AUTHOUR POV

The air inside the abandoned warehouse was thick with the metallic stench of blood and stale sweat. Four men hung suspended from the rafters, their ankles bound tightly by coarse, frayed ropes. They swayed slightly, heads dangling toward the cracked concrete. Dark crimson droplets fell rhythmically from their battered chests and split lips, pooling on the floor below.

​Surrounding them were two guards, their chests heaving with exhaustion. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, trailing down their jawlines to soak the collars of their shirts. Despite the brutal beating they had just delivered, none of the prisoners had spilled the truth.

​Frustration finally boiled over. One of the guards pushed himself up, his eyes bloodshot with rage and exhaustion. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground together audibly. He leaned down and hoisted a heavy iron rod from the floor.

​At the metallic scrape of the iron, the four hanging men began to tremble anew. Pure, unadulterated terror flared in their inverted eyes, and their lips moved in desperate, silent prayers to whatever gods were listening.

​The guard closed the distance slowly, his grip tightening on the makeshift weapon. He raised the rod high into the air, aiming a crushing blow at the nearest prisoner. The men squeezed their eyes shut, bracing themselves for another round of hellish torment.

​But the blow never landed.

​The guard froze, the iron rod hanging uselessly in the air, his eyes locked on the heavy metal door. It had swung open, revealing a sharp silhouette against the dim light. A man stood in the doorway—easily six feet tall, dressed in a sharply tailored, immaculate professional suit. Seeing the newcomer, the second guard instantly scrambled to his feet, snatching up his own weapon in a panic.

​"Mu khola inlogo ne?" Did they open their mouths?

​The man in the suit—Arjun—spoke quietly, but his voice commanded the entire room. Hearing him, the guards swallowed hard. The four prisoners snapped their eyes open.

​"N-no, sir," the first guard stammered, the iron rod suddenly looking very heavy in his trembling hands. "Par sir, bas kholne hi wale hain... bas thoda sa aur time dijiye." But sir, they are about to... just give us a little more time.

​Arjun didn't blink. "Rehne do," he interrupted. Let it be.

​The two guards exchanged a look of pure, panicked confusion.

​"Rana sa khud aa rahe hain inka hisaab karne," Arjun continued, his tone devoid of any emotion. Rana sa is coming to settle their accounts himself.

​A deathly silence slammed into the warehouse. The four men suspended from the ceiling began to shake violently, choking on their own saliva.

​"R-Ra... Rana sa... kh-khud aa rahe hain?" one of the hanging men choked out, his voice cracking as his bloodied lips trembled.

​A cruel, microscopic smirk touched the corner of Arjun’s mouth.

​The two guards slowly lowered their weapons. They looked at each other, then turned to gaze up at the four terrified prisoners. The guards' eyes held a fleeting glimmer of genuine pity, as if to say, "isse acha to tu hamre samne hi mu khol deta"(You would have been better off talking to us.)

​Shaking their heads, the guards stepped back into the shadows and waited.

"Bring them inside."

Arjun's calm voice sliced through the suffocating silence.

A few guards immediately entered the warehouse, carrying four sturdy wooden chairs and coils of rope. The moment they stepped in, they looked toward Arjun for instructions. Without uttering a single word, he gave a slight nod.

That was enough.

Understanding the silent command, the guards set the chairs in the center of the room. Carefully supporting the four battered men, they untied the ropes binding their ankles before lowering them onto the chairs. Within minutes, each prisoner was securely restrained once again—this time seated instead of hanging upside down.

Bruises covered their bodies. Fresh blood stained their torn clothes, while terror was etched across every face.

Arjun silently observed them.

Just then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen before answering.

"...Yes."

As the person on the other end spoke, a faint smirk slowly appeared on his lips.

"Okay."

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Meeting the prisoners' fearful gazes, he smiled ever so slightly.

"Rana Sa aa gaye hain."

The words sucked every ounce of air from the room.

Silence descended once again.

Only the frantic beating of four terrified hearts seemed loud enough to be heard.

Then—

Creak...

The heavy warehouse door slowly opened.

A cold gust swept through the room, making the temperature seem to drop instantly.

Every pair of eyes turned toward the entrance.

A man stood in the doorway.

Nearly six feet three inches tall, he was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that embraced his broad shoulders and athletic frame with effortless elegance. His expression remained unreadable, while his deep, obsidian eyes radiated a chilling authority that could silence an entire room.

He walked forward with slow, measured, and calculated steps.

Not hurried.

Not hesitant.

Every stride carried the confidence of a man entering territory that already belonged to him.

His gaze never left the four prisoners.

One of them immediately broke down.

"R-Rana Sa... hume maaf kar dijiye..." he pleaded, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "Hume sach mein nahi pata tha woh zameen aapki hai."

Rana Sa didn't respond.

He simply stood before them, studying each face with an emotionless expression, as though reading every thought hidden behind their frightened eyes.

Encouraged by the first man's plea, another prisoner gathered what little courage he had left.

"H-Haan... Rana Sa... hume bilkul idea nahi tha... ki woh zameen aapki hai..."

Still...

Silence.

His expression never changed.

Several tense moments passed before Rana Sa finally spoke.

"Leave them."

His deep, velvety voice echoed through the warehouse.

The two simple words sent an icy shiver racing down every spine.

The prisoners stared at one another in disbelief, wondering if they had heard him correctly.

Leave them?

Even Arjun couldn't hide the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Without another word, Rana Sa turned and walked toward the exit.

Arjun instinctively glanced at the stunned prisoners before following him.

"Bhai..."

Rana Sa didn't stop.

Arjun quickened his pace until he was walking beside him.

"Bhai... aage kya karna hai?"

He never questioned the decision to spare the men.

After working beside Rana Sa for more than a decade, Arjun had learned one thing—

Whenever Rana Sa made a decision that seemed impossible to understand, there was always a reason hidden beneath it.

By the time they reached the black luxury car waiting outside, Rana Sa finally stopped.

"Keep an eye on them."

His voice was calm, yet carried the weight of an unquestionable order.

"Ji, Bhai."

Just as Rana Sa reached for the car door, Arjun spoke again.

"Bhai... aaj aapko Rathore Palace jana hoga."

Rana Sa paused.

He didn't turn around.

"Dinner ke waqt," Arjun continued carefully. "Dadaji ne khaas taur par bulaya hai."

There was no response.

Arjun swallowed hard before forcing himself to continue.

"Unhe... aapse ek zaroori baat karni hai..."

He lowered his eyes.

"...aapki maa ke baare mein."

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Rana Sa's jaw tightened.

His fists slowly clenched at his sides.

The darkness in his eyes deepened, becoming almost unreadable.

Without saying a single word, he opened the car door and got inside.

Arjun quietly took the passenger seat.

The engine roared to life.

As the car disappeared into the night, an oppressive silence settled between them—a silence heavier than any conversation either of them was willing to have.

THAT WAS FOR THIS CHAPTER GUYSSS

Koi bhul chuk ho gyi hogi to maaf krna🙂🙂

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