Page 28 of Love in the Dark

But their pasts are catching up to them. Azazel and Cherrie’s work and lifestyle has left a trail of enemies, and now one of them has taken the love of his life. A low growl emanates from his throat.

He will find her, no matter what it takes. He knows he will do whatever is necessary to bring her back safely.

As he prepares for the coming confrontation, his mind wanders to the plan they’d devised to turn the tables on their pursuer. It had been Cherrie's idea—a twisted scheme to lure their tormentor out of the shadows. They had almost put it into action when she went missing. Now, he will have to adapt and rely on his own skills to rescue her. The sound of rainfall outside adds to the gloomy atmosphere whilst Azazel walks around the room to look for any more clues to help him but he comes up empty.

Cherrie is gone, and he knows that this game has taken a deadly turn. Days turn into a week, and Azazel finds himself in a rundown motel on the outskirts of town. He has been following a lead, a possible sighting of Cherrie, but it has led him on a wild goose chase. His eyes grow heavy with fatigue while he sits on the edge of the bed, the same drawing of the captive bird lying crumpled on the bedside table. He runs a hand over his face, the stubble rough against his palms, as he tries to gather his thoughts. His mind drifts back to the past–to the jobs he has taken.

He sees the faces of his targets, the look of fear in their eyes when they realize their time is up. He has been good at his job, the best, and now those skills will be put to use in findingCherrie. He will leave no stone unturned–no lead unchecked. He owes it to her, to their unborn children, and to himself, to end this game once and for all.

As he rises to pour himself a drink, his phone buzzes with a new message. “Tick-tock.” The rain has intensified, pounding against the windows while Azazel prepares to leave. Pulling on his coat, he checks his gun, ensuring it’s loaded, and slips it into his holster. Azazel sends a message to an old contact, a fellow hitman who owes him a favor. He needs backup, and he needs eyes and ears he can trust. This game is coming to an end–one way or another.

Chapter Eighteen

Smoke and Mirrors

Cherrie sits in a cold, damp cell, her wrists raw and bleeding from the shackles that bind her to the wall. Her captor has been torturing her for what feels like an eternity, but her unbreakable spirit remains intact. She glares at the man who stands before her, his face hidden in the shadows.

Cherrie tries to speak, but her mouth is dry, her voice hoarse from screaming all of the screaming she did earlier. She attempts to pull against her restraints, but they hold firm, cutting into her delicate skin. The man approaches, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. He stops mere inches from her, his breath warm on her face.

"You’re going to die so slowly, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it." She giggles, her voice steady despite the pain. "So Mr. Mystery Man, which psycho are you? Are you all going to stop hiding in the shadows and tell me what you want?" The figure remains silent, unnerving her. Cherrie’s used to getting answers; she is an expert in getting inside people's heads. But this person seems to take pleasure in her inability to do so. "Itwon't do you any good to keep quiet. I'll find out eventually. And when I do, it won't be pleasant for you," she continues, her voice laced with promise. Still, the figure says nothing. Cherrie's frustration grows, and she begins to fear that this person may not be working alone.” Are you even able to talk? Or are you some kind of mute freak?" She tries a different tactic, deciding to probe for a reaction. "You know, Azazel will find me. He always does. And when he does, he's going to make you pay for what you've done."

At the mention of Azazel's name, the figure finally reacts. A low, menacing chuckle fills the room. "Azazel, the oh-so-famous invisible hitman? Oh, Cherrie, don't you know? He's long gone. There's no one coming to save you this time." The figure steps closer, its eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "You see, this time, you've crossed the wrong person. And now, you'll pay the price." Cherrie's heart sinks as she realizes the truth behind her captor's words. The thought of Azazel being hurt somewhere–or maybe–killed is too painful to bear. He will never leave her behind, but she has to focus on the present and find a way to escape. Her captor's next words, however, crush that faint glimmer of hope. "Don't worry, Cherrie. Azazel won't be saving you. But I assure you, by the end, you'll be begging for death."

Cherrie spits in his direction, “May the craziest psycho win.”

"Bravo, Cherrie. That spirit is exactly why we took you last. But I'm afraid your fire will soon be extinguished." With that, her captor exits the cell, leaving Cherrie alone in the dark. Cherrie fights against her shackles, but as usual, it is no use.

* * *

Days turn into weeks, and Cherrie's captivity drags on. Her captors have discovered her pregnancy and views it as a weakness to exploit. They withhold food and water, barely giving her scraps, subjecting her to intense torture sessions, and employed psychological tactics to break her spirit. Yet, Cherrieremains defiant, her love for her unborn children and Azazel, fueling her resolve. She throws up three to four times a day and she keeps fading in and out of consciousness.

One of the days the figure returns with a black leather bag and with another male figure. “Unchain her and get her to the chair.” male number one orders. Male number two approaches Cherrie and releases her from her shackles. Cherrie takes the opportunity to use both of her hands to slam the man’s head into the wall. Trying to stand, Cherrie stumbles–weak and disoriented, she trips.

“You crazy bitch!” the man yells in frustration as he kicks Cherrie in the stomach and drags her by her hair toward the chair. “You try to pull anything else, I will cut those babies out of you and you can watch me cut their hearts out.” Cherrie groans in pain and clenches her stomach, “You promise to make me bleed?” Cherrie laughs hysterically. “Restrain this crazy bitch.” The man with the leather bag slams the bag onto the table. “How long have you worked for the organization?” the man questions.

“One, two … He’s coming for you…” Cherrie sings. The man takes out a blade and strikes Cherrie across the face, leaving a cut from her eye to the bridge of her nose.

Cherrie groans. “That’s going to leave a sexy scar, does it make me look badass?”

“I am going to enjoy cutting your tongue out. How long have you worked for the organization?” Cherrie shuffles in the seat. “Umm, let’s see … two days, still on probation though. So, I don’t know if I’m really digging it yet.” The man strikes her in the face again. “When did you go rogue?” Cherrie stares up at the roof. “This is boring, can we please do something else? Every day you ask me irrelevant questions, I tell you irrelevant answers and the circus goes on and on. How about you tell me your deepest desire.”

Male figure number two interjects, grabbing the knife, and stabs Cherrie in the arm. “Stop playing games! You killed her, you took her from me! Why?!” Cherrie screams in the man’s face, then begins laughing. “Bingo! Baby, you’ll have to be more specific. Which ‘her’ are you referring to?” The other man pushes him back towards the door. “Keep your cool. You hired me to do a job and you need to let me do it.” “You’re taking too long! How do we even know that this is the right person.” the man challenged. “Trust me; it’s her.” They both walk back to Cherrie. “Since you now know why we’re here. Sophia–her name was Sophia.”

Cherrie bites her lip. “Aw, my favorite one. She was such…a…lovely…taste. Her ex didn’t appreciate you two together… Oops.”

“You sick son of a bitch, you will pay for killing her. A life for a life. Your kids’ life. It’s mine.” Cherrie snickers “Is that your plan? Wait until I give birth, then what? I can’t sit here and listen to you bitch and moan for months. That’s pathetic and a waste of time.”

“You’ll never see it. I say, we cut her open now and be done with it.”

“You wanted answers, so that’s what we’re here to get.”

Cherrie smiles “Oh brother! Let me guess … why her? Take that up with her ex. Should've never cheated, but you want to know what the real bonus was… She was so sexy–beautiful with a hint of chaos.” Cherrie sits up, pulling against her restraints. “It was the way she smiled at me, the way her perfume hit me when she walked by, the way her eyes begged me for mercy, and the way the life in her eyes left as I got my nut off.” The man lunges at Cherrie and chokes her until she passes out.

Chapter Nineteen

Into The Labyrinth

42… The number of people Azazel has killed in the past four weeks. In that time, he had painted the town red, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake as he scoured every inch of the city in search of Cherrie. Azazel is a man possessed with fear, anger, and hopelessness. During his relentless quest, Azazel's psycho tendencies shine brighter than ever, and he becomes more unhinged with each passing day. His love for Cherrie knows no bounds, and the thought of her suffering at the hands of their unknown enemies fuel his dark impulses. Azazel takes a certain, twisted pleasure in the art of killing, ensuring that each of his victims suffer a unique and painful death–their lifeless eyes bear witness to his merciless nature. Yet, despite his blood-soaked path, Azazel's focus never wavers.

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