Zavian's POV:

I secured the last of the children, ten in total, and signaled for their extraction. As they disappeared into safety, my focus sharpened.

Then—static. A crackle in my earpiece.

"Boss?"

I stilled, my grip tightening around my gun. My voice was low, sharp. "Copy."

A beat of silence. Then—a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

"It's your wife."

My heart stopped.

For the first time in years, fear—real, raw fear—gripped my chest like a vice. My fingers clenched around the gun, knuckles white.

"What about her?" My voice was low, deadly.

A hesitation. That hesitation alone made my blood run cold.

"She's been taken, boss. It's... it's Daniyal."

I didn't breathe. I couldn't.

And then—pure, unfiltered rage. It roared through my veins, drowning out reason, burning everything in its wake.

"Where?" I asked, my voice a dangerous calm.

"We're tracking the signal. The feed cut off minutes ago, but we have a last-known location. Boss, you need to—"

I ripped the earpiece out and threw it against the wall.

No.

Daniyal had my wife.

My Iman.

And he was going to die for it.

I turned to Aahil, my hands trembling—not from weakness, but from the barely restrained fury coursing through me. Fear and rage battled inside me, but fear was losing. I wouldn't let it win. I couldn't.

"Track the location," I growled, already moving forward, my mind split between the mission and the fact that Daniyal had my wife. My Iman.

Aahil didn't hesitate. He pressed a hand to his earpiece, already issuing commands. But I didn't wait. There were more children here—I knew it. And no matter how much my instincts screamed at me to go after Iman, I had a job to finish. I wouldn't leave these kids behind.

We moved fast. Silent. Shadows slicing through the dark corridors, our steps measured, lethal. The scent of damp concrete and sweat filled the air as we pushed deeper into the warehouse.

A rustle. A creak of metal.

I lifted my gun.

A small face peeked from behind a crate, wide, terrified eyes locking onto mine.

A child. A little girl, no older than six. She clutched a thin blanket to her chest, trembling.

"Boss..." Aahil's voice was tight.

I exhaled sharply, holstering my gun as I crouched down. Soft, Zavian. Gentle.

She flinched when I extended my hand.

"We're getting you out of here, okay?" My voice was low, steady.

A pause. A heartbeat. Then she hesitantly reached out, tiny fingers gripping my sleeve like a lifeline.

More shuffling.

I turned my head—more children. Hiding. Scared.

Rage burned hotter in my gut. Daniyal's men—these monsters—had done this.

"Aahil, call for evac. Now." My voice was like steel.

"Already on it, boss."

I picked up the little girl, holding her close. She clung to me, tiny hands fisting my shirt.

"We're going home," I murmured. But first... first, I had to finish this.

And then—I was coming for Daniyal.

Aahil signaled the others, and within moments, my men moved in, securing the area. The children—so many of them—were pulled from their hiding spots, some too scared to move, others crying in relief as they clung to the soldiers leading them to safety.

My heart pounded, but my mind was a razor's edge. Iman. She was out there. In his hands. And I was wasting time.

"Boss, evac's ready. Last group is moving out," Aahil reported.

I nodded, gently handing the little girl to one of my men. She wouldn't let go of my sleeve at first, her wide, terrified eyes locked onto mine.

"You're safe now," I said, forcing a calm I didn't feel. Because I was about to become anything but calm.

She finally released me, and I stood. I could feel Aahil's gaze on me, waiting.

"Daniyal." His name burned on my tongue.

Aahil's jaw tightened. He nodded once. "We have a location."

That was all I needed.

I turned, already moving toward the car, my fingers curling into fists.

"I'm coming, Iman."

And Daniyal? He had just signed his own death warrant.

Delete Created with Sketch.

I sped through the city, my grip tight on the wheel. The streets were empty, bathed in the cold glow of flickering streetlights, but dawn lurked just beyond the horizon. Time was slipping away. Too much time.

The warehouse was on the outskirts—isolated, abandoned. Perfect for a man like Daniyal.

"Boss, perimeter is light. Two guards outside. No heavy movement," Aahil's voice crackled through my earpiece.

"Copy that," I murmured, my jaw clenching. If he was keeping security this light, it meant one thing—he wasn't expecting me.

Big mistake, brother.

I killed the headlights a few meters away, stepping out silently. My fingers wrapped around my gun, every muscle in my body coiled, ready. I moved through the shadows, my steps noiseless.

The first guard didn't even have a chance to react before my silencer whispered death. The second turned—too slow. I grabbed him by the collar, slamming my knee into his gut before pressing the gun under his chin.

"Where is she?" I growled.

He sputtered, struggling against my hold.

"Talk."

His eyes darted toward the side door, confirming what I already knew.

I pulled the trigger.

His body slumped to the ground, and I stepped over him, shoving the door open.

Dark. Quiet. But I could feel it. The presence. The danger. And then—

A choked whimper.

Iman.

I didn't hesitate. I moved, my gun raised.

Daniyal's voice slithered through the silence.

"Took you long enough, Reaper."

Daniyal stood in the center of the dimly lit warehouse, his grip tight around Iman, a gleaming knife pressed against her throat. His men flanked him, shadows shifting in the flickering light. My heart slammed against my ribs. My Iman.

I took a step forward, gun steady, my men entering behind me, spreading out like death itself.

"Let her go," my voice was low, controlled, but the rage beneath it was molten, dangerous.

Daniyal smirked. Smug bastard. His hold on her tightened, making her whimper. That sound—that sound—nearly broke me.

"Now why would I do that, brother?" His voice dripped with amusement, mocking. Mocking me. Mocking her.

I forced myself to breathe, to push back the impulse to put a bullet between his eyes right now. Not yet. Not while that blade was still at her throat.

"You won't make it out of here alive," I warned, my voice turning lethal. A promise.

Daniyal chuckled. Chuckled.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But she sure as hell won't, either. You see, Zavian—no, Reaper—this little wife of yours? She's a liability. A weakness. And I—" he leaned in closer to her, making her flinch "—hate weakness."

Something inside me snapped.

I lunged, but the gleam of the blade cut through the dim light—and then I saw it.

Blood.

A thin crimson line traced her delicate skin.

My Iman. Bleeding.

Daniyal smirked, pressing the knife harder, his grip like a vice around her. Her eyes—wide, terrified—met mine.

"Ah, ah, Reaper," he taunted, tilting his head. "Move another inch, and I'll carve her open."

My hands clenched around my gun, but I didn't pull the trigger. Not yet.

His men lifted their weapons, barrels glinting under the flickering warehouse light. A dozen of them.

I froze, my mind a storm.

One wrong move.

One second too late.

And I'd lose her.

"So... how's life, Major Hafiz Muhammad Zavian Noraiz?" Daniyal drawled, his voice laced with mockery, each syllable stretched just to rile me up.

Iman flinched. A single tear slipped down her cheek. My hands curled into fists.

This fucker.

I let out a slow breath, my grip on the gun tightening.

By the end of the night...

He wouldn't be the one holding the knife.

He'd be the one carved.

Daniyal smirked, pressing the blade harder against Iman's throat. A thin crimson line bloomed against her soft skin. Her breath hitched—fear in her eyes, searching for me. Trust me, Iman. Just hold on.

My trigger finger twitched.

Around us, his men stood like shadows, guns raised, waiting for my next move. But they weren't my concern. Not yet. My focus was on the bastard in front of me—the man who had dared touch my wife.

"You're quiet, brother." Daniyal's smirk widened. "No sharp threats? No vows of vengeance? Maybe the Reaper's finally out of tricks."

I let my lips curl into a slow, dark smile. "You always talked too much, Daniyal." My voice was calm. Lethal. "Maybe that's why father never looked at you the way he looked at me."

His grip on the knife faltered—just a flicker. But I saw it.

Good.

I took a step forward. His men stiffened. My own slipped in behind me, silent as death.

Daniyal noticed. He let out a low chuckle, dragging the blade lower, just over Iman's collarbone. Enough.

My voice was steel when I spoke.

"You let her go, Daniyal... or I'll show you why they call me the Reaper."

Daniyal chuckled, the sound slithering through the air like poison. His fingers tightened in Iman's hair, yanking her head back just enough for her to whimper. My patience snapped—fracturing into something dark, something uncontrollable.

I took another step forward, slow, precise. Calculated.

"Don't," Daniyal warned, pressing the knife deeper. Another drop of blood. Her blood.

I exhaled, my hands steady, but inside? Inside, I was burning.

"You think I won't slit her throat?" he taunted, tilting his head. "You think you can outplay me, Zavian? I've waited years for this."

"You've waited years to die?" I bit out, my voice nothing but razor-sharp ice.

Daniyal grinned. "I've waited years to watch you lose."

My vision blurred at the edges. My men were ready—waiting for my signal—but I didn't care. If he put one more fucking scratch on her, I was tearing him apart with my bare hands.

Iman's lips trembled, her tear-filled eyes locked onto mine. Don't cry, baby. Not for him. Not for this.

I clenched my jaw. Breathe, Zavian. Think.

Then, softly, I spoke.

"You don't know what you've just done, Daniyal."

His smirk faltered.

"You took what's mine."

My fingers twitched over my gun.

"And now?" My voice dropped, raw with unfiltered rage. "Now, I take everything from you."

The room exploded into motion.

I moved first. Faster than thought. Faster than rage.

A single flick of my fingers—my men surged forward. Aahil fired the first shot, the bullet ripping through the air like a warning from hell. Daniyal flinched—just enough.

I lunged.

A gunshot rang. A scream. A flash of silver—his knife still pressed to her throat. No, no, no.

I dropped my gun mid-stride and grabbed the nearest crate, launching it straight at the bastard. It shattered against his shoulder, the impact forcing him back. He lost his grip on her for just a second—just enough.

Iman stumbled forward, gasping. I caught her, pulling her into me before shoving her behind. Not now, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. Just hold on.

Daniyal recovered too quickly, fury contorting his features. His men scrambled, bullets flying, but my team was faster. Sharper. Trained to kill.

I reached for my second gun, rolling to the side as another shot narrowly missed me. Aahil took out two of them. I took out the next. Chaos. Gunfire. The metallic scent of blood thick in the air.

Daniyal was slipping back, retreating. Coward.

Not tonight.

I was on him before he could run, slamming him against the rusted warehouse wall. The knife clattered from his hand. My forearm pressed into his throat, cutting off his air. His hands clawed at my wrist, but I leaned in, my voice low, lethal.

"You put your hands on my wife." My knee drove into his ribs. A crack. A pained grunt.

"You threatened my family." Another blow, this time to his gut. He coughed, spitting blood.

I leaned in closer, whispering against his ear, "Now tell me, Daniyal—"

I pulled back, my grip like iron around his throat.

"How does it feel to be the one who's fucking helpless?"

I didn't hold back.

My fist crashed into his face—once, twice, again and again. A sickening crunch echoed through the warehouse as bone met steel-hard rage. His head snapped to the side, blood splattering against the cold concrete.

He choked on a breath, but I didn't stop.

Another hit. His lip split.

Another. His nose shattered.

Another. His eyes rolled back for a second, dazed, barely holding on.

I grabbed his collar, yanking him up so he had no choice but to look at me. His blood smeared across my knuckles, dripping from his mouth, his once-arrogant smirk now twisted with pain.

"You thought you could touch what's mine and live?" My voice was quiet, lethal.

He coughed, laughing through the agony, teeth painted red. "She's—"

I didn't let him finish.

One final punch, brutal, unforgiving. His head slammed against the wall, his body going limp.

I let him fall. Let him crumble at my feet like the filth he was.

He wasn't dead. Not yet.

But he would be.

A groan rasped from his throat as he slumped to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Not enough.

Not nearly enough.

I crouched, grabbing the knife from where it had fallen, my fingers tightening around the hilt. My gaze flickered to Iman—her terrified eyes, her trembling body, the thin red line on her throat where his blade had kissed her skin.

Something inside me snapped.

He marked her.

I pressed the tip of the knife just beneath his jaw, forcing his head back. His half-lidded eyes barely registered me before I spoke, my voice a quiet storm.

"You wanted to see the Reaper bleed?" I tilted the blade, just enough for him to feel the bite of steel. "Let me show you how I carve."

A strangled laugh left him, broken and weak. "You wouldn't."

I dragged the blade down his cheek, slow, precise. Blood welled instantly, dripping from the fresh wound.

He hissed.

I smiled.

"I would."

I would make him suffer. For every girl stolen, for every innocent soul he and his kind destroyed.

For her.

I pressed harder, carving another line, making sure he felt it.

A sharp gasp broke through the air. Not his.

Hers.

My gaze snapped to Iman. She was staring at me, wide-eyed, chest heaving.

Not in fear.

In disbelief.

I swore under my breath, forcing the raging storm inside me to settle.

Not now. Not in front of her.

I exhaled sharply, tossing the knife aside. Daniyal groaned in relief, his head rolling to the side.

"Secure him," I barked at my men, my voice like ice. "Alive."

Aahil stepped forward, yanking Daniyal up by his collar. The bastard had passed out. Good. That meant I'd have the pleasure of waking him myself.

But my focus shifted—my Iman.

Blood.

Dried on her neck. Streaked across her face. Her cheek, swollen and bruised.

Oh, Daniyal.

I should've carved deeper.

I wiped my hands on my shirt, desperate to rid them of the filth before I touched her. Before I could reach her. Before I could—

A sob wrenched from her throat.

She stood there, trembling, breaking.

"Iman," I whispered, my chest tightening. "My Iman—"

Then—

BANG.

The world snapped into slow motion.

My eyes flickered to movement—an enemy, a gun, smoke still curling from the barrel.

Then—

Pain.

It punched through me, burning, sinking deep.

My breath hitched, my body jerking, a choked gasp escaping my lips.

My hands instinctively flew to my stomach.

Wet. Warm.

Shit.

Shit.

My knees buckled. The ground tilted. A scream—her scream—pierced the air, and then—

Darkness.