Devil and the Deep Blue Sea // Arsh Chapter 11 Page 56 13/08/2016 - Page 3

CHAPTER 1

Don't let the blue in my eyes deceive you

The tales they tell of my cruelty are true

Mumbai HeadQuarters.

9 a.m.

I've been grilling this asshole for the last six hours.

Acid? Check.

Limbs cut? Check.

Fingers plucked out? Check.

Skin peeled off? Check.

You would think I'm one sadistic bitch and you'd be right. I do not enjoy killing people with a gun. Guns, in my opinion, are a wasted weapon. There's no point in death. Death is oblivion and there's nothing as beautiful as pain.

Death takes that away from you. Doesn't means I don't wanna see these pieces of shit die. I just want to prolong it, tease them with death. I want them to beg for death and beg for oblivion. I want to torture them, slowly and calmly. Watch the skin come off. Watch their black souls bleed.

And even that at times won't satisfy me.

Rapists. Murderers. Terrorists.

I wish I could make them ache the way they do to others.

Yes I'm sadistic. Life's never been more fun.

"Malhotra," I rotate my head and watch Rahul walk up to me.

He's grinning watching the dried blood on my hands, "Did you cut off his balls yet?"

I tag along him walking to the chief's room, "The first thing I did."

He laughs and shakes his head, opening the door for me, "Gupta's been waiting for you. Surprisingly he's in a good mood today. He thinks you're it."

I frown and walk in, "It for what?"

Rahul puts his coffee on his table and pulls his identity card over his head, stuffing it in his pocket.

"We are hitting big on the drug cartel. We are this close," he gesticulates with his fingers an inch apart, "The team's got a reason to celebrate. Everyone's been busting their asses off on this case for the past two years. But Gupta won't let us sleep until we're done."

"Armaan Malik's case? That Drug Lord?" I pull out a swivel chair and sink in it. I need to wash my hands but it's been long and blood has really stopped bothering me, though, Mr. Gupta is a little hygienic.

Little is an understatement.

"So where do I fit in, Garewal?"

"Malhotra," both of us stand as Shashank Gupta fills in the room. And what a presence he has. Mr. Gupta's towering height and athletic build is not the only reason his command is so well feared. His code of conduct and sternness is the root of his fame. Or notoriety. Which ever way you see it. He has a long scar running down his face and ending above his chin. It really does wonders with the intimidation part. They say he got it in a showdown. He was captured some ten years from now. His wife and children killed.

He's still out for blood. You can just see it in his face.

I respect Shashank Gupta like any other member of the force. He has helped me a lot through life and not for him I would've been lost. Though not a father figure, he'd been close to whatever second substitute that comes. He is incapable of portraying emotions, which has always been fine with me. After watching my parents murdered in a robbery case, I'm not much big on emotions either. At first it bothered me when I didn't feel shit. No love, no pain nothing. But then, it worked in my favor.

Emotions are for the weak anyway.

I and Rahul share a look and step aside as Mr. Gupta fills his seat. He briefs Rahul about some Politician's protocol and the intelligence reports we've been receiving of the possible attacks. Our team has been tracking and breaking into records of people we suspect. But so far there's not much to worry about.

I pull out my phone and scroll down the messages.

All from Sidhant. Interesting. My boyfriend's cute. I smile and look up at Gupta, who now, has his eyes trained on me.

"Your hands. Wash them before you come to the meeting," he gives me a stern nod that chides me and I bite a smile. Yeah Mr. Gupta you're really scary! Got it.

I swish out of the chair and tilt my head at Rahul telling him I'll be there in a minute. Rahul's really cool. He doesn't have that good of a height. He's inches shyer than what we consider tall, but what he doesn't make in height he does in agility. Rahul is unpredictable. And that's what I love the most in a guy.

Too bad he has a wife.

I would've hit on him otherwise.

I keep telling him let's elope, but he shrugs it off laughing.

He thinks I'm joking.

Boy I'm not.

I quickly punch a one word reply to Siddhant as I step inside the washroom. It says what it always says, "later."

Siddhant is Mr. Gupta's adopted son. In a lot of ways, he's just like me. Mr. Gupta adopted him when he had to kill his family in an encounter. His parents were cops gone bad. Siddhant was small then, barely six years. Now he doesn't want any part of this shit. He's an accountant and a very happy one at that. And he also happens to be my boyfriend.

I remember Rahul asking me once If I loved Siddhant and my reply was unhesitant.

No.

I don't believe in love and do not fret after it. Love to me means weakness and there's no space for that in my line of work. Not that I've to try to keep it at a distance. I'm emotionless. Made of ice. Nothing penetrates that. However, I'm also very practical. I know I don't want to stay like this for very long anymore and Siddhant is just that. Safe and normal. That's what I need now. Just get done with this shit, retire and have 2.5 babies.

I wash my hands and enter the meeting room. There are twenty three other officers apart from me and Rahul. Some I know, the others I've heard about. It's a district meeting.

I bow my head slightly and slip into my chair. Meeting bore me. I like action. I like being out on the field.

Mr. Gupta shifts the slide as he goes on about Armaan Malik.

I slide down my chair and listen. So not interested. I know Rahul's gonna give me the drill anyway.

"So Armaan Malik worked for Ouwar Baigh?" Rahul throws a pile of files on his table and take a chair right beside me.

"That's right he used to. Last year there was a break up between Ouwar and the other group he was supplying arms and weapons to. Armaan was his right hand man. The rumor is the tiff happened because of Armaan. He messed it up for Ouwar Big time. Since then Ouwar is out for Armaan's blood. The men he was supplying to are another cartel from Russia. Armaan smuggled them from Baghdad to Turkey and to Mexico. But he's no more with them either. It is hard to pin point his exact locations or the group of people that work for him. Armaan has since been quite independent. He's good at what he does and he works like a middle man. You want his services you've to pay a shit load of wad for them. The kind of information he must have is invaluable. Everyone wants him in. Recently he has started spreading his network in India. The rumors say he was born somewhere in Kasauli but we have nothing to trace. He's good. He's untraceable but our intel have got serious sources that say he's boarding the Emity. It's going to make its first maiden voyage and the owner is A Moroccan mob. There is news of some big deal happening on the ship."

"So where do I come in?" I curve my legs on the table, totally knowing how it irks Rahul, and push my head back on the leather chair.

"Well, you're one of our undercovers. You're so deep in this that tracing you is impossible. He won't doubt you. You're smart and you're one of our best. But that's not it. You're a woman and Gupta expects you to use your charms."

I spit my coffee out, "What the f**k?"

Rahul shrugs his shoulders like he himself doesn't understand and pushes back, "You know it when Gupta's impressed by the chase. He won't relent. He thinks we should use whatever apparent resources we can gather. And your looks have made it to the list. I think if you'd act like dancer or bar girl or someone totally low profile nobody's going to doubt you, you'll be considered harmless and you can get value information for us. You have to get close to Armaan Malik."

"Listen Garewal, I really don't wanna do this shit anymore. I've been planning to retire altogether for a while. I'm done. And I don't think I want to go this trip whatsoever. Can't I get some field work? What about the operation going on our base?"

"Retiring? So soon?"

"You know why I came in. I got what I wanted. I sliced the motherfuker into hundreds of tiny pieces for what he did to my parents. I'm done."

"I know you want to retire now but this one's for Shashank Gupta. Call it cashing in his favor. And anyway think of what this case would do for your career. This is something everyone wants. Armaan Malik's the bas***d all agencies are after for the last eight years. He's it."

Rahul always discusses mechanics. Eyes, the color of coffee stains, he passes easily for ordinary but he is always watching, taking every minute detail like a hawk. He talks logic and he is a friend. His word is high priority for me. I'm reluctant. I don't know why. It's like something is stinging the back of my neck, some forgone instinct that has been buried deep, crawling the back of my spinal cord and telling me not to do this.

I always trust my instincts. They're why I'm alive today.

However my instincts trust Rahul as well. Who doesn't like a career boost? Not that I'm fame hungry. I don't need that shit. I'm robotic that way. I finish all the work for the cops who aren't ready to get their hands dirty. And my hands are pretty filthy.

There are always casualties in the job. Innocent people die. They're collateral damage. They've to go. It used to bother me. I was here for good work. But in the large frame to save a million lives few hundred had to be spent.

I'd stop getting bothered a long time ago. It wouldn't help me anyway. It's the nature of our job.

"I don't know Garewal. I do need some adventure, but being stuck on a cruise and pretending to be a freaking dumb blonde more like arm candy? That has never been my thing. God knows I've gotten more bullets in my body just because of that. Grotesque shit I can take but mundane?"

"Shilpa this isn't going to be mundane. And where your body is considered you should be thinking what Siddhant thinks of it," he grins at me, "We need someone who's as sharp witted as you. Right now we've many few men in the field. The best is already undercover, few in Central India, others in Northern and Kashmir. You're one of our best and God knows you're good as shit. And I don't think anything with Malik would be any less dangerous. Hell I would've gone not for Muskaan being in the eight month of her pregnancy and anyway I've promised her not to risk my life anymore."

"I know. Cute and romantic. Totally pathetic." I roll my eyes and pop a chewing gum in my mouth.

"I can't believe someone like you fell in love. It was impossible. It was like pigs fly kind of possibility."

"And pigs found wings," he smiled.

"Yeah, like how? I thought you and me were going to single bad-asses for life."

"Yeah Right. You want to call it quit and pop 2.5 children for Siddhant in some big house in the middle of nowhere."

"That was after you married Muskaan. You always appeared so non interested and cold. You had these no mingling vibes transmitting out of you. I rarely saw you smile and look at you now. You can't stop grinning you piece of shit."

"And it's a good grin I've been told," he laughs again then sobers up, "Honestly I've caused Muskaan a lot of pain. I was reluctant of wanting to love her and I'd made her life hell in the process. All that denial. But when you fall in love you just fall in love. There's no reasoning for that."

"You know how love and bullshit are more or less the same thing in my dictionary Rahul but I'm glad you found your happy ending and a wife who can cook."

He guffaws remembering what a terrible cook I am. Yeah Muskaan cooks some good food. I'm gobbling from Rahul's lunch box every chance I get.

"I think I'm going to talk it with my boyfriend. If he doesn't have a problem neither do I."

Rahul raises a thick black brow at me, "And since when did his opinion started being this high priority? Wasn't it always the job first and him later?"

"Oh please Rahul. He's been bidding his time, waiting for me to get done with this job. He's worrying about me constantly, taking too much stress. He deserves to know."

"Why do I have a feeling your relationship is merely platonic?"

"Because it is. And that's an issue I don't want to even talk about. Anyway what about Chinese in half an hour? I'm free today. My case is done here, I'm just going to file the proofs and my statement for the court."

"Yeah, no. I've pending work and a pregnant, hormonal wife waiting for me."

I pull up from the chair and smirk at him, "Best of luck with that shitty pants. I'll see you if I live to see the day."

I hear him as I exit his cabin, "something tells me you definitely will."

"Shilpa, this sounds dangerous to me. Look I know you live for the thrill and I respect that but Armaan Malik? That guy is fuked up in the head and we both know it. And what makes you think you'll be able to lock him down? Agencies, top notch interrogatory committees have been ruthless in their quest. I don't know Shilpa."

I think I'm annoyed. It's not that I don't get from where Sid is coming because I myself haven't been much eager to take this operation on but I don't like the way he's talking. Like he thinks I can't do this shit. I can't take Armaan Malik down. I'm not a very level headed person. This is one of my faults. I'm hot headed. Lava to be precise. I do things based on just my gut instinct and I have never failed. I'm not arrogant or self delusional but I'm too f**king good at whatever I do. He respects me but he's never proud of it. It's annoying.

"Look Siddhant, this one? It's a lifetime opportunity. Now I know you're worried but calm down. I've handled worse people. I've sat in a room full of top manipulators in the world, psychopaths and cold blooded murderers and not lost my calm. It's always the battle of nerves and this shit I excel at. I'm Gupta's best asset and he wants me on this. And I don't mind, not really."

"Shilpa, I'm not underestimating you," he pulls me on his lap and sighs, "I'm just afraid of losing you and please work with me here I'm a normal man whose fears are legitimate. And I know you can do it. I've never asked you to step out of the police force because I know you have your head in the game. I'm just wondering if you're working yourself too hard. This guy's really dangerous. And I'm going to helpless here if something happens to you."

I plant a chaste kiss at the corner of his lips and faintly smile, "Yeah but you can do all the auditing needed for all the money I've somewhere saved. At least I've got shit loads of wad saved in some bank. Though with the kind of shit they make me do I think I'm highly underpaid?"

He chuckles and picks me up. He likes doting on me. I still don't know what he finds love worthy in me. But who's complaining? I know retiring and settling with a gentleman like him would be the most practical decision I'll be taking in my life.

We have Russian salad and chicken steaks for dinner and I gulp down two glasses of wine. Then I let him make love to me.

Or have sex.

Or f**k me.

And all that time I'm lost somewhere.

I know sometimes he feels it. The lack of my response, the frigidity of my body. But we do not speak of it. Though how much it unnerves and wrecks him is something I see happen before my eyes and I think that maybe he deserves someone better. Someone who'd just love him the way he needs.

That chick is definitely not me.

I'm not your traditional housewife/girlfriend material.

I've the weight of my sins and their blood on my shoulders.

And it's quite heavy.

But as we lay tangled together I stare at the ceiling. It's dark and the only thing illuminating the room is a dome shaped lamp on my bedside.

I stare at the circular rotations of the fans and the flecks of dust at the corners of the ceiling and I wonder if there will ever be more than this to my life.

This blankness.

I slip out of his arms and reach his bedside. I open the drawers to find the black box inside. I know what's going to be inside even before I open it.

A ring.

I know he wants to marry me.

But am I ready yet?

And out of desperation. Out of the need to escape one last time before I hand over my life to him, out of sheer need for air and something indefinable, in the middle of the night I make the worst decision of my life.

I make the decision to go.

To take Armaan Malik down.

And I go.

You call upon my darkness to abide your will

Would you hesitate when you dive for the kill?

Thirteen days later I board the Emity.

My disguise is perfect.

The web of lies untraceable.

I'm Riddhima Singh the daughter of a drunk and a wh**e who has crawled up the lines of gutter by having loads of sugar daddy. I'm confident. I'm sexy and I'm bold. And I laugh as I think of meeting Armaan Malik. I've seen only one photo of his. A grainy black and white surveillance photo captured on the airport of Chille. He has a black beard in it and looks as scary as they call him. I'm going to shoot his balls off if he puts his hands on me.

But I'll enjoy the teasing anyway.

The cruise is luxury extraordinaire. It takes me a day to take a trip around. Whoever thought I'd be stuck here? This one can fit a city in it.

It's high maintenance.

It has the news channels roaring with appreciation.

What a perfect facade.

Nobody's going to doubt a maiden cruise with the best elite of the ton and all media eyes on it. They are good. And I've to be on my toes.

The cruise is one luxury box with cinemas, shopping malls, outdoor gyms, dining venues on the deck and indoor, spa, a high class disco, and a television room. My legs would've ached like hell have I not been the kind of fit I am. This job drills you and you've to stay at the best of your body and health. This body keeps me alive; I need to keep it worthy of doing the task. I've gained around three pounds in the last few months. Three pounds of pure muscle. I can shoot you before you blink an eye and take you the floor before you can say "you".

I do not see much security yet. My office's gotten me into one of the VIP Suites and what a pleasure it is. Cream curtains, marble counter-tops, personal kitchen, Jacuzzi. I roam around my larger-than-my-house room and plop on the bed dressed in my bathrobe. The bedsheets are clinical white, a sharp contrast to the otherwise room.

I open a coke and take long sips. There's not much high security or suspicious protection protocol going on yet. I do not know which room Armaan Malik is in or probably he's arriving in the helicopter because the ship has a helicopter pad or maybe he'd be as much as a stranger as I am but that sounds unlikely as far as my sources are concerned.

I plug in my surveillance device and turn on my laptop.

Armaan Malik the son of a bitch is coming.

And I've work to do.

I'm wired with Rahul but I cannot use the ear piece all the time. It will guarantee suspicion to the ones who are sensitive to minimal details. And risk is not my favorite companion.

I watch the calm sea, blue waves piling over one another and the rushed breaths of the ocean. The cold wind caresses my face and my hair are a wild mess flowing everywhere so is my floral sundress. The cleavage is low giving you just the right amount of eyeful of my breasts. That's like sample before you buy. My s**tty wardrobe arrived only hours ago. I have to say I'm disgusted and impressed. Gupta wants me to parade primed and painted.

I don't doubt my looks much. I've been blessed with sludgy green eyes and jet black hair that fall to my hips. Though they don't have a general type. Sometimes they're silky and others wavy as hell. They're weather depended but I roll with them because who the hell cares what your hair look like? I've wanted, on more than one occasion, to chop them off, but the long hair help keep the ruse and who am I to cut down my advantages?

I look around me at the people randomly roaming. It's 4 in the morning and there aren't much people on the deck right now. It's calm. Just the slow steady beating of the sea. And for one wild moment I want to dive in and get lost in its knowledge and history. But I think of the amount of years it has existed. Since the creation of this planet. People came and went, civilizations ruined, centuries gone, bloodlines finished and of all the deceased bodies it still carries. Remnants of history and blood as fresh as yesterday before its eyes.

I'm so deep in my thoughts I don't even realize someone's been standing there and staring at me the whole time.

My body goes tense with the realization. I'm always on my top instinct. What kind of stupid slipup was that? I glance sideways, my fingers filling with adrenaline. I'm coiled to spring into action but I twirl around to gaze into the bluest eyes I've ever seen and push back immediately feeling the cold railing against me.

I scan his face and take a sharp breath.

My God who's this Adonis?

Deep blue eyes that invade.

Snobbish nose.

A mouth made for sin.

A towering height. He looks around six inches to me, that's half an inch over me and I have to crane my head back to stare.

He gives me a sultry smile and his eyes go smoky as he takes up all my space stepping closer. Our chests almost touch and the cherry red lipstick I painted my lips with feels dry as my throat.

His voice slides like a deadly caress across my skin, "I think I know you."

Every nerve endings in my body twitches with life and I go into alarm mode.

"I don't think so." My reply is cocky, arrogant, just the slight tilt of my head, the minimal rise of an eyebrow.

You think you keep your secrets hidden

The realities of your life now are forbidden

He smiles at me, a low liquid smile that spreads through me, "You look familiar."

"Is that a line you use on all women or is it just me you think shitty enough to spring the worst shit you've got?"

"You're something fiery aren't you?" he gives me a slight jerk of his head. I let my eyes roam down. He's wearing a black tuxedo. Armaani most probably. Three piece suit. I wonder why he is dressed so formally at this time in the night. He's got an impressive built. A house of muscles. He can easily break me into two if he wants and that does something erotic to me. Not many men can intimidate me. Never like this anyway.

I look back up and notice the faint scar against his eyebrow and other at the corner of his lips. They make him look even hotter if that's possible.

"Yes," I jut my chin out, "and I don't like men who do not know how to flirt with a woman."

"Excuse my failures ma'am," he takes another bold step toward me and our chests are pressing now. This is abnormal. I don't let men touch me or stand this close to me, but something about this situation has me on complete auto pilot. I'm just reacting.

"But I'm going to be brutally honest. I've been watching you for the past twenty minutes and I've never wanted anything in my life as much as I want you in my bed right now."

I gasp at his audacity. The gasp is fake. Part of my play. I watch him curve his mouth in another breathtaking smile and watch a dimple pop out in his left cheek. He doesn't even have to touch me. He's a lethal thorough seducer.

But of course he would be as the recognition dawns on me.

He's clean shaven now.

But he's still Armaan Malik.

If you think you know this game

Go back to from where you came

I rest both my elbows on the railing and tilt back, letting his eyes have their fill of my body.

"I do not sleep with men I've just met."

"That's going to change because I'll have you in my bed in no time."

"Aren't you too cocky for your own good?"

"What I am is sure. Absolutely sure."

I push my hair back and give him a mock stare, "What makes you think I'll jump in bed with you?"

He looks down then raises his dare and sexually loaded eyes at me and they seem to look right through me. He takes the last step toward me and his palm fits the curve of my back pulling me closer, "Because, princess, something tells me you don't know the first thing about being with a man. And I'm going to give it to you."

Something about his statement hits home and I pull out of his arms, still feeling the hot sting of his fingers pressed against my back, "you barely know me."

"I'm going to intimately know you."

I shake my head, "I don't think that's going to happen."

"I'm going to have you on your back faster than you can say yes."

He leans closer and slides a thumb down my neck to my breast, "or please."

"How about no? it's a letter short of yes." My words aren't as strong as I meant them to be.

"Do you know who I am, Riddhima?"

I hide my shock. How does he know that name? My records are untraceable and I've not given it to him yet.

I know who you are you bas***d! "No." I perk my eyes curiously.

He gives me a devil's smile, his eyes have a dangerous glint to them. Like he knows some dark secret I'm hiding, like he knows me and I've a sudden urge to jump in the water just back of me.

He takes a step back then another and bows mockingly.

He says, "Armaan Malik," and turns around disappearing down the deck.

But his eyes say, "Liar." And I suddenly am not sure about knowing the game.

I would take away every piece of you until you're mine

I will fill your blood slowly like an ageless red wine.

 pms tomorrow or with chapter 2

 Rida ;)

PLEASE READ: This one's going to be continued in a past-present transtition. Every chapter will be past or present. Chapter one was past, chapter 2 is present and so and so forth. I'm trying to keep the pace a little mysterious like that.

okay yikes nervous! Hoping you all like it ;X

CHAPTER 2

FIVE YEARS LATER

I know I keep delaying it and now Siddhant has reached the limits of his patience. I don't blame him. I keep quiet as he shouts and shatter a vase then just cradles his face in his hands and cry.

He asks me why.

Why am I doing this to him?

He loves me and he is hurting.

But I don't love him.

And I'm too selfish to give him up.

He's my illusion of safety. The thick skin I wear around me.

I'm no more the woman I used to be five years ago. I was fierce and bold and careless.

I'm still a bitch though. I still like hurting people, even more now.

And I'm out for his blood.

I wake up every day with the intention of killing Armaan Malik. I want to make him suffer. I want to cause him so much pain. The kind of pain he caused me.

Armaan Malik the murderer.

His name and presence don't leave me alone.

Siddhant wants a part of me that I don't own anymore. Armaan has it and I have every intention to take it back when I rip the life out of his eyes.

Five years ago I was a twenty five year old hot headed cop. Today I'm older, wiser, and vicious. In some ways I've to thank Armaan. Thank him for what he did to me. Thank him for the lesson in life he taught me. I had believed I knew everything but he educated me about how wrong I'd been. Every morning I awaken up to see the scars I got five years ago. They're burned in my body like his lips are. I can let plastic surgeries take them off me but I don't want to. I like the reminder of my collapse. Of the fool I'd been. Of the life lost because of me.

I want them on me when I kill him. I want them to witness it.

I don't say a word to Siddhant like always and pull out of the driveway. He will calm down. He always does. He is a nice man. I wish I could be a nice woman too. I turn the stereo on and soar through the roads in the darkness that spreads at midnight. I'm made of metal and ice. If I thought I was impenetrable before now I'm sure. I was a buffoon but now I'm a psychopath like him. I'm a cop who breaks and bends rules but I do it for all the wrongs. I'm not corrupted but damn I'm not very legal either. I know there's going to be a huge deal tonight. Six miles from here. Child trafficking. And they'll know where Armaan is because after five years he's back in my city. In Mumbai. And this time I'm not going to let anymore blood spill. I want Malik, I will find him at any cost.

I hit the accelerator hard and then I'm shoving through the traffic onto the night.

I check my gun and pocket knife. I took three men at the entrance without weapons. Just a quick twist of their necks, and they merged into the dust. My gun has a silencer but in situations like these I don't want to deal with blood. I just want to be swift and clinical about it. I stride up the cemented stairs. This is an old building, now something more like its remains. There's rubble and leakage everywhere. Puddles of whatever on the ground. I dodge them, careful of making any squeaking or splashing sounds. I crawl toward the second stairs. They're not paranoid. Which is a good thing for me. The less men I've to take the better. They're miles away from the city in the middle of nowhere and they think nobody knows of this meeting.

But information always leaks. Always.

At least I've learned how to obtain loyalties.

I take out two guards at the second floor. They're sharp but I'm sharper. I've five years of cold blooded retribution running through my veins. I have to take out my handgun for the third and fourth one but they effortlessly go down before they can holler for help.

There are about seven people at the top floor. They're throwing wads of cash on the cranky wooden table in front of them. A low ceiling lamp is casting a yellow glow in the open room. I know they're discussing child trafficking. It's large scale. Thousands of children of ethnic classes are to be smuggled.

And I know Armaan Malik is somehow involved. That is why he has returned to Mumbai.

I' m oblivious of how many men they have on backup. I think they've snipers pointed and ready from the rooftop but I stand at an angle that cannot be shot straight. There's going to be hesitation. Hesitation will buy me time. I pull out another gun and take two aims.

Left and right.

Both hands.

I'm as good as a shooter can be.

Four bullets fly through my guns.

Men drop to the floor.

I watch him. He has a turban around his head and a thick beard that covers his whole face almost. He's one of the men who know where Armaan is. I've caught him with Armaan on the surveillance and one of the calls we could trace in the last month showed his ties too. If Armaan is in Mumbai and so is this man, they're definitely in touch.

I watch as frosty grey eyes turn my way. He is smart. In the business he is it is an asset needed. He looks right through me and his gun is out before I can blink. But I'm superior with my reflexes. I go down to the floor and roll away. Gunshot rings. I know I don't have much time. He's an important man and he has security. I do not know the figure of his backup now and I may very well screw up my life here. I remember texting Rahul to send a backup before I exited the car.

The booming of continuous bullet shots ricochets off the unpainted walls and I roll down falling to the first floor. My leg twists and there's a slight throbbing in my shoulder. I hastily find my feet and leap up to the third floor, flying off steps. I find him encircled by three men. I take an aim and then fire thrice. Before he can react, I take a bullet to his hand. The hand that's holding the gun.

It falls to the floor but he doesn't make a sound. He's not intimidated.

It means he knows he's got backup. And he's not dying.

Nice.

I quickly pounce on him and smack his skull on the stilted table then to the ground sending him smashing into tiles. I've a gun pointed at him.

"This is not a raid. It's personal. I just want Armaan Malik and I won't hurt you."

The lies fall off my mouth smoothly.

He looks at me a beat then shrugs his shoulders, "Whatever will I get if I trade the information?"

I know what he's doing. He's buying time. He thinks he can play me.

I don't like it so I shoot him.

In the thigh very close to his groin. Ought to take me seriously now.

"Listen now; I don't have patience for this. We have probably thirty seconds more," I haul him to a corner saving us from the snipers taking aim, "and if you don't tell me where Armaan is I'm going to make these the last thirty seconds of your life."

"Why do you want to know where he is? Nobody knows where Malik goes!" he's yelping now, silently.

I take a boot and squash the bullet making him go taut. His face is agleam with sweat. He's in agony but he's seen much worse, "Do not lie to me. You are going to meet him. Aren't you? You are hatching some new plan. I want to know anything and everything you know about Armaan. So open your f**king mouth before I shoot you in a place that you won't like."

He cackles horrifyingly, "If you kill me Armaan Malik won't let you live."

I crouch low and smirk at him, "You think? I know and I'm going to enjoy him chasing me."

I draw my gun back, load it and point it at his head. I don't have much time. I need to exterminate him. But I don't get to pull the trigger. Something solid hits the back of my head.

And then everything goes fuzzy, monochromic colors sting my vision before it's black.

The first thing I recognize as I slip back to the world of living is that I'm aching, everywhere. Second is that I'm tied, to a vertical pole. There are puddles of grimy water around my feet. I reek of gutter and the hands of men who deal in blood and mud. My jaw hurts. I think the guy had his revenge for the flesh wound I gave him. Nice. I move my limbs but the pain isn't that sharp. No bullets.

My head's still in place. It's just there is a thick rope coiled around my body like a snake, going round and round and has me bound tight to the pole. It's digging in my back and I don't like being this inflexible.

I hear faint voices. I try to listen harder. Where the hell is Rahul anyway? Why can't he be somewhere at time? If I die I'm going to hunt the god damned rotten ass down. Marriage has disintegrated him. I feel a strong urge to murder his wife. But I can't. She gave him two way too endearing kids whom I grudgingly adore too.

I think of Armaan. I always think of Armaan. He's a permanent resident in my brain, a poignant presence in my soul. I've not seen him in five years. Five years seem like a life span to me. I want to think I'm stronger now, callous as he was. I want his blood. I want to take him down but somewhere in the deep recess of my mind a fear lurks. Is that really what I want? Can I do it? Can I kill him?

I'm thinking too hard but then I hear a familiar voice and solidify. Something plummets thousands of feet down in my stomach and my bones go uptight, tingling with awareness. Every fiber of my being, alert, and twitching. I know that voice. That sultry drawl, that slightly husky accent, that authority in his voice.

I close my eyes.

I wanted to find Armaan Malik.

I've waited five years but not like this.

I wanted to be free not bound.

I wanted him at my mercy not the other way round.

I hear footsteps and my heartbeat pounds even faster.

Faster. Faster. Faster. I can hear nothing but the beats of my heart screaming in my ears.

Over the time and line of this work I've developed a great sixth sense, but it's nowhere as perfect when it's near Armaan. I smell him, I feel him, I taste him even before he comes in sight.

I try to stay tough and stiff as he comes up the stairs and his eyes discover me.

He looks different. He looks sexier. He looks more toxic.

He has grown a stubble and his eyes aren't blue. They're grey. Contact lenses. Of course. He's always in disguises. He has a black woolen coat and a thick vest inside. And he's wearing those damn pointed leather boots.

I try to flatten my back even more than it is and glower at him. I exhume all the emotions out of my eyes and my face and look at it him with vacuity and revulsion.

Black, powerful, intimate hatred. I'm going to kill you Armaan Malik.

He takes one look at me and whatever it was between us five years ago returns with a vengeance. Hot and thick in the air. In my lungs and his probably.

He takes me in with his grey eyes as he ambles toward me nonchalantly. There's no strain in his shoulders, he shows no reaction after seeing me. He may as well be seeing through me. He comes close and lightly touches my mouth. It's enough to send electricity sparking through my veins. To my heart, to my brain, to every functioning cell of my body. I wince as his thumb brushes the gash. The blood is dried I think. I don't feel the wetness of it anymore. I've been punched alright, with brass knuckles.

It's been five years I've seen him. He's grown even more ruthless if possible. I know he has a house full of more muscles than he had before. He's giant that way. It is so hard to breathe in his presence. My love and hatred for him are both elemental and strong, they consume all the space in my lungs. Why ever does he affect me in such a way? It's been five god damned years! My body is alive. Livelier than it has ever been in the last five years. from the tips of my scalp to the ends of my nails, I feel the coiling of adrenaline. It's rushing through me in hyper waves.

He leans closer and breathes heavily, "You're playing a very dangerous game, Malhotra."

That voice is still creamy and slightly husky. Deep from his throat and so commanding.

"You know, princess," he lazily smiles tracing a finger up my abdomen, "I hadn't expected to see you. I thought you're living with your boyfriend in a pathetic illusion of love and safety. But now that you're here," he draws his thumb down my jeans, "I think I've missed you, or maybe not. I've definitely not missed being shot at."

I want to spit in his face. He's a monster and I want his blood on my hands. A man falls out of the shadow and Armaan turns his back to me. He says something in some tribal tongue that stuns me and the man nods reluctantly. Armaan gives some brisk order and the man's disappearing to from where he came.

"I'm going to kill you." Those are the first wretched, obvious words that come out of my mouth after half a decade.

He turns around and looks at me coolly. He takes my entire face in again, like he's drinking me in and smiles a bashful oppressive smile, "Yes, you would I presume. But then you've been nothing but a pathetic failure at that."

I struggle against my bounds, "Armaan Malik," my voice is ragged, "you don't know the lengths I'm ready to go to get to you. I've changed. I'm no more the woman who you'd ruthlessly used. And you'll do better to remember that."

He is cold. Unaffected. Like my words don't reach him, but his does to me. He affects me. He can slash me orally and emotionally more than he'd ever do physically.

Astoundingly he doesn't rise to my bait. He works speedily on my bounds and I'm free in an instant. I hear a gunshot down somewhere and glance at him, startled. He's calm and testing my arms and body for something. His hands are again on me, on every fraction of me and he pulls out my guns and pocket knives, shoving them somewhere in his coat.

I try to struggle but he yanks me to him and then he slams his mouth on me.

It is rough and it is hard. His teeth cut at me, his tongue is frenetic. He bruises me with his strength but I like the pain. I yearn for it. The back of my knees form liquid puddles and I feel light and weightless below my thighs and too heavy in my core. This is what he does to me. I hate him. Detest him. But I love his mouth. I love his hands on me.

They're everywhere. I'm pushed back somewhere. My jaw is hurting. The bruise is most probably going purple and bluish. I'm up against another wall and he's kissing me hard enough to rip the skin off my lips.

It's desperate and dirty.

It is wrong.

But nothing in my life has ever felt this right.

I loathe this man. I abhor him.

Why do I need him so much?

He wretches his mouth from mine and he's breathing hard.

I know he knows what he does to me is unparalleled. And I break every moral code every second I let him put his hands on me. He's a murderer. He kills. He is the reason people die, he snatches the lives of good people. Every second he touches me I should be puking my guts out. Over the years I thought I was immune. Just the barest touch of his fingers and the hot singe of his mouth is enough to break my delusions.

"Back off Shilpa. Stay with your prince charming in that little expensive crammed up apartment he has for you. Marry him. He's been pining after you. Marry him and pop his kids and live the life you always wanted."

I'm breathing hard, like I've been on a marathon. I let his harsh words slice down my skin. I look up at him and glare, "I'm going to marry him. I'm going to marry him as soon as I cut your body in thousands of pieces and plunge a knife in your face. I'll marry him the instant I do this."

He smiles hardly at me and entwine our fingers pinning them over my head. His mouth and nose trail down my throat.

"You still want me. You'll always want me. You're still nave enough to love me and you know what I think? No matter what I do you'll always love me. You cannot kill me. And I'm going to enjoy f**king up with you if you keep giving me the opportunities so back the f**k off."

I want to answer him; I want to tell him where to shove his delusional ass when he bites the side of my neck hard. He suckles at it. I hate what he does to me. I hate him. This need that resounds from me to him and him to me in high voltage waves is fatal. We are enemies. I can never forget what happened five years ago. It has made me thirsty for his blood. But I know what he's doing to my body right now. Controlled, calculated reactions that are set out to muddle my brain and knock aside my thinking, make be backtrack.

"You came here for me didn't you? That fuker I shot told you? I wonder why he didn't shoot me."

"Because I would've ripped his heart out had he touched you."

"Lies. You tell me all those things to play your psychotic mindgames with me. I'm nothing more than a body to you and you are nothing more than a gutter rat to me. I won't let you win again Malik. I'm not going to let you succeed this time."

"We both know if I want to take you right now you'll let me. Again and again. and you won't put a knife in my back because you'll be too busy screaming for me. It's a shame your pretty boyfriend can't make you explode. You're as cold as the arctic in his arms, aren't you? But you're burning lava in mine." He grabs my ass pulling me tight against him. And I feel him. And it almost drives me insane. Our foreheads are pressed together, our noses aligned, our mouths open and breathing over each other, touching but not kissing, our eyes are locked. But my breathing betrays me. It's erratic. The thundering of my heart is a loud, deafening sound.

I want to push him away but I'm incapable of doing that. He is right. His words sting.

"I love him," I try to tear away from him but fail. There's pain everywhere and need. His fingers hold me easily. Our lips brush again and again, openmouthed as I breathe harder. My eyes are probably foggy as I watch the smoke curl in his. My heart, my body, everything's on fire.

He watches me, noticing everything, every minimal detail and gives me a triumphant smile, "You will never love him." There's so much finality and absolution in his words that I want to punch him and gut him with a knife. He will not decide my future. I remind myself he's a monster. But he knows me in a way no one does.

He tilts my body, cranes my head, and marks me. He marks me right against the side of my neck with his lips and teeth and he's merciless about it. He marks me in a place where my boyfriend will see it. I'm unbalanced and breathing hard in his steel like arms. I try to hit him, to snatch back my weapons but all my reflexes seem to have gone haywire and he easily pushes my hand between us and all the way down to where I feel him, to where he feels me, where we are burning.

I take a deep breath and push him away. He doesn't love me, he doesn't even want me. That much was proved the last night we were together five years ago. He just uses me, plays his mindgames that are so good they disarm me without a word. He just does not seduce bodies, he seduces souls, hypnotizes brains. He's lethal and he has the power to play with me.

"I don't know about love but I'll definitely marry him and live a happy life while you'll rot in hell. And I'll tell my children how I'd cut a monster like you into pieces."

He gives me a malicious, humorless smile and grabs me, "Then go back to your f**king lover. Don't come screaming back for me. You think you want to kill me. We both know why you won't let go of me. You think of me as the enemy but we both know it's far from enmity that runs in your blood. You made your f**king choice five years ago. We both know that if it comes down to killing, you'll hesitate but I won't."

I know that. I know he won't hesitate to shoot me. But he underestimates me now. I love him, yes. But I hate him, too. I loathe him as intensely as I love him and if it's a choice I've to make I'd kill him even when I'll love him. His death is mine. I own it and I'll give it to him.

He succeeded five years ago. He will not succeed this time.

I know somehwere I rattle him as much as he rattles me. I know we are both playing a very dangerous game. I feel his hot breath on my face and realize how much I'd craved it in the last five years. Him. His essence. His smell. His touch.

He wears face over face, lies after lies. His facades are so deep rooted you can never find the man behind him. I know I affect him in some sort of insane way. Because had I not, he won't have come here tonight, only for me, and I would've been dead or wishing to be dead for what I did tonight. But over the last five years I've plunged my hands in dirtier games than my horizon could expand to, and I've returned unscathed. I am unaware why but I know he's something to do with it. Not that he'll ever aceept it or me for the matter.

I watch over his shoulder as a body is dragged up. My breath hikes up.

Armaan follows my gaze over his shoulder and stares back at me, unflinching.

He cups my jaw and fists my hair around his knuckles. My head cranes back and my lips part, "nobody else gets to hurt you but me."

I'm pathetic.

I know I can't kill him today.

That was never my intention.

I'm going to draw his death out. Make him anticipate it. I want it to hurt. This is personal. My needs and logics are dysfunctional.

We hear the sirens of cars and his men shuffle around and disappear into some back way cave I can't see but Armaan remains there. He presses his lips to mine one last time in a hard hungry kiss and speaks harshly, "Stay away, Shilpa. You don't want me to hurt you again."

As the noises increase he looks back into my eyes. Grey eyes search through my face silently, like he's committing my face to memory again. he lets go of me, our nose brushing one last time and watch me calmly.

I don't know what happens. One moment I'm so alert, every fiber of my body humming with energy and liveliness and the other I'm shaking and falling to the ground. There's sting and I know without a doubt. He has injected me with something. And then I see him no more. Like he has vanished into thin air.

I watch everything blur slowly and the last person I recognize before tumbling into darkness is Rahul racing toward me.

But I know this is not over. Today I was weak. I'd not seen him in five years. unprepared. This won't happen next time. You may find the chunks in my armor Armaan Malik but you won't be able to dismantle me.

I'll surround myself with more steel.

I know if I try messing this up for him he would remove me.

Like he does resistance from his work.

But this time I'm obsessed and I'll take him down.

You think you know me,

the monster in my soul;

you think I'm indifferent,

my heart is black as coal;

but what you call cruelty,

is my illusion of safety;

you think I don't want to be near you,

the truth is I fear you;

Rida.

PMS TO FOLLOW TODAY :D

and yes I changed my username, Like it? I just feel maybe someday about so many things including finishing my left FF and throwing Rugoo off the cliff.🤣