His Prisoner 21+

44

"And this, gentlemen, is what happens when someone dares to outwit Arzal Malik," he declared, his voice dripping with malevolence. His lips curled into a sinister smile as two ruthless men cheered him on, completely devoid of any sympathy.

With ruthless precision, Arzal pulled the trigger, sending the helpless men into oblivion. The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the room, but the cold satisfaction on his face quickly faltered when a metallic clanking sound caught his attention. His eyes snapped to the entrance, where Emaan stood frozen, her face pale, her wide eyes filled with horror.

His twisted smile vanished. But instead of guilt or remorse, his face contorted with rage. His gaze darkened, and with a menacing swiftness, he strode toward her. Emaan remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear.

Arzal reached her in seconds, his grip like iron as he seized her arm, his fingers digging cruelly into her skin. Without a word, he dragged her outside, his voice low and dangerous. "Teri himmat kaise huwi yahan aane ki?" he growled, his words laced with a vicious rage. (How dare you come in here?)

Emaan whimpered, her terror choking her voice. When she failed to respond, Arzal yanked her arm violently, his anger flaring even hotter. "Haan? Bol!" he demanded, his grip tightening to the point of pain. (Huh? Speak!)

Still, she couldn't speak. Trembling, she made incoherent sounds, her mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of what she had witnessed. His frustration deepened, and with one final jerk, he barked, "Ghar mein ja, abhi!" His command was cold, his grip unrelenting as he dragged her from the hut. (Go inside the house, now!)

Outside, he shoved her roughly, and she stumbled forward, barely able to keep herself upright.  His anger wasn't rooted in guilt for the violence she had seen but from the fact that she had entered the room while the men he had invited were present. Arzal was obsessively possessive—he didn't want any man, or even any woman, laying eyes on her.

Emaan stood there for a moment, her mind reeling, trying to process what had just happened. When she finally came back to her senses, panic set in. She had to get out—immediately. Without wasting another second, she bolted toward the main gate, her breath quick and ragged, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Bh-bhaiya, darwaza kholein... jaldi!" she stammered, her voice barely coherent through her sobs. "Wahan... bohat bura hua hai... please, darwaza kholein!" (B-brother, open the gate... quickly! Something terrible happened in there... please, open the gate!)

The guards exchanged uneasy glances. One of them spoke calmly but firmly, "Sorry, madam, sir ki ijazat ke bina ap nahi ja sakti hain." (Sorry, madam, you cannot leave without sir's permission.)

"Please..mujhe jaane dein.." she begged, her voice breaking as she clasped her hands together in desperation, tears streaming down her face. (Please... let me go...)

Just as the guard began to respond, his phone buzzed. After a quick glance at the screen, he nodded and opened the gate. "Okay, madam, ap ja sakti hain." (Okay, madam, you may go.)

"Thank you so much!" Emaan gasped, relief washing over her as she dashed outside.

She ran blindly into the darkness, her only thought was to escape before Arzal found out she was gone. The road was rough beneath her bare feet, each step sending sharp pains shooting through her legs, but she didn't stop. Earlier, she had rushed out of the house so quickly, desperate to find Arzal, that she had forgotten to wear slippers.

Her legs ached, her lungs burned, but she kept pushing forward, her breath ragged and uneven. Finally, her body gave in, and she stumbled to a halt, bending over and gasping for air. The night was eerily quiet, and her mind spun in a mix of fear and exhaustion.