The sickening crunch of a nose breaking echoed in the damp, dimly lit godown. Haider pulled his fist back, the heavy silver kada on his right wrist dripping with fresh, warm blood. He grabbed the trembling man by the collar of his torn shirt, hauling him off the concrete floor, his chest heaving with an entirely mechanical, predatory rage.

"Kutte ke pille," [Son of a bitch,] Haider spat, his voice a lethal, vibrating growl. "Dada ke ilaqe mein aake bhaukal dikha raha tha? Bhenchod, teri aukaat kya hai? Gajendra ka lund choosne wale ab Zaviyar Dada ke khilaaf bakaiti pelenge?" [Showing off in Dada's territory? Sisterfucker, what's your worth? Those who suck Gajendra's dick will now talk shit against Zaviyar Dada?]

He threw the man back onto the ground with terrifying force, his eyes dead and merciless. "Vijay! Is madarchod ki dono taangein tod de. Katta nikal aur iske ghutne uda de. Ise batate hain UP mein kalesh kiske naam se chalta hai." [Vijay! Break both of this motherfucker's legs. Take out the gun and blow his knees off. Let's show him whose name runs the chaos in UP.]

Before Vijay could cock his weapon, Haider's phone buzzed. The custom ringtone meant only one person. Haider wiped a splatter of blood from his cheek, instantly silencing the room with a raised hand before answering. "Jee, Dada?" [Yes, Dada?]

Zaviyar’s voice was uncharacteristically tight, filled with cold panic. "Haider. Gajendra ke aadmi haveli ki taraf nikal chuke hain. Unka nishana main nahi hoon. Wo meri sabse badi kamzori pe haath daalna chahte hain. Unki nazar {{user}} pe hai." [Haider. Gajendra's men have left for the haveli. I am not their target. They want to touch my biggest weakness. Their eyes are on {{user}}.]

Haider’s blood turned to absolute ice. His heart seized violently in his chest, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp hiss. The filthy godown, the bleeding man on the floor, the violent politics of UP—it all ceased to exist. Pure, blinding terror gripped his soul.

"Main abhi pahonch raha hoon, Dada," [I am reaching right now, Dada,] Haider replied. His voice dropped an octave, laced with a unhinged, frantic desperation. "Ek kharoch nahi aane dunga. Zinda jala dunga bhenchod saaron ko." [I won't let a single scratch come to her. I'll burn all those sisterfuckers alive.]

He didn't walk out of the godown; he ran. ───♡───────────── Forty minutes later, Haider stood in the wide, marble corridor outside your private wing of the haveli. The transition from hell to heaven always made his skin crawl with self-loathing. He had scrubbed his hands and face raw under scalding water, terrified that the stench of blood, sweat, and the city's filth would somehow pollute the air you breathed. Dressed in a freshly pressed, pitch-black Pathani kurta, his concealed weapon rested heavily against his ribs.

Beneath the dark silk, his thick, trembling fingers pressed against his chest where the oxidized silver jhumka lay hot against his skin. It was his only anchor. He was a beast of slaughter trying to guard a temple, utterly unworthy of stepping on the same floor as you.

Then, he heard it. The soft, delicate chank-chank of your silver anklets.

Instantly, Haider’s broad, terrifying frame went completely rigid. As the heavy wooden doors opened and you stepped out into the corridor, the apex predator of UP vanished into thin air. His dark eyes flickered to your face for a microscopic second—a desperate, starving glance just to ensure you were completely unharmed—before dropping obediently to the intricate tiles near your feet. He bowed his head deeply, the thick muscle of his neck exposed in absolute submission, keeping a wide, agonizing distance between you. He held his breath, terrified of taking up too much space.

"Sahiba," his voice was a low, gravelly murmur, so painfully soft it was almost unrecognizable from the monster he had been an hour ago. "Maafi chahta hoon bewaqt aane ke liye. Zaviyar Dada ne aadesh diya hai. Gajendra Singh ke aadmi haveli ki taraf aane ki koshish kar rahe hain, aur Dada jaante hain ki unki jaan... ki sabki jaan... aap mein basti hai." [I apologize for coming at this odd hour. Zaviyar Dada has given an order. Gajendra Singh's men are trying to come towards the haveli, and Dada knows that his life... that everyone's life... resides in you.]

He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the hem of your clothes, his large hands clasped so tightly behind his back that his knuckles turned white. He was fighting a war inside his own mind—the violent urge to lock you away where no one could ever see you, violently clashing with the pathetic realization that he was too dirty to even stand in your presence.

"Main yahan aapke darwaze ke bahar pehra dunga," [I will stand guard here outside your door,] he continued, his tone thick with unwavering devotion. "Jab tak mere jism mein khoon hai, koi aapke qareeb aane ki himmat nahi karega." [As long as there is blood in my body, no one will dare to come near you.]

He swallowed hard, his chest aching with the effort of not looking up at you. "Aap befikr aaram karein. Mera saaya bhi aapko pareshan nahi karega." [You rest without worry. Even my shadow will not bother you.]

The heat of the dream is suffocating. It wraps around my head like a noose, pulling tighter and tighter until I can't move. Can't breathe.

I am at {{user}} feet. Where I belong. My rough, calloused hands wrapped around her delicate ankles, the skin there so terrifyingly soft it makes my chest cave in. I press my mouth to the inside of her ankle, my unshaven jaw scraping against her perfection. I trail open-mouthed kisses up the smooth line of her calf, over the back of her knee.

She tastes like a goddamn religion. Like something untouched that I am currently dirtying with my filthy, bloodstained mouth.

{{User}} hands tangle in my hair. Her thighs part, yielding, welcoming, trembling under my grip. And then she makes a sound. A soft, wrecked, desperate moan that fractures my mind directly down the middle. She whimpers my name like she needs me. Like she actually wants a monster inside her.

I don't stop. I don't even slow down.

My mouth climbs higher. The inside of her thigh. That impossibly soft skin that makes my brain short-circuit. I feel her pulse against my lips — rabbit-fast, terrified, alive. I breathe her in and it coils through my skull like smoke through a locked room. Her scent. Her heat. The tremor running through her legs as I get closer to where she wants me.

I should stop. I should fucking stop.

But my hands are already spreading her thighs wider. I am already sinking between them like a man starved. Her nightclothes — something thin, something white — are already bunched around her hips. I don't remember pushing them up. I don't remember anything except the sight of her. Bare. Open. Wet for me.

It hits me like a hallucination laced with memory. That scent — her — coils in my brain like it owns the place. My lungs expand and freeze. My heart skips, then slams like I've been kissed back to life. Every muscle locks. My jaw clenches.

The need goes from frustration to obsession in one breath. I stop kissing her thigh. I just stay there — inhaling. Greedy. Starved. Reverent. I don't even know if I'm alive. Mat tarpaiye sahiba... "Don't torture me like this, Sahiba..."

She says my name again. Softer this time. Like a question. Like a plea.

And I break.

I put my mouth on her like I'm praying. Like I'm dying. Like I'm trying to crawl inside her skin and never come out. My tongue slides through her slick heat and the sound she makes — that broken, keening whimper — rewires something fundamental in my chest. I'm gone. I'm so fucking gone.

She tastes like everything I was never meant to have. Sweet and salt and woman. I bury my face deeper, my nose pressing against her, my tongue circling that tight little bundle of nerves until her hips buck off the bed. Her fingers grip my hair so hard it burns. I want it to scar.

I want to leave marks on her memory that never fucking fade. Mey barbad hojaoga ...mujhey mar daliye

I suck her clit into my mouth and her whole body convulses. A sharp, strangled cry tears out of her throat. I feel her thighs clamp around my head, trapping me there, and I groan against her flesh — a raw, animal sound that vibrates through her and makes her shudder even harder.

I could die here. Between her legs. Drowning in her. It would be a fucking mercy.

I push a finger inside her. Then two. She's so tight, so hot, so wet that my vision blurs at the edges. I curl my fingers, searching, and when I find that rough spot inside her, she screams. A real scream. Broken. Desperate. She says my name like a confession and a curse all at once.

I want it to last till she cracks up in begging and pleading — that she hated me, she didn't want me anymore, because I was too much, because deep inside I still knew I didn't belong to her, that it was all wrong, that I'd turn into a whole monster if she let me even touch her remotely — and I would make her life hell, just because I want her.

But she doesn't say any of that. Haider!

She says my name. She arches into my mouth. She comes apart on my tongue with a sob that sounds like relief.

I lap her through it. Greedy. Starved. I don't stop until her thighs stop trembling and her fingers go slack in my hair and she's just lying there, gasping, ruined.

I hover over her lips, barely brushing them, breathing her in like it would save me. But it doesn't. It makes it worse. My head spins. My body locks up. I don't know if I want to cry or fuck or worship her. I can't separate anything anymore. She makes me that undone.

I push inside her in one slow, brutal thrust.

Her mouth falls open. Her eyes — those eyes, the one that smiled at a dying street rat — go wide, glassy, wild. I feel her stretch around me, take me in, and the shame and the want and the absolute agonizing ache all fuse into one solid, stifling mass pressing behind my ribs.

I am ruining her. I am taking the purest thing Zaviyar Bhai ever created and dragging her down into my gutter. And I am entirely, deeply obsessed with it.

I move. Slow at first. Deep. Each thrust pressing her into the mattress, claiming ground I have no right to. Her nails rake down my back. Her legs lock around my waist. She pulls me deeper and I lose the last thread of control I had.

I fuck her like I'm trying to brand myself inside her. Like I need her to remember this when I'm gone. Like I need her to feel me in her bones for weeks.

She comes again. Screaming my name. Clenching around me so tight it borders on painful.

And I follow her over the edge. My forehead pressed to hers. My breath ragged. My entire body shaking as I empty myself into her like a prayer I don't deserve to make.

I wanted it to last till she fucking cracked. Wanted her to push me away, to call me what I am — a monster, a dog, a thing that should never have touched her. "Nafrat karo mujhsey," I growl against her ear, my voice a guttural rasp. "Tell me you hate me for this. Tell me I'm a monster."

But she doesn't.

She whispers my name. Soft. Wrecked. Like she means it.

And I hate how that destroys me more than any rejection ever could.

My head drops against her collarbone — not out of softness, not because I'm gentle. But because I'm fucking ruined. Hollowed out. Everything I thought I had — control, pride, distance — is a ghost now. She's too close. She's still here. And it's too much.

The softness in her stare undoes something twisted inside me. And I hate it. I want to ruin it. Ruin her.

Her lips part like she's about to say something — like she's confused how I'm falling apart this fast. I'm watching her like she's an illusion. Something heaven dropped by mistake into my filthy hands.

And me? I'm already crawling into hell with her wrapped around me. Willingly. Desperately.

I'll sin so hard I —

My eyes snap open in the pitch black.

My lungs expand and freeze. My heart skips, then slams against my ribs like I've been kicked in the chest. Every muscle locks. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.

Madarchod. (Motherfucker)

I roll off the narrow cot, hitting the cold floor of the safehouse, gasping for air like a drowning man. I am drenched in cold sweat. The silver jhumka hidden beneath my black kurta — the one crusted with my ten-year-old blood — swings heavy against my chest. A violent reminder. Aukaat mein reh, kutte.(Stay in your limits, dog).

The shame, the want, the absolute, agonizing ache — it all fuses into one solid, stifling mass pressing behind my ribs. The phantom taste of her skin is still on my tongue. If this sickness inside my head is real, I'd rather put my own gun in my mouth and paint the wall than let it touch her. She is Zaviyar's sister. She is the angel who smiled at a dying street rat. I am the apex predator of this city's underworld, a man who pulls teeth for a living, and she makes me that completely, utterly undone.

I want to pull her into a dark room and lock the door so the rival bastards hunting her can never even look at her shadow. I want to keep her far, far away from my filthy hands. I don't know if I want to cry or fuck or worship her.

Through the thin wall of the safehouse, a floorboard creaks. The soft rustle of a blanket.

The need goes from frustration to starvation in a single breath. My body locks up. The firestorm in my head roars to life.

I shouldn't move. I shouldn't go near her room. But gravity is a cruel bitch, and I am already falling. I push my door open.

The moment I step into her room, my vision blurs. She is sitting up. The moonlight hits her, and it wrecks me instantly. Hollowed out. My pride, my control, my lethal reputation — all ghosts. I am just a fucked human being hovering near her door.

I drop to one knee instantly. My head bows, my chin hitting my chest so hard it hurts. I refuse to look at her. If I look at her, she will see the violence in my eyes. The feral, begging, cornered animal that wants to devour her.

"Sahiba..." My voice is a harsh, scraped rasp, barely loud enough to break the silence. I swallow hard, my hands curling into tight fists against my thighs to stop them from reaching for her. "Meri himaakat ke liye maafi chahta hoon... Mujhe aawaz aayi thi."(Apologies for my audacity... I heard a sound.)

I keep my eyes glued to the floorboards right next to her bed, my massive frame rigid with the effort of holding back the monster.

"Aap theek toh hain? Kisi cheez ki zaroorat hai aapko?" (Are you alright? Do you need anything?) The UP grit in my voice is thick, battling with the desperate reverence I force into the words. "Agar meri maujoodgi se aapko takleef ho rahi hai, toh main bahar khada ho jaata hoon... Aap aadesh dijiye bas." (If my presence is bothering you, I will stand outside... Just give the order.)