𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 : 𝑨 𝑴𝒂𝒇𝒊𝒂 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

{27}•ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ•

ANIRUDH

Blood. It was the only thing clinging to my hands, soaked into my clothes, and staining the ground beneath my feet. The metallic scent lingered in the air, but I felt nothing—no remorse, no hesitation. All I felt was searing rage, consuming me from within. When I found the location from the GPS tracker, I didn’t even think of taking any of my men, despite knowing that Chandrachur was an asshole who kept over 100 men to protect himself. I only had Bondita in my mind—just her. Her image was etched into my thoughts, vulnerable and terrified. The idea of her enduring even a second of pain because of my failure was unbearable. I had failed to protect her, and for that, there would be no forgiveness—not for me and certainly not for those responsible.

Each step I took through the bodies I’d left in my wake brought me closer to her. The guards who dared to block my way were already dead. I didn’t care how much they screamed, yelling for me to STOP, but I didn’t. Their mistake was touching her—my little angel. They had signed their death warrants the moment they made that choice. My grip on the gun tightened.

I kicked open the door, my chest tightening as my eyes locked onto the scene before me.

A trembling man stood in the doorway, stammering something to his boss, who I saw running out through the back door. Oh, fucker. I’ll find him, no matter how far he runs. The man before me was already bloodied, his knees shaking. The coward behind him—the one I came for—had slipped away the moment he saw me, fleeing like a rat.

One clean shot. The bullet lodged itself in the messenger’s skull, and he crumpled to the floor. Another obstacle removed.

And then I saw her.

“Bondita.” Her name left my lips like a prayer, my voice raw.

Her small frame was slumped on the bed, her wrists bound tightly with ropes. Her sundress was disheveled, revealing far too much of what no one else should ever see. Fuck—even I hadn’t seen her like this, so how did that bastard? My stomach churned at the sight of her tear-streaked face, her eyes filled with terror and pain.

Fuck.

The sight of her like this broke something inside me. This isn’t me. The thought came from the darkest part of me, reminding me that I couldn’t be weak for a woman. But—but this woman made me weak and powerful at the same time. What could I even do? It ignited a fire within me. I stepped forward, my bloodied hands trembling with… fear. For god’s sake, I don’t fear killing or getting killed, but seeing her like this and thinking she might hate me for not protecting her—that terrified me.

I was overwhelmed with the urge to destroy the man responsible. Chandrachur was a dead man now; he couldn’t survive after what he’d done to my woman.

But then my gaze shifted to the TV in front of her, and I froze.

Oh. Fuck. Fuck. No.
Not that.
Shit.

A photo of me and Mishti flashed on the screen. I gritted my teeth, my hands curling into fists. That bastard had used this against her, fed her lies. Or maybe… truths? I stared at the screen, seeing myself and the girl I had loved—loved. The word felt so strange now. Not her—it wasn’t her that was strange. But stupid me didn’t understand that back then. The photo was so happy, so fucking happy, that my heart hurt just looking at it.

My thoughts faded as I heard a small sob.

I moved my body and glared towards my little angel.

I knelt beside her, lowering my voice as gently as I could. “Little angel,” I said, my voice breaking.