The rain had been falling for hours, washing the streets in silver, but the warehouse on the edge of the city stank of iron, sweat, and fear. A single light bulb swung from the ceiling, its dull glow revealing the man tied to a chair, his face swollen, his lips dripping crimson.
Arjun Malik stood in front of him, calm as a predator who had already decided how the night would end. His black shirt clung to his frame, his eyes sharp and merciless. There was no need for him to raise his voice—his silence was heavier than thunder.
“You ate from our plate, Sameer,” Kabir said at last, his tone soft, almost mocking. “And then you fed my enemies. Do you know what that makes you?”
The man—Sameer, once one of Arjun’s trusted lieutenants—spat blood, trembling. “I–I had no choice. Shekhawat offered me—”
Before he could finish, Raghu stepped forward, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back. “No choice?” Raghu snarled, his eyes blazing. “The only choice you had was loyalty!” His knife glinted in the low light, eager, impatient.
Arjun, leaning against the wall, didn’t move. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but his gaze never left Sameer. “He’s already broken,” Arjun said coolly. “One more word and he’ll beg for death. Lets decide.”
Arjun crouched down to Sameer’s level. His face was expressionless, but his voice cut like glass.
“I built this empire brick by brick. Every man here knows the cost of betrayal. Do you think you’ll walk out alive just because you beg?”
Sameer’s breath came in short, panicked bursts. “Arjun… I swear, it was one mistake… please… I won’t—”
Arjun didn’t let him finish. In one swift motion, he drew his gun and pressed it against Sameer’s forehead. The silence in the room deepened, heavy enough to choke.
“Loyalty is not a word,” Arjun whispered. “It’s blood. And you spilled it.”
The gunshot cracked like lightning. Sameer’s head jerked back, and the chair went still. The metallic scent of blood spread across the warehouse. Raghu smirked, satisfied. Kabir’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile.
Arjun rose, holstering his gun without a flicker of emotion. To him, this wasn’t murder—it was business. It was survival.
He turned to Raghu and Kabir.
“Clean this up. Then spread the word—anyone who dares stand with Shekhawat will end the same way.”
Raghu grinned, wiping the blood from his knife. “Message delivered loud and clear.”
Arjun voice was calm, but his eyes carried a warning only Kabir could read. “Shekhawat is moving fast. Betrayals don’t happen without roots. Tonight was just the beginning.”
Arjun walked toward the warehouse doors, the rain outside calling him back into the storm. For a moment, lightning flashed across his face, revealing the scars carved into his jaw, the shadows carved into his soul.
He was a man feared by many, loved by none. And he had just begun to remind the city why the name Arjun Malik was spoken only in whispers.
But before he stepped out, Raghu called after him.
“Bhai… what about his family?”
Arjun stopped, his back stiffening. He didn’t turn around. His words were low, cold.
“Families of traitors don’t sleep easy. Remind them who their men belonged to.”
Raghu’s grin widened. He lived for nights like these.
Kabir, however, narrowed his eyes. “If you go after families, Arjun, you’ll start a fire bigger than Shekhawat’s ambition. Think carefully.”
Arjun finally turned, his gaze locking on Kabir. There was no anger, no smile—only emptiness.
“The fire is already burning, Kabir. I’m just feeding it.”
The rain swallowed his words as he stepped into the night. Behind him, Raghu dragged the corpse away, humming under his breath. Kabir stayed still, lost in thought.
Because Kabir knew something Raghu didn’t.
Arjun wasn’t just punishing betrayal. He was sending a message—to Shekhawat, to the city, and maybe to himself.
And in the silent corners of Kabir’s mind, one question lingered like a shadow:
What past was Arjun still running from?
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