Page 1 of Love in the Dark

Prologue

Azazel’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as the memory hits him like a freight train. The car hums softly on the highway, the monotony of the road a stark contrast to the chaos erupting in his mind. His green eyes, usually sharp and calculating, glaze over as the scene unfolds behind his eyelids. The air in the car seems to thicken, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stink of fear, though it’s been years since that night. He sees himself, younger, wilder, his muscles coil like a spring ready to snap.

The knife in his hand feels heavy, slick with sweat and anticipation. His father stands before him, towering but broken, his voice slurred with whiskey and disappointment. Azazel’s jaw clenches as he relives the argument, the same one they’ve had a hundred times before.“You’re nothing but a waste,” his father sneers, “a stain on this family.”

The words are a match to the gasoline of Azazel’s rage. He lunges, the knife flashing in the dim light of the kitchen. The first thrust is clumsy, driven by fury rather than precision. Hisfather’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth opens in a silent scream that’s cut off by the blade sinking into his chest.

Azazel feels the resistance of muscle and bone, the sickening squelch as the knife slides deeper. His father’s hands claw at him, weak and desperate, but Azazel is relentless. He pulls the knife out, the sound wet and obscene, and drives it in again. And again. Each thrust is fueled by years of resentment, of being told he’d never amount to anything, of being treated like less than human.

His father’s eyes roll back, his body trembling as life leaks out of him in hot, sticky spurts. The gurgling sound that escapes his throat is primal, animalistic, and Azazel feels a twisted satisfaction as he watches the light fade from those once-dominating eyes.

The final thrust is almost tender, a strange calm settling over Azazel as he holds the knife steady. His father’s body goes limp, collapsing to the floor with a thud that echoes in the silence. Azazel stands over him, breathing hard, his chest heaving. The kitchen is a mess of blood and broken promises, but the silence is deafening.

It’s over.

The memory fades as quickly as it came, leaving Azazel gasping in the present. His hands shake as he releases the wheel, his heart pounding in his ears. He blinks and looks over at Cherrie sleeping in the passenger seat. The endless stretch of asphalt blurring into nothingness. The car drifts slightly, and he jerks it back into the lane, his mind racing.

Azazel stands tall and menacing, his muscular frame filling the dimly lit room with an air of danger and excitement. His green eyes sparkle with a mix of wild enthusiasm and unhinged aggression as he holds his victim by the throat, pressing him against the cold, damp wall. The victim, a man in his forties, struggles feebly, his eyes wide with fear as he realizes he’s completely at the mercy of this psychotic hitman.

Azazel's partner in crime and the love of his life, Cherrie, enters the room. She is a vision of contrasts: petite yet curvy, her brown hair falling in soft waves to compliment her glowing, ebony skin. Her blue eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint as she takes in the scene before her.

Watching Azazel in action sends a rush of desire coursing through her veins, her breath quickening as she imagines herself in the victim's place, at the mercy of Azazel's rough and dominating nature.

As Azazel tightens his grip on the man's throat, Cherrie takes a step forward, her heart pounding with anticipation. She loves the raw, animalistic side of her man, and the sight of him in action is an aphrodisiac like no other. She wants him, needs him, right here and now. "Az, baby," she purrs, her voice husky with desire. "Let me take over for a minute."

Azazel turns his head slowly, his eyes fixing on Cherrie with an intense, almost predatory gaze. A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face as he realizes what she’s asking for. He releases the victim, who slumps to the floor, gasping for air.

Without taking his eyes off Cherrie, Azazel reaches down and pulls a knife from his boot. He holds it casually, twirling it between his fingers as he steps towards her.

"You want to play, baby girl?" he asks, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. "You know I can't deny you anything."

Cherrie takes the knife, bends down beside their victim, and makes a slow cut on his face as blood slowly drips down fromthe wound, causing him to moan in pain. “Shh you’re ruining it.” Cherrie whispers. “Can he die by a thousand cuts, daddy? I need a new canvas.” Cherrie questions with a big smile on her face.

“Now you know we have to get back on the road my angel. Maybe next time.” Azazel states.

Cherrie bites her lip, her eyes flitting between Azazel and the knife. "I want you first daddy, before we finish," she says, her voice steady as she runs the blade down her tongue, despite the wild pounding of her heart. "I want you right here, right now."

Azazel's smile widens, and he closes the distance between them in an instant, pressing his body against hers. She can feel the heat radiating from him. His lips descend on hers, and he kisses her deeply, his tongue demanding entrance, tasting her like he’s starving, and she happens to be his favorite meal.

Cherrie moans into the kiss, her hands roaming over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling the power in his muscles. She pushes herself against him, needing to feel every inch of his body pressed to hers. Azazel breaks the kiss, his breath hot on her neck, and the slight tickle of his short beard drives her wild as he nuzzles against her sensitive skin there. "You're so fucking sexy when you're worked up, baby," he growls. "I love watching you lose control."

She laughs breathlessly, her eyes closing as she relishes the feel of his hot breath on her skin. "You have no idea how wet I am right now," she whispers, her voice lacing with need.

"Show me," he demands, his hand sliding down to grasp her ass, squeezing the soft flesh possessively.

Cherrie wastes no time in proving her words. Reaching down, she grabs the hem of her short skirt and lets it drop to the floor, revealing her toned legs and the black lace thong that does little to hide her arousal.

With a quick kick of her leg, she sends the skirt flying across the room, landing haphazardly on a nearby chair. Azazel growls,his eyes darkening with desire as he takes in the sight of her nearly naked body. "Fuck, Cherrie, you're killing me," he grits out, his voice hoarse with need.

She giggles, a playful, sexy sound that only serves to fuel his desire. "Not yet, baby," she teases.

With lightning speed, Azazel scoops her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carries her over to a nearby table. He sets her down gently, never breaking eye contact, before reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his knife-wielding hand.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he says, his voice suddenly soft and full of a tenderness that belies his hitman persona. "I could stare at you all day and never get bored."

Cherrie's heart melts at the vulnerability in his eyes, a side of him that only she got to see. Leaning forward, she captures his lips in a soft, loving kiss, pouring every ounce of her affection into it. But soon, the tender moment ignites the fiery passion simmering between them. The kiss deepens as their tongues dance together, hands exploring, their bodies pressing together with a desperate need.

Azazel's hands roam up and down Cherrie's body, caressing her curves, squeezing her ass, and cupping her full breasts. He worships her with his touch, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her veins.

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