Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Aadya
I’m staring blankly at the door. Hands fisted. Muscles tight.
And I can’t seem to cross the fucking threshold.
He’s in there. In this post-op ICU room.
Alive. Injured.
The bullet had passed clean through—right under his clavicle, grazing soft tissue and missing anything fatal.
It shouldn’t have been close. But it was.
The slug had hit the ground a few feet from me.
And he—he threw himself in front of me like some goddamn martyr.
What the fuck was he thinking?
I remember the chaos. The scream—mine or someone else’s. I remember the concrete biting my knees as I dropped beside him, blood gushing beneath his shoulder. My hands had moved automatically—pressing gauze from my vest against the wound, barking orders I barely registered.
I wanted to reassure him that he’ll be fine—maybe even myself.
But the bum had passed out almost immediately. Well, I’m assuming it’s his first gunshot wound.
God, let it be his only.
I’m shaking now, and I hate that I am. Not with fear. With rage.
How dare he?
How dare he do this now—when I was just starting to understand him?
Vir is keeping a very shocked Mehul isolated in his compound. No word from him since.
I made sure Advik was admitted as an unidentified patient, gave the hospital a neat little story about a civilian caught in crossfire, flashed my faux-police credentials and badge.
And yet, I can’t walk into the fucking room. Because I’m terrified of what I’ll see.
Not just pain. Not just blood.
But him—pale and fragile.
I inhale deeply and finally push open the door. There he is.
Half-sitting, thanks to the incline on his hospital bed. Bandaged, wired up. A nurse stands at the foot of the bed, scribbling on his chart.
He looks... dazed. His eyelids droop, his movements sluggish. But the moment he sees me, his lips curve into that crooked, stupid, lopsided smile. But he also looks like he’ll pass out whenever he blinks.
I frown. Please tell me it’s not what I think.
The nurse glances up. “He just woke up. Pain medicine kicked in, so he’s a little loopy. Hasn’t given us his name yet. Maybe you could try? We’d like to contact his family.”
Fucking hell.
I tear my eyes away from his face just long enough to nod. “Yeah. I’ll take care of that. I need a statement from him anyway. For the shootout investigation.”
She smiles faintly. “He probably won’t be ready until tomorrow morning.”
Another nod and she leaves.
And we’re alone.
My breathing stutters. He’s okay. He will be okay.
But that doesn’t stop the memory from seizing me.
His body dropping like a sack of bricks.
The blood.
The way his colleagues screamed his name.
The horrifying stillness before I knew he was breathing.
I shut my eyes, a fresh wave of rage thundering through me.
And before I can stop it—the fury explodes.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
My voice comes out like a whip. It makes him flinch, but I don’t care.
And I don’t wait for a response. “You jumped in front of a bullet,” I hiss. “Are you actually insane?”
I’m pacing, breathing through the fury that’s been building since the moment he hit the concrete.
That finally gives him time to speak—and of course, he fills it with nonsense.
“I didn’t think...” he slurs, his voice thick with morphine. “I just saw the red dot and...”
“Oh, he speaks!” I say sweetly, venom dripping from every syllable. “Where was this eloquence when you could’ve said ‘Watch out’ or maybe called my name—FROM A SAFE FUCKING DISTANCE—instead of jumping in front of a bullet like a deranged body shield?”
He frowns. Actually frowns. Like he’s thinking. While high.
“Oh, but I wasn’t jumping,” he mumbles, lazily flopping his hand in a pathetic pushing gesture. “I wanted to... y’know... push you.”
He winces immediately—probably pulled something. My concern flickers, but I’m not done being pissed.
“You reckless, stupid idiot,” I snap. “You thought a bullet through your body was a better idea than me getting a goddamn bruise through my bulletproof vest?”
“Ohhh,” he chuckles. Chuckles. Then lets his head loll back against the pillow. “Sooorrryyy.”
I stare at him in absolute disbelief.
Then his head snaps up like he’s just realized the cure for cancer.
“I didn’t know you were wearing a bulletproof thingy!” he says, wide-eyed and earnest.
I blink. Once. Twice.
“I’m a bodyguard, you moron. And a special agent. What the fuck did you think I was wearing, a saari?”
He squints. “Stop being a whiny bitch.”
Oh hell no.
“Whiny?” I bark. “You’re lucky I’m not strangling you with your IV drip.”
“You could’ve died,” he mutters, eyes fluttering. “I didn’t die. We didn’t die...”
“You fucking coded during surgery!” I whisper-shout, finally cracking. “You flatlined, Advik!”
He goes quiet. But not for long. His head bobs up again and he stares at his shoulder like it personally betrayed him.
“I got shot in the shoulder,” he says, voice heavy.
“Yeah,” I say dryly. “It appears so.”
But then his face changes. His eyes sharpen. Anger—real, raw fury—blooms across his face like a storm.
“I got shot in the shoulder,” he snaps again, louder.
I stare at him, baffled. “Yes, and?”
He’s panting now, frantic. “That’s where your head is at.”
Oh. Oh, god.
I actually snort, despite everything. But he’s dead serious.
“The bullet would’ve gone into your skull,” he growls but still slurring.
I run a hand over my face. This high-as-a-kite lunatic is furious with me. Great.
“You...” he groans. “You don’t get it.”
“I do get it,” I say softly. “The sniper was angled higher. So it wouldn’t have hit my head. It would’ve hit my chest. Where the bulletproof vest was.”
“Whatever...” His eyes close again.
Thank god. Sleep, please.
“And I’m telling you,” he slurs suddenly, “I wasn’t about to let you die. Not again.”
I freeze. My eyes suddenly stinging. I push my emotions aside. At least I try.
The silence returns, and I pull the chair closer and sink into it, trying not to fall apart. I stare at his hands and an urge to hold them takes over. But I resist.
And then I hear him murmur—
“I just... couldn’t lose you twice.”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “God. Just go to sleep.”
“I don’t wanna,” he mumbles petulantly.
I whip my head around. “You don’t want to? You got shot. The drugs are literally designed to put you under.”
He shrugs—shrugs!—with a wince, like that proves a point. “Not sleepy. You’re yelling.”
“Yeah, well,” I snap, throwing my hands up, “because you’re a self-sacrificing, stupid moron!”
He pouts. Full-blown sulky pout. “I’m not stupid.”
“Oh? You’re not stupid?” I tilt my head. “You took a bullet for someone you have zero connection to. Who was wearing a vest, by the way.”
I sigh. There’s no point in explaining anything right now.
He goes quiet for a second. Then—genuinely sad. “Why do you hate me?”
I blink. “What?”
He’s looking at me now with those big dumb puppy eyes. “You’re yelling. I think you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you!” I exclaim, flabbergasted. “What the fuck?”
Silence.
I roll my eyes and turn my head away—but then his voice cuts through, slurred and soft and just plain stupidly sad:
“Well... I’m being stupid because the love of my life doesn’t like me anymore.”
Oh my god.
I turn back slowly, because now there’s a glint of mischief tickling my tongue. That was bait. And I’m fucking biting.
I pout. “Aww.”
His eyes shoot open in pure betrayal. “Don’t say it.”
I lean in, grinning. “So Rohi doesn’t like you anymore?”
He groans, dragging his good hand down his face. Then he suddenly smiles at me. “You’re such a bitch.”
He says it like he’s calling me beautiful.
I arch a brow. “Why do you keep calling me a bitch?”
“Because, baby, you are one,” he says earnestly. “Whiny bitch. Angry bitch. Hot bitch. Badass bitch.”
I cough to cover my laugh. It fails miserably. “Are you good on that medication still? Wanna sleep? Please?”
He nods solemnly. “Concerned bitch,” he adds, eyes drooping.
And I swear, I have never wanted to punch someone and kiss them at the same time more than I do right now.
A few seconds later he finally—finally—dozes off.