Ch-9

•~•Aziel’s POV

I woke with a dull grogginess clouding my thoughts, the taste of something bitter and unfamiliar lingering on the back of my tongue.

The last thing I remembered was a nurse coming in and injecting something into my IV.

My eyelids fluttered open, only to meet complete darkness.

For a moment, I had no idea where I was, but the cold, sterile air creeping into my lungs told me this wasn’t a place I wanted to be.

I tried to move my hands, but they were tied—tied behind my back to a chair.

A cloth covered my head, blocking out any light, but I could still hear. Male voices. Their low tones grew more agitated with each passing second.

“What the hell is taking so long?” one of them snapped.

“Why hasn't he called yet?... Is he paying us to babysit a cripple or what?” another barked back. “Just call him already.”

A third voice joined in, calm yet tense. “He said to wait for his call, so while we wait, I suggest you shut the fuck up and focus, damn it!”

Silence—The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment before I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

Suddenly, the cloth over my face was yanked off, and I winced, blinking rapidly against the sudden brightness.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, my eyes shutting instinctively.

A mocking chuckle echoed in the room.

When my eyes opened again, he was standing there—right in front of me.

A mask covered most of his face, leaving only his eyes and mouth visible. His eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and something darker.

“Fuck?” he repeated, his tone laced with curiosity. “Sorry, Mr. Grant, but I don’t do men. And even if I did, you're definitely not my type.” His accent was unmistakable—French.

I narrowed my eyes, pushing past the dull ache in my head. A soft laugh broke from the other three men behind him. They too wore masks.

I shifted in the chair, testing the restraints, but the ropes held me firmly in place.

I glanced back at the French-accented man. “Well, that’s disappointing,” I said, my voice calm. “But at least, do you have a name I can call you by?”

The man froze for a second, his body tensing. He looked away, as if my question caught him off guard. The others were silent, but I could feel their attention pressing on me.

“What?” he muttered, his voice a little less steady. “You’re asking for my name?”

He scoffed, his tone incredulous. “You think I’m a fool, Mr. Grant?”

I nodded, letting out a quiet sigh. “Fair enough,” I said, shrugging as best as I could within the restraints. “I’ll call you Number One then. Seems like you're the leader around here.”

I tilted my head, casting a lazy glance at the three masked figures in the corner. “And the rest of you... Number Two, Number Three, and Number Four?...I’ll call you that while I’m here.”

Number One scoffed, amusement tinging his voice. “What’s this nonsense you’re saying? Do you think you’re on some vacation, and we’re your... what, your numbered lackeys?”

I turned my head back to him, giving a dry chuckle. “I’m actually on my honeymoon, so it’s kind of a vacation—didn’t just expect to get kidnapped on it.” I paused, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“...But I’d really appreciate it if we could get to the point. My wife’s probably going to start worrying if I’m gone too long.”

There was a heavy silence. One of the men in the corner of the room left his mouth hanging open. It was clear they hadn’t expected me to remain so calm.

Number One’s voice broke the silence, rough but laced with disbelief. “You know, Mr. Grant... This isn’t our first time doing this—kidnapping rich people. They beg, beg for their lives, tell us how much money they’ve got and what they’re willing to pay just to stay alive and be released. Pathetic, right? But you?... You’re different.”

I exhaled, staring straight ahead. “Well, what can I say? I’m special, even though I’m already half a person. Can’t walk, you know. And you definitely kidnapped me for money, so…” I gave a small, bitter chuckle. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Number One laughed, the sound dark, sinister. A glint of something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

“What if it’s not for money, though?” His voice turned casual, but there was a chill in the air as he crouched down in front of me.

His words were almost a whisper, dangerously low. “What if someone paid us to kidnap and kill you?”

Well, that’s a plot twist I wasn’t expecting.

A cold shiver ran down my spine, harsher than anything I’d felt before.

“Guess that changes everything, doesn’t it?” I rasped, my throat tightening. 

Number One leaned in, and immediately, his breath assaulted my nose—garlic. Strong, pungent, clinging to the air like a curse.

God, I hated garlic—always had. The way it overpowered everything and lingered on people’s breath long after they’d eaten, like it had no plans of leaving.

The stench made my stomach turn, and if I weren’t already tied to this chair, I would’ve leaned away on instinct.

“So,” Number One drawled, clearly unaware—or maybe very aware—of how offensive his breath was.

“Are you going to beg for your life, or would you rather know who paid to have it taken?” His voice was low, taunting, laced with amusement.

I swallowed down the urge to gag, keeping my expression neutral. “I’ll take the second option.” My voice was steady, but my patience wasn’t. “So, who sent you? And why the hell do they want me dead?”