The Party of Predators
1826 Words
The palace floated above the mountains like a lie built from gold.
From a distance, the estate looked breathtaking against the midnight sky — massive crystal windows glowing warmly above dark cliffs while luxury vehicles climbed the private road in silent processions. Waterfalls illuminated by hidden lights flowed beside marble staircases, and classical music echoed softly across the enormous property.
To the outside world, tonight’s gathering was an exclusive environmental fundraising gala attended by billionaires, diplomats, celebrities, and wildlife philanthropists.
The media called it:
The Earth Legacy Summit.
But beneath the expensive perfume and designer smiles…
it was a marketplace for predators.
Human predators.
Inside a black luxury car approaching the estate gates, Bhaag Kaur adjusted the diamond bracelet around her wrist while studying her reflection carefully.
She barely recognized herself tonight.
Her dark emerald gown wrapped around her with dangerous elegance while subtle makeup sharpened her already striking features. Expensive jewels glittered softly against her skin beneath the passing lights outside the vehicle.
She looked exactly like what these people expected:
wealthy, untouchable, powerful.
But inside, tension twisted through her chest like cold wire.
Beside her, Joga Singh sat in complete silence.
And somehow he looked even more dangerous in formal clothing.
The black tailored suit emphasized the sharpness of his features while his hair, pushed neatly away from his forehead for once, revealed the scars near his temple more clearly.
He looked less like a forest ghost tonight.
More like a man capable of destroying entire empires quietly.
Bhaag hated how aware she had become of him.
Especially tonight.
“You’re staring again,” Joga said calmly without looking at her.
Bhaag immediately looked toward the window. “I’m observing the entrance.”
A faint almost-invisible smile touched his mouth briefly.
That annoyed her even more.
Rain clouds moved slowly above the mountains as armed guards inspected incoming guests outside the estate.
Raaji’s voice crackled softly through the hidden communication device in Bhaag’s ear.
“You both remember the objective?”
“Collect buyer identities,” Bhaag answered quietly.
“And locate the trafficking records,” Joga added.
“Correct,” Raaji replied from the sanctuary surveillance van parked miles away. “Do not engage anyone unless necessary. These people are heavily protected.”
The vehicle finally stopped beneath enormous golden gates.
Private security approached immediately.
One guard opened the door respectfully.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Arora.”
Fake identities.
Fake marriage.
Necessary for the mission.
Still, hearing it aloud created something strange between them.
Bhaag stepped out first, maintaining perfect billionaire confidence despite the nervousness beneath her calm expression.
Joga followed beside her.
The guard scanned their invitation cards carefully before nodding.
“Enjoy the evening.”
Even the way he smiled felt artificial.
Everything about this place felt artificial.
Beautiful on the surface.
Rotting underneath.
As they entered the massive palace ballroom, Bhaag immediately understood why powerful people loved corruption.
Because corruption looked glamorous from far away.
Crystal chandeliers illuminated the enormous hall while wealthy elites laughed softly over champagne and live orchestral music. Men in designer suits discussed politics beside women covered in diamonds worth entire villages.
Environmental slogans decorated elegant digital screens across the walls.
SAVE THE WILDLIFE.
PROTECT OUR PLANET.
DEFEND ENDANGERED SPECIES.
Bhaag nearly felt sick looking at them.
Because hidden beneath the ballroom itself…
animals screamed.
She could hear them faintly.
Drugged.
Caged.
Terrified.
Joga heard them too.
She saw it instantly in his eyes.
His jaw tightened slightly while darkness moved beneath his calm expression.
“Control yourself,” Bhaag whispered quietly.
“I am.”
But she knew he was lying.
One wrong move tonight could get them both killed.
A famous television actor approached them holding champagne.
“Mr. Arora! I heard your investments in exotic conservation are becoming legendary.”
Exotic conservation.
The phrase itself sounded disgusting now.
Joga accepted the handshake calmly. “I prefer rare collections.”
The actor laughed approvingly. “A man of refined taste.”
Bhaag forced herself to smile politely while rage burned beneath her skin.
These people spoke about living creatures the same way others discussed luxury watches.
Nearby, a politician publicly known for animal rights activism proudly showed photographs of rescued tigers to reporters.
Ten feet away from him, another billionaire casually negotiated prices for illegal leopard cubs.
The hypocrisy felt monstrous.
And yet everyone smiled beautifully while doing it.
A woman wearing silver diamonds approached Joga confidently.
Older than Bhaag.
Elegant.
Predatory.
“You must be new,” she purred while touching Joga’s arm lightly. “I would have remembered a face like yours.”
Bhaag’s stomach tightened instantly.
Annoyingly instantly.
Joga remained calm. “Perhaps I avoid memorable places.”
The woman laughed softly. “Mysterious men are dangerous.”
“Yes,” Bhaag said suddenly while stepping beside him, “he is.”
The woman raised one amused eyebrow.
Joga glanced briefly toward Bhaag.
That small look alone made her pulse react stupidly.
The woman eventually walked away after handing Joga her private suite number discreetly.
Bhaag crossed her arms immediately.
“You attract problems.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I sound practical.”
“You sound angry.”
Bhaag looked away sharply. “Focus on the mission.”
But Joga noticed the faint redness near her ears anyway.
And for the first time that evening, genuine amusement flickered briefly inside his eyes.
An hour later, the real auction began.
Guests were escorted beneath the palace through hidden underground corridors guarded by armed men with military-grade weapons.
The deeper they descended, the colder the atmosphere became.
The luxury above disappeared gradually.
Replaced by steel doors.
Surveillance cameras.
Soundproof walls.
And the smell.
Blood.
Fear.
Sedatives.
Animals.
Bhaag’s chest tightened painfully.
When the final doors opened, she nearly stopped walking.
Hundreds of wealthy buyers filled an underground black-market auction chamber illuminated by dim golden lights. Massive digital screens displayed bidding numbers while security guards patrolled elevated balconies with rifles.
But the cages…
Waheguru.
The cages.
Snow leopards drugged beneath bright lights.
Rare birds with clipped wings.
Sedated tiger cubs.
Pangolins curled into terrified balls inside glass containers.
A baby elephant chained beside the far wall.
Its eyes looked exhausted already.
Bhaag felt horror rise violently through her chest.
These weren’t products.
They were living souls.
One tiger cub weakly pressed against the bars as wealthy guests admired its “exotic beauty.”
A woman beside Bhaag smiled while sipping wine.
“I heard this breed becomes very affectionate in captivity.”
Bhaag wanted to slap her.
Instead she forced herself to remain composed.
Because cameras watched everything.
Joga stood beside her silently.
Too silently.
His eyes moved slowly across the chamber.
Then stopped.
Bhaag noticed the exact moment his expression changed.
Not visibly.
But internally.
Like buried violence suddenly waking up.
Three older men entered the chamber laughing together near the central auction stage.
Expensive suits.
Political escorts.
Armed security.
The moment Joga saw them, all warmth disappeared completely from his face.
Bhaag lowered her voice carefully. “You know them.”
No response.
But his breathing had changed.
Slightly heavier.
More dangerous.
One of the men carried a tiger-claw walking stick.
Another wore a gold ring engraved with the Black Fang symbol.
Memory flashed across Joga’s eyes suddenly.
Fire.
Screaming villagers.
Gunshots.
Dead animals burning.
A child hiding beneath blood-covered wooden crates while men laughed outside.
The tiger-claw walking stick crushing bones near the flames.
Bhaag touched Joga’s hand gently beneath the table.
The contact startled him back into the present.
His fists had unconsciously clenched hard enough to bleed.
“You cannot lose control here,” she whispered.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then finally:
“They were there.”
Her heartbeat slowed.
“At the m******e?”
A small nod.
Pain moved behind his eyes so quickly it almost disappeared before she could fully see it.
But it was enough.
For the first time, Bhaag truly understood something terrifying:
Joga did not merely hate poachers.
He carried war inside him.
Meanwhile the auction continued casually around them.
A rare albino python sold for nearly two million dollars.
A minister secretly bid on endangered wolf hybrids.
An international businessman requested “private hunting access” near protected sanctuary zones.
Every sentence felt like poison.
Then the auction host smiled proudly beneath spotlight illumination.
“Ladies and gentlemen… tonight’s final attraction.”
The curtains behind him opened slowly.
And Bhaag’s blood turned cold.
A chained white tiger emerged weakly from the shadows.
The animal limped painfully while bright lights blinded its pale eyes.
Scars covered its body.
Drug injection marks stained its skin.
The audience applauded.
Applauded.
Bhaag felt physically sick.
“This species officially no longer exists in the wild,” the host announced proudly. “An exceptionally rare opportunity.”
Bidding began immediately.
Millions.
Then more millions.
The tiger looked terrified beneath the lights.
Joga suddenly stood.
Dangerously calm.
Bhaag grabbed his wrist instantly. “No.”
“They’ll kill it.”
“If you move now, we all die.”
Security guards nearby had already noticed his movement.
For several horrible seconds, Bhaag thought he might ignore her completely.
Then slowly…
very slowly…
he sat back down.
But something inside him looked close to breaking.
The white tiger suddenly looked directly toward Joga.
And for one painful moment, Bhaag saw recognition in both their eyes.
Two creatures trapped by human cruelty.
One in chains.
One pretending not to be.
Hours later, the operation finally succeeded.
Raaji hacked the palace server remotely while Bhaag secretly copied buyer records from a private office upstairs.
Politicians.
Celebrities.
Foreign investors.
Government officers.
Even spiritual leaders.
The Black Fang Circle reached everywhere.
Bhaag quickly photographed the encrypted files while hidden thunder rolled outside the mountain palace.
Then footsteps approached suddenly.
She froze.
Voices echoed beyond the office door.
“…sanctuary girl becoming a problem.”
“We should eliminate her before investigations spread.”
Bhaag’s breathing slowed instantly.
They meant her.
Another voice replied coldly:
“Black Fang Circle already assigned surveillance.”
Her pulse pounded harder.
Then came the sentence that shattered her completely.
“Neha continues feeding us sanctuary movement details regularly.”
Silence.
Absolute silence inside Bhaag’s mind.
No.
The men outside continued talking casually.
“She’s useful. Emotional weakness makes people obedient.”
“Especially when family lives are threatened.”
Laughter followed.
Footsteps faded gradually down the corridor.
But Bhaag remained frozen beside the desk.
Her hands trembled slightly around the stolen files.
Neha?
Impossible.
Neha had fought beside them.
Protected animals beside them.
Cried beside them.
Had all of it been fake?
The office door suddenly opened softly behind her.
Bhaag spun instantly—
Joga entered quietly.
One look at her face and he understood something was wrong.
“What happened?”
Bhaag stared at him with shaken eyes.
Then whispered the words that changed everything:
“Neha works for Black Fang Circle.”
- Writer
