Redemption

Chapter 12

She ran from rooftop to rooftop, the ground below her blending all together as she zoomed by. Slowing down, she landed on the street, entering a dingy-lit pub on the corner of the road; coloured smoke rose from the tables, coughing Azalea made her way through the bar past the bartender, arriving at a door at the back. Twisting the handle, she went through a spiralling staircase, taking her deeper underground; yelling and cheers got louder with each step as she neared the entrance. Finally arriving, she took it in, a familiar feeling settling in her chest. Before her were fight rings, Betts was taken as the fighters fought, to her right vendors selling charms and elixirs, and further away, business meetings were taking place. The underground was home to criminals and anyone who needed anything illegal.

Tugging her mask up, she dodged the sellers and the bookies. She went deeper in, farther away from the noise, and a tall tattooed man with an eyebrow piercing stood before her, covered in weapons, and stared down at her.

"Is Creed in?" Azalea asked.

"Who's asking?" the bodyguard said, staring menacingly, trying to intimate her.

"Tell him it's his favourite assassin." She replied, already bored of the exchange.

Scoffing, the guard made no move to relay the message; he stared, unimpressed. She let out an annoyed breath and brought up her knee, connecting to his groin. Doubling over, he gasped in pain; palming a knife, she pierced his gut. Retracting the weapon, she pushed him out of the way, unconcerned about the growing pool of blood beneath her feet.

"Men and their superiority complex," she muttered, opening the door.

"Didn't I say no one should bother me? Useless pricks." a voice snapped from inside.

Fully stepping in and closing the door. Azalea was met with a darkly lit office. An expensive desk with matching chairs was in her direct vision. A leather couch back the wall. Multiple weapons were hung on the wall. Narrowing her eyes to the voice, she tugged her mask down, revealing her face.

"Miss me?" she said, smiling slightly.

Leaping from the chair, a man came to meet her, his arms wide. "Azalea?" he said as he took her in.

Despite his age, Creed was still the same tall muscled man that held her back from running into the flames the night her parents passed. His grey hair, cropped to his head, shone under the lights, his pale face crinkling as he smiled at her. Plopping onto the chair she had sat on for many years, she faced the man who had raised her.

"Do you want anything? I can get you the hot chocolate you love so much," he asked, his eyes twinkling as he sat behind the desk.

Azalea shook her head; Creed frowned, unsure.

"How I heard you were killed. I'm still tracking down the one who did it; I was planning to crucify him. I suppose I can no longer do that." Creed questioned.

Prinking with anger, she smoothed her face, keeping it pleasant.

"He'll play dumb, then so will I." she thought, irritated.

"It's a long story, but I recovered from the wounds. Speaking of wounds, I believe I did accidentally dispose of your guard. He was annoying me. I can recommend better ones if you want."

Chuckling, he leaned back, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Oh, Azalea, just returned from near-death and is already on a rampage. Don't worry; you can do no wrong. In my eyes, I trust that he was in the wrong," he said, staring at her fondly.

Lifting up the corner of her lips, she said, "Remember how I used to hang around right on this chair when you did business late at night, and I would fall asleep here." her eyes roamed the room, taking it in.