Prologue
The devil laughed in their faces and stood by watching, revealing in the pain. Twisting their prayers into garbled curses so God could not hear their pleas for help.
Death could not hear his pitiful pleas either.
But God wanted nothing to do with the evil plague that fed off human fear.
What kind of twisted man wished for death?
Screams punched through the blackened wall of nothingness that clogged Mikhail’s brain.
Lacerated edges dug into the skin of his wrist the more he fought but he didn’t give a fuck how deep they cut. Nothing slashed at him more than her cries for help. Her cries for him to save her, to stop the agonizing torture.
Using what little strength he had, Mikhail fought for freedom. To go to her, but nothing could break the steel links. “You’ll die for this, you fucking bastard!” Clawing anger slurred Mikhail’s words as he fought against the swollen skin clamping his eyes shut, fought against the rage and agony winding through his ravaged body.
He jerked his wrists, this time welcoming the sharp twist of pain that bit into the slashed flesh. Death crawled closer; he could feel the leech of its freezing air seep into him. Smell the putrid stench of the bastard’s breath.
Mikhail welcomed the slithering shadow seconds ago, but not for him.
For her.
Death needed to take her.
He fought against its dark hold so she would not be alone in the viper pit when her eyes finally glassed over.
“Please take her,” he whispered into the darkness.
Heavy footsteps pounded against the unforgiving cement.
Mikhail couldn’t leave her. He refused to let the shadows steal him from her.
Not until her soul safely crossed to the other side. Then he could die.
Desperation to reach his wife burned with hell’s fury through his veins. His words drew a vicious, lifeless laugh that raised the hair on his neck.
“You fucking piece of shit bastard,” Mikhail slurred again, spitting a mouthful of blood at his enemy.
“Bastard?” The voice, devoid of life, sulked beyond the fringes of his sight. Ice cold and unfeeling.
Soulless.
But then again so was he.
Blood oozed from a deep gash over his eye, the coppery taste wetting his lips.
Through half-slitted eyes, he peered into the void before him. “You’ll meet your end and when the Reaper throws your soul into hell, I’ll be there to greet you in the darkest pits. I relish the day the devil gives me to inflict the same torture on you because know this, that demon bastard will do my bidding because I’m selling my soul right now for that privilege. And he’ll gladly take the deal.” Mikhail’s cracked lips peeled back in a bloody smile. “And you’ll be my little demon bitch.” Foamy spittle fell from his mouth, his words a promised slur.
A disconnected chuckle crept through the pitch black, just beyond the rim of light that pooled in the center of the room where he hung, his feet mere inches from the floor.
“Be careful what you wish for.”
The shadow moved within the darkness and for a brief second, a hint of the monster who spoke could be glimpsed from a single bulb that cast an eerie light over the horror show.
Metal grated against cement and served as the only warning of what his outburst would get him.
Let them.
“All you have to do is tell me where my shipment and money is and all this stops. And your pretty wife won’t become my whore.”