“Didn’t you hear me? Your brother hurt my friend,” he snaps back.
“And didn’t you hear the part where my brother said it was consensual and not forceful? Something your friend hasn’t denied.” I level him with a glare. “You fucking have no idea what you’ve started. So I suggest you get the hell off my property before I make you pay.”
Before the asshole can open his mouth, the woman who has my heart twisted into knots steps between us.
“Don’t you dare threaten us,” she says sharply. “One call, and the cops will be here.”
Standing at five-foot-three, looking so small before me, she awakens another alien emotion, but I push it aside and smirk down at her. “Go on, call them. And make sure you pass along my regards. Every cop in this city knows exactly who the Rathores are, and none of them would be stupid enough to mess with us.”
And that’s the truth. We run half the city, and everyone bows to us. The police. The politicians. They listen without question, barely daring to argue when we give an order. Even our rivals think twice before crossing us.
“You’re right,” she shoots back. “Criminals like you are very good at using power to silence the police. But all that power, your fearmongering, your intimidation, only proves how truly pathetic you are.”
Fucking daring. It would take me a second, one damn second, to show her exactly what she’s messing with. Instead, I let out a slow breath and say evenly, “Careful. Your friend already did enough damage by raising his hand on my brother, and your mouth isn’t helping your case.”
“Well, I get that threats are a Rathore family trait. But let me make something very clear. They mean nothing to me. I’m not scared of you.” She holds my gaze and adds, “Your brother hurtmy friend. ‘Consensual’ or not, that doesn’t give him the right to use her and destroy her life like she’s a disposable commodity.”
I blink, the words ‘my friend’ hitting me like a splash of cold water. For a second, everything inside me stills. The heat that had been raging through my veins drains away, and my heart finally steadies until it almost feels normal again.
She’s not the one involved with my brother.
My gaze shifts, and that’s when I finally see another girl standing just behind her, pale and shaken.How the hell did I not notice her before?
“Meera, let me handle this,” the asshole says from behind her, and she turns to him.
“No, Samarth. I’m doing this.” She spins back towards me, her eyes blazing. “Do you even know what it felt like for my friend to walk into that hospital alone to get an abortion?” Her hands ball into fists. “Do you know the shame your brother forced her to carry? Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a piece of yourself ripped away from you, to have your body go through hell, while for a man it’s nothing more than a game?” Her voice cracks, then hardens. “So don’t you dare stand there and threaten us. Your brother owes my friend more than an apology.”
Her words slam into me like a punch straight to the gut.
Abortion?
Yeah, Veer and I… we’ve both lived recklessly. We both enjoy our time with women. And we’re no saints in other areas of life. Our hands are dirty with illegal things, and we bend the law. But getting a woman pregnant and walking away?
That’s not me.
It’s a line I’ve never crossed. A sacred rule drilled by my mother: always respect a woman. And it’s something I expect from my brother too.
My jaw ticks as my gaze snaps to Veer. He knows exactly what’s running through my head.
“She’s lying, bro,” Veer blurts, stepping up beside me. His shoulders square, but there’s a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Yeah, we hooked up a couple of times. I won’t deny that. But that—” He jabs a finger towards the other girl. “—I didn’t get her pregnant. She’s just trying to blackmail me for money.”
I pull my gaze away from him and turn back to Meera. Her chest rises and falls, fury flashing in those stormy eyes.
“You heard my brother. You’ve got a misunderstanding here,” I say, defending my brother.
“A misunderstanding?” She laughs, a short, bitter sound that has no humour in it. “You think this is some petty misunderstanding, Mr. Dev Rathore?” She steps closer, until her face is level with mine. “Your brother got my friend pregnant.” Her mouth curves into a cold smirk. “And you’re calling it a misunderstanding? You Rathores are really fucking good at scrubbing your sins clean.” She crosses her arms. “Tell me, Mr. Dev Rathore, how do you sleep at night after causing other people pain? How do you even live without a conscience?”
“Watch it,” I warn, my voice dropping into that low, lethal tone that usually makes people step back.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she lifts her chin.
“No one talks to me like that,” I say, tilting my head just a bit, letting her feel every ounce of the danger she’s provoking. “And before you start throwing accusations around like you’re some angel of justice…” I meet her glare head-on. “… make sure you’ve got the damn truth.”
“Oh, I know the truth,” she fires back, leaning in just a fraction. “What you can’t stand is that someone finally has the guts to call out your sins to your face.”
“Call it truth if you want, but your friend’s motivation is cash. Nothing more. Don’t dress it up as justice,” I reply with a deadly calm.
“My friend is not a liar. And she’s sure as hell not some mercenary,” she says, daring me to say otherwise. “And if you don’t make your brother apologise, I swear, I will expose you all.” Her voice doesn’t tremble. If anything, it sharpens. “I’ll drag your names into the daylight and print every rotten thing you think you’ve hidden. And I’ll make your brother wish he had never treated her like she was disposable.” She lifts her chin a little higher. “Try me.”
