Chapter 10
10
A rmaan hit the punching bag again and again. He’d been at it for the last half an hour. His whole body was sore and drenched in sweat as he pounded his frustration onto the bag. He couldn’t believe Navya had asked him to let her be. After the previous afternoon, he’d truly thought she, too, felt and recognized the passion between them. Apparently, that wasn’t the case. Apparently, all these emotions were only one-sided—his. That was the only reason why she’d ended things with him so easily, all because her sister had insisted on it. Bloody fucking hell.
And now he had to convince his mind and body that he had to keep his word to let her be and not go after her. That he wouldn’t even cross her path again. His chest clenched. Fuck. How was he going to do that when each time he closed his eyes, he could see her beautiful face, and each time he took a breath, he could smell her soft perfume? His fingers itched to touch her; his skin tingled to have her hands on him.
He’d thought what he felt for Navya was just physical. Only now that he’d lost her, he wondered if it could have become more. Yes, he was convinced that she and him could have been something special. But now he’d never know. He punched the bag harder. Fate had put her in his way and given him a cruel glimpse of something beautiful, only to steal it away.
He looked up and saw Mihir watching him.
“Have some mercy on the punching bag, brother,” Mihir said. “Come, train with me instead.”
Mihir donned some flat boxing pads and moved onto the mats in the center of their home gym. Armaan followed him. Like him, Mihir, too, was wearing gym shorts and a tee shirt. Armaan took his stance and threw out a vicious jab on Mihir’s pads, followed by a cross and then an upper cut. He went at it, jabbing right, then left, then in an upward motion.
“Feeling particularly aggressive today, brother?” Mihir chided a few minutes later.
Armaan knew he was hitting harder than he ought to, but he was too mind fucked to ease himself up.
“Want to talk about it?” Mihir asked.
“No.”
All three of them knew how to fight. They’d first learned in the corridors of their orphanage. After Alexander had adopted them, he’d insisted on each of them learning and excelling at different fighting techniques. Boxing, taekwondo, karate, Krav Maga—they knew it all, and they helped train each other as often as they could.
“Is this about her?” Mihir asked.
Immediately, her face came into view. His punch landed in the air, completely missing Mihir’s training pad.
His brother’s face hardened. “What has she done? And do not tell me it’s nothing, because it’s clearly not nothing.”
“It’s over, Mihir!” He sighed. “She texted me last night and told me to stay away from her.”
Mihir stayed silent. His brother knew when to poke and prod, and when to keep quiet with him. Right now, Armaan didn’t want any comment or question from Mihir regarding what had gone down with Navya. Right now, he only wanted to train and let his frustration and anger out. And thankfully, Mihir understood that.
Armaan changed the combination, doing a jab, hook, backhand, and then an uppercut.
“Good,” Mihir called out. “Repeat it.”
For the next hour, they continued practising various punching combinations in silence, with only Mihir shouting instructions as and when needed. Finally, they stopped and moved to the water stand. Armaan drank half a bottle of water in one long gulp.
“I’m glad it’s over with her,” Mihir said, watching him carefully. “I need your full focus on the problems we’re dealing with. I’m genuinely concerned about Ivan.”
Armaan wiped his face with a towel. He took off his drenched tee shirt and threw it to the side.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Armaan said.
“I don’t like that he can’t be found. It means he’s plotting something. I don’t want to sit on my hands until he shows his move.”
“I get that, but Vedant’s already searching for him.”
“And we ought to help him,” Mihir said. “We’ve known the guy for more than a decade. I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with a possibility of where he could be. There must be something about him that would give us a clue. Some friend, some acquaintance, or some routine we can remember.”
“I want to cool down,” Armaan said. “Let’s discuss this on the treadmill.”
Armaan set his speed to a slow walk and Mihir did the same next to him.
“I remember he had that Russian heiress he was dating on-off last year,” Armaan said.
Mihir shook his head. “That’s long over. I spoke to Vedant. He’s looked into his past girlfriends, favorite hangout places, his gambling dens, and the nightclubs he frequented, but he hasn’t been seen anywhere in a while.”
“I suppose he knows we’d check there if we were looking for him.”
“Our guys have even checked with his cronies. No one has heard from him. There’s been no activity in his bank accounts as well in the last few days.”
“Shit! He’s really covering his tracks, which is definitely concerning,” Armaan admitted. “Let’s think more. Who was he close to?”
“His mother, but she passed away years ago. You know that.”
Something clicked in Armaan’s brain. He stopped his treadmill and stared at Mihir. “His mother passed away around this time of the year, didn’t she? I remember because that year, Ivan had thrown a fuss with Alexander over having a huge memorial for her. When Alexander insisted on a small, private affair, which his mother would have preferred, Ivan had gotten mad because only a few months ago, Alexander had organized his usual massive celebration for our birthdays.”
Mihir, too, stopped his machine and stepped off it. “Yes, I remember that. So?”
“If I’m not mistaken, Ivan goes to visit her grave every year. Which means, he will go this year as well.”
Mihir’s eyes widened. “Shit. You’re right. We need to find out what date she died right away. I’m calling Vedant and telling him this. This could be our chance to get to him before he gets to us.”
Armaan nodded. That would indeed be a huge relief.
Mihir’s phone rang. He listened to whoever was on the other side, and then his eyes landed on Armaan. Sighing, he put the phone on speaker.
“Vasily, you need to repeat that once again,” Mihir ordered.
“Sir, Ms. Navya Mehra is here at the gate demanding entry.”
Armaan’s heart somersaulted. It took him a second to calm himself in order to hear the rest of the security’s words.
“—says that Mr. Armaan has invited her, but since I don’t have such an instruction, I wasn’t letting her in, and now she’s creating a fuss.”
“Send her in,” Armaan said, “And ask Dmitri to show her to the gym.”
Mihir disconnected the line. “I thought you said it was over.”
“Well, that’s what I was told.”
“Then why is she here.”
“I don’t know, brother!” Armaan grinned. “But I can’t wait to find out.”
“You’re behaving most unlike yourself. You were always a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of a guy. But this whole thing with her feels different. You seem different.”
What Mihir said was true. In the past, he’d never had to spend so much time and energy on wooing a woman. He’d never cared enough to. But with Navya, he realized, he was beginning to care, which was scary as hell, and definitely not something he could share with his overprotective elder brother.
Mihir continued, “She’s spinning a web and you’re getting stuck in it, brother. So, while you might want to enjoy the web, just ensure you don’t get hurt.”
“I won’t,” Armaan promised. “I know what I’m doing.”
A second later, Navya entered carrying a gym bag. Her expression was grim, her eyes blazing with fire, and a wrinkle marred her brow. She looked angry… with him. She scanned the rest of him, and her eyes widened. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she openly checked him out, starting from the top of his head down his bare torso to his feet and then her gaze coasted over him in reverse. He began to throb as all of his blood rushed south to the lower half of his body.
“Well, you look truly fucked,” Mihir muttered quietly. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Armaan cursed under his breath. This attraction between Navya and him was potent and sizzling. Despite the fact that she looked mad at him, it was evident that even she was helpless to the magnetic pull between them.
Leaving him, Mihir walked to the exit and stopped where Navya was.
“You better not hurt him,” Mihir growled at her.
Her face became mutinous. “Your brother is a big boy. He knows what he’s doing.”
“Nonetheless, consider this a warning. Hurt him and you will deal with me.”
“And you can go suck an egg,” she lashed back, looking furious. “After the way you treated my sister, you have no business threatening me.”
Any mention of Ananya always put Mihir on a violent edge and that was the last thing Armaan needed.
“Mihir,” Armaan switched to Russian, “Please go, brother. I’ll be fine.”
Mihir left immediately. Armaan focused on Navya, who was still watching him.
Less than twelve hours ago, she’d rejected him via a text message, and now she was here looking at him with equal parts anger and hunger like she couldn’t make up her mind whether she wanted to throttle him or devour him. His whole body concurred with the latter. But if they were going to take this further, then he also had to make it clear that he wasn’t a puppet to be toyed with.
He would agree to this only if she agreed to his terms as well, because staring at her dressed in those simple tracks that highlighted her curves, her hair pulled in a tight ponytail and a simple sleeveless t-shirt, he knew there was no other woman he’d ever crave as much as he craved her. Actually, crave was too mild a word. He wanted to possess her—mind, body, and soul.
With that acceptance came another realization—one night with her wasn’t going to be enough. He needed as long as it took to figure out why she’d captivated him so. Only then would he be able to let her go. If at all he’d be able to let her go.
His brother was right.
He was fucked.