanks,” I say, catching a glimpse of the golden cross around his neck.
My mom would love this man. And that’s more than enough reason not to date him.
“Have you ever had chicken fresh from a farm, Rebecca?” he asks as he returns to the stove.
“No.” Shaking my head, I glance behind him to see the chubby female cook, whose name I can never remember, roll her eyes. Here we go again.
And sure enough, Elek launches into a long monologue about his parents’ chickens—something about a feral dog breaking the neck of one and two roosters getting into a fight.
I listen with half an ear, adding a few polite smiles and nods as I fill the dishwasher. Then I mouth a furtive sorry to the female cook as I push through the swinging door, leaving her to deal with his incessant chatter.
A strange sensation prickles at my awareness as I enter the dining area. I’m not sure what it is, but the hairs at my nape stand on end as if someone’s watching me. But when I glance around, no one’s looking my way. Something does catch my attention, though.
A sleek, middle-aged man at the round corner table stands out like a sore thumb.
I’m not sure what it is that makes him stand out. Maybe his clothes. His sand-colored suit fits his body to a tee, and the Windsor knot on the dark blue tie looks like it’s bound by an English butler. His dark hair is neatly trimmed and combed back in a seemingly windproof hairdo, and his clean-shaven jaw sports the same control-freakish perfection.
He seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t think of where I might have seen him. I’d remember if he had been here or I had talked to him. He’s too significant to forget.
I cock my head as I keep staring, fascination and worry warring to win the upper hand.
His hand rests on the table, fingers holding the handle on the coffee cup as he gazes out over the water without a care in the world. He looks like a man who knows he doesn’t need large hand gestures and harsh words to make the world bow down to him. His sheer air of authority will do the job.
A chill rolls down my spine. This man exudes danger. My brain knows it, but my body refuses to acknowledge it when I try to break away. There’s some faulty connection between my brain and body because authority like this has always been a magnetic force to me. My core hums whenever I stare into the eyes of a tiger; my instincts urge me to bow down when my head screams for me to run for my life.
I startle as the man turns his head, and before I can look away, the warm hazel hue of his eyes ensnares me. But it’s only the color that is warm. Underneath the surface lies a coldness so stark and frigid it has goosebumps skittering down my arms.
Stop looking. Stop looking. I try to force my gaze away, but it doesn’t work. Terror thrums in my veins as he seems to take in every little nuance of my fear, eyes honing in on me with fascination.
His lips pull up into a dimpled smile that slowly spreads across his face, forming delicate crinkles at the corners of his eyes and drawing fine lines at the edges of his mouth. It comes so naturally I have to blink to see if I’m imagining it. But I’m not. Even the hazel notes seem warmer. But deep within his eyes, there’s a small place the smile can’t reach—a frozen place that will never thaw. Something so cold that it’s lodged in the very essence of his soul.
My reaction is as instinctive as my irrational curiosity. My eyes flicker to the ground, my cheeks heat, and my shoulders draw inward. A submissive response. An urge to accept his power. But I know how dangerous it is to submit to the wrong man. I’ve heard the stories. That’s why I never submit outside the safe spaces of BDSM clubs. So I square my shoulders, let my eyes glide back up, and focus straight ahead. I’m good at controlling myself like this.
But it’s too late. The warmth in the eyes has receded, leaving a cold, dead stare. The charming smile still shines in his features, but those eyes hold no trace of kindness. They’re icicles covered in dirt. The coldness is almost palpable, swirling around me, making me shiver even though it’s eighty-five degrees outside.
I only have myself to blame. No matter how fleeting my hint of submission was, it was enough to awaken some primal urge within him—a need for power and control.
With my heart pounding and my hands shaking, I set off toward the kitchen. A secluded nook in the back lends me the privacy I badly need, and I brace my clammy hands on the counter as I heave ragged breaths.
As if on cue, Elek appears. “Are you okay?”
Turning my head, I meet a friendly set of eyes on a harmless face. I should fall for a man like him instead of a dangerous predator like the one in the restaurant. But I have never managed to acquire a normal, sane taste in men. Even the ones I’ve been with at BDSM clubs have often been too benign for me to truly feel the pull. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve been on so many dates with normal, nice men that I have lost count. I’ve even gone home with some of them in the hopes they would awaken something dormant inside me. But it never happens. My body is barren land when explored by friendly hands and warm eyes—as frigid as the eyes on that man out there.
“Just a migraine,” I lie. “It’ll pass in a minute.”
The rapt sound of a clap bounces against the tiled walls as my boss enters the kitchen. “Back to work.”
I straighten and pick up my tray, too shaken by the small yet very consequential encounter to let Izsák get to me. His stance is demonstrative as I pass him—arms crossed and eyes glaring, telling me in no uncertain terms that I’m a lowly waitress who serves the single purpose of being at his beck and call.
I don’t need to look at him to know how his eyes glide up and down my curves with an animalistic hunger. I feel it all too clearly. But he’s far from the majestic lion that rules the savannah. He’s the frothing hyena that has to settle for other’s scraps—harmless, as long as you don’t tread into its den and provoke it. He’s not the one I’m afraid of as I leave the kitchen with my heart pounding in my throat.
