Aditya Kapoor's and Shradha Advani's marriage was decided more than two decades ago as a deal to unite their always rivaling mafia families. But it was something neither of them wanted.
Aditya never really cared about this arrangement as he chose t...
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"Aditya, be a man. Come on, shoot him." The ten year old boy shivered, afraid to pull the trigger of the gun that was too heavy for his small hands. Stuffing in a deep breath, he aimed the metallic weapon straight ahead, eye level to the man who stood in front of him, as a sacrifice, fully tied from head to toe.
His father's words again stung his ears, "You worthless boy, don't make me regret giving birth to you."
At that his fingers twitched as he pulled the trigger. The sound echoed the basement, Aditya fumbling back at the powerful recoil of the gun. Ahead him now laid the dead man, who he had killed.
His first kill.
He blinked his eyes open, staring at the white ceiling above him. For a moment, his life was normal, his mind was wiped free of memory.
Someone squeezed his hands, and he turned his head, bewildered. And then he saw her. The events that took place came crashing down him. Falling. Dragging. Pain. Dying.
His hands dwelled into the soft sheets beneath him. He was safe. In her presence. In their room. With his wife.
He moved his hands out of hers, the action feeling constrained. Pushing back a sleeve, Aditya noticed that his waist was bound in soft white linen. He thumbed one of the bandages.
"How are you feeling?" Her voice was weak and low and she looked tired, as if she had not slept for days. The wetness on her cheeks confirmed that she was crying.
His attention was distracted by the horrible throb of his back. He sat forward, to take some of the pressure off, and he felt cloth dig into the skin of his stomach.
Lifting up the edge of the shirt, he stared at his torso, which was wrapped in layer upon layer of bandages.
He ran his thumb over the linen. “Who did this?”
She bit down her lips before saying. "A doctor came in a few days ago. They removed a bullet. Luckily it missed your kidney by an inch. I was instructed to have the wounds cleaned everyday. I did it."
"How long was I out?"
She sat down on the bed next to him, "A week."
A week? GODDAMMITTT! He missed out too many days.
Immediately he started to get up, but the pain was so brutal that he let out a groan, his head rolling back to the headboard of the bed again. He clutched the wound on his abdomen. This wasn't the first time he got hit by a bullet, he had worse experiences, stabbed an inch away from the heart, almost had his veins slit but why the hell did this particular wound hurt so damn much?
"Stay still. You could open your wounds again. They are stitched." But he did not listen to her words, because by then he was already on his feet. The first thing he did was make his way towards the bathroom. But before he could take his first step, he tripped. He was expecting the fall, but soft, feminine body, hugged him tight from the side, lifting him up midair from falling, making him steady on his feet.
