The Beast Collared by the Underworld

Chapter 1: Lethal Mirage

A high-society gala organized in Blackwood estate was on full swing, even when the guests were still pulling over their expensive sports car by the entrance, passing their keys to the velvets. Armed security guards were dressed in sharp tuxedos, eyes scanning the perimeter while earpieces hummed in their ears. Guests bypassed the security check-up, stepping inside to instantly hear classical music that drifted across manicured lawns.

Inside the ballroom— people dressed in expensive clothes, that must coast an arm and a leg— keeping to themselves, they were not even considering each other. Once in a while their distrusting gazes drifted to across the ballroom, but no one even seemed interested to keep the eye contact. Even the glasses of Champaign they were holding, almost none of them drank a single sip out of it.

From outside, the gathering was perfectly portraying the picture of some high-profile gala event hosted by an aristocrat, Tony Blackwood. But very few knew Tony’s relations with underworld and those who knew, they were the only one present in his estate tonight, after all, it wasn’t just about gala but an illegal auction, rumoured to showcase some otherworldly commodities tonight.

Otherworldly beings— supernatural in another terms— they weren’t entirely myth in this era. It was just that, that some people believed in creatures with magic and divines’ existence among human while others didn’t; it was just the matter of one’s own interest.

Not that long after, guests were led away from the main ballroom and were guided through a biometric security door disguised as a library bookshelf, twenty feet below to the soundproofed private gallery. As they stepped into the auction room, it felt like an exclusive, air-conditioned museum, smelling of aged mahogany, high-end scotch, and the faint, chemical tang of fresh ozone from a heavy security system. About two dozen high-profile criminals, black market brokers, crime syndicate leaders, corrupt politicians or their assistants took their seats in tiered leather armchairs. In front of them was a spacious marble dais, visible from every corner.

Right at the beginning, auctioneer presented a woman— Lilian— on the dais with a small introduction of how she is taught to be pliant and more, while harsh spotlights draped over her like a scrutinized gaze, her clothes revealing and curves flaunting. She was visibly scared, however, her tears only worked like fuel to the guests, bids went higher. At last, she was sold to a man past his middle age— in ten million dollars. That’s it, a life sold out in ten million dollars. No one present there was a saint— and they did want to have a beautiful woman adding to their collection of a living toy, except for one sitting among them.

Damien Volkov— the kingpin of underworld and the Don of leading syndicate just at the age of 34— built as if carved out of a mountain, dark brown hair and stubble beard, deep set of hazel eyes that would mirror a lion’s eyes when light hit his orbs right. And at the moment, those predatory eyes were fixed upon a man sitting few rows down in front of him, rather than the lots being presented on the stage. He wasn’t here for the sick game of buying assets, he was here to eliminate a retired politician who seemed to be on his radar from quite a while, his fingers drummed inaudibly against his knee, causing the signet ring on his middle finger to catch the dim light of the underground auction room.

Next up was an ancient sword that came with a sheath of gold and posh rubies embedded along it, and the story behind it was that it belonged to a ruler in old Greek time and was smuggled into their estate after a royal heist years ago. It was sold to an elderly woman for one million dollars.

“Don, we’ve got a clear view of Antonio Brown, should I take finish him off?” Mikhail, his man disguised as an armed security spoke through the earpiece and Damien’s fingers halted against his knees. The man didn’t even need to put efforts to spot his man, because his hazel eyes effortlessly glided right across the room to the man just by the dais, acting as a guard to maintain the order of the auction room. A single flick of Damien’s wrist— a signal to wait— and Mikhail’s entire posture shifted back to being a nameless security, a supposed to sentinel guarding the place.

Meanwhile, a boy— Kael— in his early 20s were being auctioned off. His skin was smooth, honey toned, his sky-blue eyes watery while two bunny ears remained flat against his head, poking between his silver hair. He was a supernatural creature, something the guests were waiting for. As he was introduced, the underground auction place suddenly fell into a frenzy to claim. Bids turned high and higher, and at last he was sold to a woman dressed in red cocktail dress, her eyes sparkling— the moment she won the bid— twenty million dollars, the highest bid of the night till now.

Damien’s jaw clenched at the cries of the boy— a sound that finally forced the kingpin’s eyes to the harshly bright stage where lots stood to hear and watch themselves being sold. The bunny boy was being harshly handled back to the backstage, to prepare the hand off. Damien was the crime boss— but for some reason the only thing he didn’t do was the human trafficking. He decided that he was done here and it was time to leave. His hazel gaze promptly checked his target few rows down and then with finality, he met Mikhail’s eyes.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” the auctioneer’s voice rose a pitch, and Damien’s focus shifted. He sensed something sinister in that conspicuously enthusiastic voice. For some unknown reason, Damien’s eyes remained locked onto the empty stage while the auctioneer announced the arrival of next lot— whose own eyes were gleaming with registered hunger “please hold your breath, because we are presenting you the Holy Grail of our collection— Zed.”

Entire place went pin drop silent, guests were on the edge of their seat. And there was a collective breathe resounding around when before the lot entered, the sound of soft clinks of something metallic grazing against the floor followed by soft paddings of bare feet reached their ears.

“Zed— he is rumoured to be divine creature, but we weren’t able to confirm it yet.” Auctioneer spoke, his voice dropped slightly to compliment the expectant silence of the underground space. Damien would have scoffed if he would have been in his element, because right now he was not. His ears were accustomed to the soft paddings of bare feet, getting near and nearer, while auctioneer kept on with Zed’s introduction. “He kept being passed around from one auction to another, but no one was ever able to put him on sale. No matter how one asks him, he refuses to say a single word about himself. Somewhere in his way to our auction, he got himself a name, ‘the lethal mirage’—solely because of his appearance, because, it is believed that people like our honourable guests can only get a glimpse of him, they can only desire him, but no one actually gets him.”

Lethal mirage. Damien repeated to himself just before the man appeared from the shadows and stood under the harsh spotlights— Chained. Blindfolded. Unlike other living beings presented tonight, who were dressed in fleshy garments to attract attention and rise the sale— Zed was in nothing but his skin and black tailored pants.

Zed was a man with pale skin, had ebony hair and athletic body, he had peculiar amber scars along his right neck-side and up to his jaw mirroring as if droplets of lava fell onto his skin and was smeared afterwards in short, smudged lines. Damien’s eyes locked onto those scars. They seemed slowly pulsing, as if breathing alongside the man. Physical torture to had Zed yield, was painted across his bare back in belt scars, it was easy to guess as to how the staff had failed to even change him into something revealing.

Unlike Damien, everyone else’s eyes trailed down his bare torso, curve of the waist and hips—and those strange scars that ended their suspicion of Zed not being any supernatural creature, now evaluating the man’s worth. Auctioneer took the chance and at his signal the closest guard briskly stomped to the centre of the stage and promptly yanked the blindfold off Zed’s eyes.

Zed jerked, his chained hands formed fists, his eyes— suddenly susceptible to brightness, snapped shut at the jarring spotlight hitting his form with physical weight. But then when he opened his eyes, the shift in environment was almost tactile.

“Oh My God!” Someone whispered, seemingly transfixed and instantly he became the centre of lustful people’s universe for the time being.

Zed, with his mismatched eyes— molten amber on right and glacial blue on left— was the epitome of raw exquisiteness that a man could ever hold. Damien’s reaction was most subtle, but— his subtle could be the most deafening. The Don’s jaw flexed, knuckles white as he clenched his hands into fists. He noticed something that no one did, Zed’s amber eye was the stark mirror of his peculiar wound— pulsing but not alive, not with emotions not with life— yet. While his glacial blue eye seemed natural, equally lifeless but fierce. He wasn’t crying and he wasn’t shaking in fear when his eyes found so many people looking at him in a way that could make the most confident shrink back for a second. And the realization had Damien actually look interested, curious even, with a strange dark thought of monopolizing Zed clawed at his heart.

“Ten million.” Someone bid, and it was the start of pure chaos, guests didn’t even care if Zed was a mythic or not, they just wanted him for his appearance now, for his defiance. After all their kinds loved breaking things rather than having things that are already pliant.

“fifteen.”

“Seventeen.”

Damien didn’t join, he merely watched, the way Zed’s eyelashes shadowed his cheeks, the way his ebony hair dripped with droplet of sweat every once in a while, the way his bare feet shifted subtly to find a better position to escape the assault of spotlight, how his breathing was ragged in an unnatural way.

Zed felt the gaze before he saw it, despite being sold out like a commodity, his eyes snapped straight at Damien, he didn’t even need to search for that constant Hazel gaze, the way Zed right away met the kingpin’s eyes and kept seeing, even dissecting other’s very being.

“Twenty-five million dollars. I want him!” A woman screeched, high pitched and eyes wide open as she pressed against the steel barricade used to partition guests’ rows from the dais.

“Thirty-five million dollars.” A man in the middle row roared, his voice filled with a desperate kind of triumph, “that’s my price! No one else dares.”

The crowd was a cacophony of murmurs. Other hand Zed was now looking at Damien, not through him but at him. And Damien didn’t care anymore.

“Sixty million dollars.” Damien finally spoke, his hands that were fisted against his knees flicked in a specific manner towards Mikhail and the man instantly vanished into the shadow— mission to kill the politician Antonio Brown was deferred.

The amount Damien bid, had every person in room staring at him with envy, jealousy, recognition and fear. That was the amount that no one dared to cross. Even the woman in first row, froze. Her mouth stayed open, but not a sound came out. The wealth, the bravado— it all vanished from her face like water down a drain.

“Sixty-million!” the auctioneer yelled, his voice cracking with excitement. “Going once! Going twice! SOLD! To Mr. Volkov for sixty million!”

Guards of Blackwood descended on the stage, one of them grabbed Zed’s bound wrists roughly. The chains clink— a sharp, metallic sound that cut through the sound of auctioneer announcing the next lot that no one seemed to be interested in.

“Alright, let’s get this asset moved.” One of the guards grunted, hauling Zed upright by the waist to move him promptly.

“Back Off.” Damien’s command was low, but the effect was instantaneous. Damien stood up, he didn’t wait for the paperwork. He didn’t wait for the auctioneer to finish his celebratory sales pitch and walked toward the stage, his polished boots clicking against floor. Guards remained frozen where they were leading Zed back inside to prepare for the hand off, however they gulped as Damien approached them, their hands dropping off Zed instinctively.

“I’ll take him by myself, my assistant will handle the paperwork.” Damien stated, his command leaving no room for discussion, “take off his restraints.”

Guards immediately dove into the action, their hands moved swiftly on Zed— this time making sure they wouldn’t make any contact with Zed. Once Zed was stripped off his chains, Damien turned around, wordlessly, he didn’t ask Zed to follow and walked out of the underground auction. Zed followed, his gaze didn’t even flit to check his surrounding when he did.

His steps were uneven, Zed was dragging one of his feet while walking, leaving a trail of faint blood on ground. As they stepped out of the ballroom and into the manicured lawn, Mikhail had been already waiting for them by the entrance in a Sedan. Damien opened the door for Zed to step in, however the pale man paused just behind him. Not until Damien turned around to meet Zed’s mismatched eyes, Zed finally spoke.

“I can kill that politician for you. Will that settle the debt and set me free?”