Chapter Forty Six
Devraj’s car came to a halt in front of a sprawling, windowless complex..a place that bled sin and cheap perfume.
It sat on the ragged edge of the city.
Devraj stepped out, his polished shoes hitting the dirt.
He looked at the building with a visceral, skin-crawling disgust.
He closed his car door, and walked toward the entrance. A few women, dressed in tawdry sequins and heavy makeup, trailed out of the side doors.
They caught sight of him..the power and wealth radiating off his frame..and offered him hungry, seductive smiles.
Devraj didn't even acknowledge them.. his face was a mask of pure loathing.
As he reached the entrance, the guards..men who spent their lives intimidating the weak..froze. They recognized him. They didn't ask for anything.
They didn't say a word. They simply stepped aside.
Inside, the afternoon sun was a forgotten memory. The air was thick with smoke and the cloying scent of gold-leafed decay.
Dim, golden lights flickered over a central stage where men with hollow eyes threw crumpled bills at an half naked dancing lady.
Devraj’s lip curled in disgust.
He ignored the VIP booths and the drooling crowds, his eyes fixing on a dark hallway to the left.
He moved towards that path until a wall of muscle blocked his path. A bouncer, nearly as tall as the doorway, folded his massive arms.
"Mr. Devraj Singh Rathore? What brings–"
"Where is Tiwari?" Devraj interrupted.
The guard didn't move. "Mr. Tiwari is not expecting you, and he doesn't like interruptions."
Devraj’s brow furrowed, his fingers curling into a fist. A terrifyingly calm shadow passed over his face.
"Fine. Let's just make sure he knows I’ve arrived."
~?~
Mr. Tiwari was hunched over a massive table, his eyes greedy as he counted stacks of illicit shipments.
The silence of the room was broken when the heavy door were kicked off it hinges.
A body staggered in, the bouncer from the hallway.
He was bloodied, his face a map of fresh bruises, weak, before he collapsed onto the carpet.
"Hey! What is the meaning of this?!" Mr. Tiwari yelled, jumping to his feet, his heart beating fast against his ribs.
"Is this enough of an introduction?"
Devraj stepped over the threshold, looking as if he hadn't even broken a sweat.
Mr. Tiwari’s breath hitched in his throat. The color drained from his face.
"M... Mr. Devraj Singh Rathore..." he stammered, his voice failing him.
Devraj walked in, he placed his heel directly onto the fallen bouncer's hand, A sickening crack filled the room.
The man let out a broken cry, but Devraj didn't even look down. His amber eyes were locked onto Mr. Tiwari.
"W... what brings a man of your status to this... humble place?" Tiwari asked, sweating profusely.
Devraj moved toward the plush velvet sofa in the corner of the office.
He sat down with a slow, regal deliberate-ness, crossing one expensive trouser-leg over the other.
"Your son, Deepak, has a very short memory, Tiwari.." Devraj began, his voice terrifyingly hum. "I gave you a warning. I made the terms clear. Did you forget, or do you simply not value your life?"
"W…what?" Mr. Tiwari stammered.."I… I don’t understand, Sir. What do you mean?"
Devraj’s gaze was intense, "What was he doing at Ira’s home today, Mr. Tiwari?"
Mr. Tiwari’s eyes widened, The sweat on his forehead began to bead and run.
"I… I didn't know he was there. I swear on my ancestors, I had no idea!"
"Call him.." Devraj commanded.
Tiwari didn’t hesitate. With trembling fingers, he snatched up his phone and dialed.
"Come into my office! Now! I mean NOW, Deepak!" He slammed the phone down, looking at Devraj’s calm, terrifyingly still form. "I… I am so sorry, Sir. Please..."
A few moments later, Deepak sauntered in frowning when he saw the door off its hinges..
But his eyes were bloodshot, his long hair matted and falling over one eye, and the stench of his vices followed him.
He stopped abruptly when he saw the broken bouncer on the floor, then looked at his father.
Finally, his eyes landed on Devraj..the man sitting like a Maharaja in the middle of a brothel’s backroom.
"You called, Papa?" Deepak asked, his voice rasping.
"Deepak..." Mr. Tiwari’s voice cracked with rage and fear. "Did you go to see Ira again? After everything I told you?"
Deepak’s eyes darkened instantly, a flicker of that psychopathic obsession returning to his face.
He didn't look at his father, he stared straight at Devraj, his jaw tightening.
"I just went to see her.." Deepak said, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists.
The defiance in his voice was thick, fueled by whatever substances were currently burning through his veins.
Cocaine?? Who knows..
The sound of the slap cracked through the room.. Mr. Tiwari didn't just hit him, he poured all his terror into the hit.
"Are you crazy?!" Mr. Tiwari screamed. "Didn't I tell you? She is off-limits!"
"Why?!" Deepak yelled back, a vein throbbing in his neck as he glared at his father...
"Why the fuck is she off-limits? Papa, I... I love her! I do! She’s mine!"
At the word mine, the temperature in the room plummeted. Devraj’s fist clenched so hard..
"You rascal! She–"
"Enough."
The word wasn't loud, but, Mr. Tiwari’s mouth snapped shut instantly.
Devraj rose from the couch slowly, terrifying elegance. He walked toward Deepak.
He stopped inches away, invading Deepak’s space until the younger man was forced to breathe in the scent of Devraj’s expensive cologne and cold fury.
"Do you know who I am?" Devraj asked.
Deepak’s lip curled into a defiant scowl.
"Who gives a fuck about you Rathores?" he spat, trying to salvage his pride in front of his father. "You think your money makes you God?"
"You idiot!" Mr. Tiwari wailed in the background, but Devraj gave a bored look before letting out a smirk.
" Yes, the money i have makes me feel like a God." Devraj whispered. "Also, You should give a fuck to who i am...Because I am the man who can make sure you and your father are forgotten by tomorrow morning. Also, Stay away from...Ira."
Deepak’s brow furrowed, his obsession overriding his survival instinct. "And why the fuck should I stay away from her?! What is she to you?"
Devraj leaned in, his eyes turning a dark, predatory amber as he looked deep into Deepak’s bloodshot gaze.
The madness in Devraj’s eyes was more refined than Deepak’s, but infinitely more dangerous.
Deepak flinched. For the first time, the drug-fueled self wavered.
"When it comes to Ira, I don’t know the meaning of patience.." Devraj said... "I’ve been watching you. I dropped the first warning to your father. Coming here myself? That’s the second."
Deepak gritted his teeth, his jaw aching from the tension, but as Devraj loomed over him, he found himself instinctively stepping back.
"My eyes are everywhere.." Devraj continued, leaning in until they were eye-to-eye. "If I ever catch you even sixteen feet from her..." He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to. The dark promise of violence in his gaze said more than words ever could.
Deepak swallowed hard, a visible gulp of fear escaping him despite his best efforts to stay brave.
Satisfied with the terror he had sown, Devraj straightened his suit jacket and turned his back on him, a final, insulting display of power.
He looked at Mr. Tiwari.
"Keep your dog on a leash.." Devraj said.
Mr. Tiwari didn't argue. He didn't defend his son. He simply nodded, "Yes, Sir. It won't happen again."
With one final, bone-chilling glare over his shoulder at Deepak, Devraj walked out.
The room felt lighter the moment he left.
Deepak stood frozen, his chest heaving, until he felt his father’s eyes burning into the side of his head.
He turned to find Mr. Tiwari trembling with a mixture of relief and absolute rage.
"I told you that girl is off-limits for a reason!" Tiwari yelled, slamming his fist onto the table. "There are a thousand beautiful girls in this city! They are in this brothel! They are on the streets! Pick one, buy one, love one if you must..but STAY AWAY FROM THAT GIRL!"
Mr. Tiwari stepped closer, his voice dropping to a desperate hiss.
"Devraj Singh Rathore is not a man whose words we take lightly. He will bury us under this building and no one will ever find our bones."
Deepak didn't say a word. His face was a mask of simmering resentment, his teeth grinding together so hard.
Without a glance back at his father, he turned and stormed out of the office.
"Get back here, Deepak! I'm not finished with you!" Mr. Tiwari shouted, but his son was already gone.
~??~
Devraj was cutting a path through the dim, golden lit hallway,heading for the exit, when his path was suddenly blocked..
He came to a halt, his shoes scuffing the floor as his gaze dragged upward.
Standing there was a man who looked like he had been forged in the fires of the city’s darkest alleys.
He was strikingly handsome, wearing a black shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing ink that crawled up his neck and across his chest.
His sleeves were rolled back over muscular forearms, but it was his face that told the real story..a scar ran through his left eye, leaving it a blindly grey, the other eye is blue.
A permanent mark of the violent world he inhabited.
The man had a cigarette tucked between his lips. He took a long, slow drag, the tip glowing.
"Samar..." Devraj gritted out.
Samar smirked, exhaling a thick cloud of grey smoke that curled around Devraj’s face.
"Wow. The almighty Rathore in a place like this?" He chuckled, but the sound didn't reach his eyes...eyes that held a deep-seated, simmering hatred.
"Is the air in the estate getting too thin for you, Raj?"
Devraj tried to shoulder past him, his patience at a breaking point.
"I’m not in the mood for a walk down memory lane. Move."
But Samar wasn't done. He reached out, his hand placed down on Devraj’s shoulder with a grip so tight..
"Not so fast... Old Friend." Samar said, his voice dripping with mock friendliness.
"What’s the rush? You just get here, and all of a sudden you want to leave? without saying hello?" He leaned in, the smell of tobacco and expensive gin clinging to him.
Devraj’s eyes dropped to the hand on his shoulder. With a cold motion, he grabbed Samar’s wrist and wrenched it off, flinging it back, staring at him down with a look of pure loathing.
Samar just laughed..
"What brings you here, old friend?" he asked, spreading his arms wide to gesture around the grimy, neon-lit corridor.
"This is my territory. You don’t step into the gutter unless you’re looking for something you lost."
Devraj’s face twisted in a look of profound disgust. "Your territory is a sewer, Samar."
"Still as rotten as you ever were. This place speaks so well of you." Devraj said his tone lack any warmth.
Samar flinched, the casual smirk vanishing as his expression twisted into a mask of boiling, suppressed rage.
The insult hit, reminding him of the gap between Devraj’s polished towers and his own grim reality.
Devraj saw the crack in his expression and smirked.
"I’ve already taken care of why I came here.." Devraj said.
As he moved to leave, he intentionally brushed his shoulder against Samar’s in a cold, mocking gesture of dismissal.
"Goodbye... Old Friend."
Devraj walked away, his pace steady and slightly..arrogant.
Samar stood there, shaking with hatred, his eyes fixed on Devraj’s retreating back.
"I can see your legs got better.." Samar called out, his voice laced with a bitter, hidden meaning.
Devraj stopped mid-stride. He didn’t turn around fully, he simply tilted his head, a knowing smirk playing on his lips for just a second.
Without a word of acknowledgement, he faced forward again and walked out of the place.
Samar sneered, the cigarette falling from his finger and hitting the grimy floor. He ground it under his boot as if it were Devraj’s neck.
He turned sharply, intercepting a passing guard and grabbing him by the collar.
"Why was he here?" he growled.
"I... I don't know, Sir.." the guard stammered, shaking in his boots.
Samar let out a frustrated growl, shoving the man aside, and stalked deeper into the building.
He wasn't going to let this go.
???