THE MEN WHO BURNED
947 Words
CHAPTER 8: THE MEN WHO BURNED
“They made monsters of us. And then left us to die with the pieces.”
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1. EMAAR UL HASAN
Emaar couldn’t sleep anymore.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.
Riya.
Naked. Crying. Bent over a velvet couch, lips bleeding, skin shaking as Rehaan pulled her hair and Ahyan filmed her sobs like they were cinema.
And him—standing in the corner.
Frozen.
Silent.
She looked straight at him once.
Just once.
> “Please...”
Her voice. That broken, animal whimper.
And he—he looked away.
---
His wife packed silently the day the story broke.
No screaming. No shattered glass. Just folded clothes and tears sliding down her cheeks.
> “You didn’t touch her,” she whispered. “But you watched. You knew. You did nothing.”
Emaar tried to speak, but his throat wouldn’t open.
> “I can’t raise my daughter next to a man like that.”
The door shut softly behind her.
And Emaar—finally—started to cry.
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He drank for hours. For days.
At night, he saw her face.
At dawn, he whispered her name.
> “Riya.”
He called a therapist once. Hung up before the first ring.
What was the point?
There was no redemption for cowards.
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"They feasted on innocence. But karma—she doesn't forget."
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1. THE CALL
It came just past midnight.
Buraq Zaidi was sprawled on a leather couch, drunk and high, the weight of his sins stitched deep into the lines under his eyes. The TV played some old film, but he wasn’t watching. He hadn’t watched anything in months.
Then the phone buzzed.
Rehaan.
He stared at the screen a long time before picking up.
"Got a gift for you, brother," Rehaan’s voice oozed like rot. "Fresh blood. Just our type. Barely touched. Arbaz and Waleed got a taste—just enough to break her in. She’s soft. She cries nice."
Buraq’s spine stiffened.
"Where?"
"Same flat. Penthouse. She’s waiting."
A pause.
"Come before she stops screaming."
Click.
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2. THE ARRIVAL
The penthouse was dark, save for a dim red light bleeding from under a bedroom door.
Buraq walked in, heart pounding harder than it ever had. His palms were sweaty. The hallway smelled like perfume and sweat. He heard a whimper.
Then he opened the door.
She was there.
Tied at the wrists.
Half-naked.
Mouth gagged with her own scarf.
Bruised thighs.
Torn shirt.
Eyes wide, terrified.
Ayesha.
His baby sister.
"No—" he gasped, stumbling backward.
She made a sound—a strangled, muffled cry.
He looked up and saw Rehaan zipping up his pants.
"What the f**k is this?!" Buraq screamed.
3. THE BREAK
Rehaan smirked, cruel and slow. “You said you liked them soft, Buraq. I brought you the softest one.”
Buraq lunged.
Fist slammed into jaw. Rehaan hit the floor with a thud, teeth bloodied, lip split.
"You sick f**k!" Buraq roared, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. "That's Ayesha. She's my sister!"
Rehaan laughed—gurgled, more like, blood bubbling in his throat. “Didn’t stop you when it was someone else's sister.”
Buraq froze. Just for a second.
Rehaan kept going. “What’s the difference, Buraq? You think you’re better than me? You think you didn’t break girls just like her? This—” He jerked his chin toward the trembling girl. “—this is karma, brother. Blood for blood.”
Ayesha whimpered again. She was trying to move, to speak through the gag, her eyes frantic.
Buraq's hands shook.
"You set this up," he hissed. "You knew."
Rehaan spit out blood. “Arbaz did the digging. Waleed confirmed. We knew weeks ago. Just waited for the right moment.”
“For what?”
“For you to see what you are.”
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4. THE CHOICE
Buraq stood, trembling, a cocktail of fury, horror, and shame coursing through his veins.
He looked back at Ayesha—her wrists red and raw, her chest heaving in silent sobs.
Rehaan chuckled low behind him. “Go on. Take your turn. That’s what you came for, right? What’s one more?”
Buraq turned.
Slow.
Silent.
And then he reached behind him.
He pulled the pistol from his waistband and pointed it at Rehaan’s face.
"No more," he said, voice breaking.
Rehaan rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You don’t have it in you. You're a monster, just like us. We made you.”
Buraq's finger trembled on the trigger. "I chose to be like you. I can choose to stop."
“Then shoot. Kill me. Be done with it. But just know—Waleed and Arbaz are out there, and they know. You don’t silence the rot with one bullet.”
Buraq fired.
The shot echoed, clean and merciless.
Rehaan crumpled, blood painting the wall behind him.
Ayesha flinched, eyes wide.
Buraq dropped the gun. Fell to his knees. Crawled to her, his hands shaking as he untied her wrists, removed the gag.
She didn't scream. Didn’t speak.
She just stared at him, her body trembling.
"I'm sorry," Buraq whispered. "I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know."
But she didn't answer.
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5. THE AFTERMATH
He carried her out of the flat.
No words.
No questions.
He wrapped his coat around her, shielding her from the cold and the filth of the night.
His own sister.
His own blood.
He had stained too many lives—but this? This shattered whatever pieces of his soul were left.
End Chapter 8: The Men Who Burned
- Writer
