CHAPTER SIXTEEN #3
"You didn't wipe your boots, Dagha," Serena said, her British cadence echoing with a razor-sharp, chilling boredom in the quiet room.
Dagha blinked, thrown off balance by the fact that she knew his name. "What?"
"I said," Serena repeated softly, setting her teacup down on the glass table, "you didn't wipe your boots. And I despise mud on my rugs."
Before Dagha could even process the absurdity of the statement, the atmosphere in the living room violently shifted.
From the shadows of the adjacent hallway, Aditya Rathore and Vivaan Saxena stepped into the light, their suppressed assault rifles raised and locked onto the heads of Karwan and Waziri.
From the secondary corridor, four of the bungalow’s elite perimeter guards emerged, weapons drawn, creating a flawless, inescapable 360-degree kill box.
"Drop the weapons," Vivaan growled, his voice deadly. "Or I blow your heads off right now."
Dagha froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had walked into a trap. But he was arrogant, and he thought he still held the ultimate leverage. He tightened his grip on his rifle, keeping it aimed squarely at Serena.
"If any of you fire," Dagha spat, sweat beading on his forehead, "the General’s pregnant wife dies. I will pull this trigger before you can drop me."
Serena let out a soft, elegant sigh.
Her right hand, which had been resting casually beneath the cashmere throw, moved with a speed that defied human comprehension. She didn't stand up. She didn't shout.
In a single, fluid motion, Serena raised the suppressed sidearm, aimed, and fired.
Pfft.
The suppressed gunshot was quiet, but the result was devastating. The bullet tore perfectly through the firing mechanism of Dagha’s assault rifle, shattering the receiver and tearing the weapon violently out of his hands.
Dagha screamed in shock, falling backward onto the carpet, clutching his stinging hands. Karwan, Waziri, and Afridi, terrified by the blinding speed and precision of the pregnant woman on the sofa, instantly dropped their weapons, raising their hands in surrender as the security detail closed in.
"I strongly suggest you stay on the floor, Zahar," Serena stated coldly, keeping her sidearm leveled precisely between his eyes. "My patience is severely depleted today."
Before Dagha could even comprehend that the soft target he had hunted was actually the most dangerous operative in the room, the front doors of the bungalow were kicked open with a force that shattered the doorframe.
Major General Rudraksh Ashmehr-Vohn stormed into the living room, followed closely by Armaan, Rohan, Kunal, and Ishaan.
Rudraksh was a vision of apocalyptic violence. His sidearm was raised, his dark eyes burning with a murderous fire, ready to execute every single hostile in the room to save his wife.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The living room was secure. Dagha, Karwan, Waziri, and Afridi were on their knees, their hands locked behind their heads, trembling visibly. Aditya and Vivaan had their rifles trained on the prisoners, looking remarkably relaxed.
And sitting on the sofa, looking mildly annoyed, was Serena, holding a smoking sidearm in one hand and reaching for her chamomile tea with the other.
Rudraksh stared at the scene. The blinding, suffocating terror that had gripped his heart for the last five minutes suddenly evaporated, replaced by a staggering wave of relief.
He looked at the four hardened, bloodthirsty mercenaries kneeling on his rug. They weren't looking at him. They were staring at Serena with wide, unadulterated terror, realizing they had willingly walked into the den of an Amazon warrior.
The absurdity of the situation hit Rudraksh like a physical blow. The Monarch, the ruthless tactical commander, slowly lowered his weapon.
A low rumble started in his chest, vibrating up his throat until it broke free. Rudraksh Ashmehr-Vohn threw his head back and laughed. It was a rich, deep, wildly amused sound that echoed off the walls of the bungalow, shattering the tension.
Armaan and the rest of the team immediately burst into laughter behind him, recognizing the sheer brilliance of what their Bhabhi had just done.
"You find this amusing, Monarch?" Serena asked, arching a dark eyebrow at her husband as the team moved in to secure the prisoners.
Rudraksh walked across the room, ignoring the mercenaries, and knelt in front of the sofa. He took the sidearm from her hand, engaging the safety and tossing it onto the table.
"I find you magnificent," Rudraksh murmured, his eyes shining with love and extreme amusement. He leaned forward, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of jasmine and gunpowder. "You caught my ghosts for me without even getting off the couch."
Serena sighed, tangling her fingers into his dark hair, the adrenaline finally beginning to fade. "They interrupted my data analysis. And they tracked mud on the rug. It was unforgivable."
Rudraksh laughed again, turning his head to press a fierce, passionate kiss to her lips, at peace, knowing that his storm needed absolutely no one to protect her.