Sultana's Sultan

chap9p1asifpov

ASIF POV

I turned around and saw a person from the main branch of the Khan family. We have met each other many times and in many places, sometimes in the business fields and sometimes in battles. We have always shown respect at the times of business and fought each other with great sincerity and passion.

"Seems like I am your opponent today," I said.

"Tempting, but I guess I’ll have to pass," Hameer said to me while his body was positioned toward Kabir.

"Actually, I am quite offended. I came here to greet you, and you cannot eve—" I was cut off by a flying dagger toward me. I nearly ducked it, but it cut through a tissue of my ear skin.

As I traced the angle from where the dagger came, my eyes met the brown eyes of a woman—brown eyes that could bring mountains to their knees, so light and dark they could corrupt people. I couldn't bring myself to look away from her eyes. I was drowning in them, but I had to look away. That woman wanted to kill me. She was the one who threw the dagger. I had to look away. She is dangerous. She is deadly.

As I finally managed to tear my gaze away, only to look back at her again, my eyes freaking betrayed me. I noticed her wearing a pearl necklace around her fragile-looking neck and a dark black maxi covering her slender-looking body. Her hair was tied in a messy bun. She wasn’t wearing the revealing clothes that people usually wear at these kinds of gatherings.

Wait... wait... what?

Why am I noticing every small detail about her? This is not like me at all.

"I am your opponent," she said so confidently.

Her aura, her body posture—it spoke of dominance, authority, bravery, and unyielding ability.

"Are you?" I said with amusement.

"Why? Afraid?" she said mockingly.

At first, I wasn’t interested in fighting a woman. I have experience with my sister—she can be quite annoying sometimes. Well, not sometimes, but most of the time. But now, I think I am interested in fighting this woman.

"Afraid? Who? Me? Nah," I said, matching her aura.

Her eyes flickered with challenge as she positioned her body into a fighting stance. And all of a sudden, I didn’t know what she was thinking. Her eyes and face became expressionless. She had built up a wall—a wall used to hide emotions. That face comes with a lot of practice and a lot of training. Having that face and that posture are the qualities of a trained and experienced killer.

She started throwing punches at me, and I started dodging them. She is fast!

"Why are you just dodging?" she said with an expressionless face.

"I wouldn’t like to ruin that pretty face, you know," I said with a snarl, hoping to get a reaction out of her.

Why?

I don’t even know myself.

As she threw a hard punch at me, I wasn’t fast enough to duck it, so I countered it with my own fist. Both of our fists collided with equal strength. And then, she smirked.

Her smirk.

Her smirk.

I got a reaction out of her.

Does that mean I can get more reactions if I fight her one-on-one? But why am I trying so hard to get a reaction out of her?

She threw a kick at me, and I countered it. I threw a punch at her, and she countered it. We started replaying our game of dance, both of us moving in sync, throwing fists and countering them until we both threw a punch at the same time, creating an opening for each other.

My fist met her delicate, soft skin, and her fist met my hard skin. Both of our lips were bruised.

She kneed me in the stomach, earning herself a snarl, as I pinned her to the floor, letting all my weight press against her, earning myself some curses.

"Why don’t you give me the honor of knowing your name?" I said with a smirk.

She lay beautifully beneath me.

Finally, her expressionless face broke, and a hint of pink crept onto her cheeks.

Fucking adorable.

"A soon-to-be dead man doesn’t have to worry about my name," she said, making me let my guard down.

In that split second, she pinned me down to the floor and got herself up, taking out her pistol.

Leaving me shocked.

This is not the first time a pistol has been aimed at me, and not the first time I will be shot with a bullet. But, yes, it is the first time I have let someone escape my grip. The first time someone has actually managed to get out of my hold.

"Your life is in my hands, Mr. Sultan," she said with a smirk.

She is from the Khans.

"Not yet," I said, getting up and aiming my pistol at her.

Both of our pistols were aimed at each other.

I have never felt like this.

Like I am alive.

I have never felt so alive before.