CHAPTER 2 — EYES LIKE A DEATH SENTENCE
1492 Words
Darkness didn’t fade gently.
It ripped open.
Aanya’s consciousness slammed back into her body like someone had dropped her from a height. Her lungs seized, her chest heaved, and she gasped violently—as if she had surfaced from drowning.
Cold.
Everything felt cold.
The metal table beneath her spine.
The straps are biting into her wrists.
The stale air scraped down her throat with every unsteady breath.
Her eyes blinked open, but the world didn’t make sense at first. The ceiling above her buzzed with a dim fluorescent light, flickering every few seconds like it was struggling to stay alive. A hum vibrated in the walls. The sharp smell of disinfectant mixed with something metallic… something like blood.
Her heart sprinted.
Where am I?
What happened?
Is this a hospital?
No.
It wasn’t a hospital.
Concrete walls.
No windows.
Steel door.
A single metal cot.
A stainless steel table lined with instruments she didn’t recognize.
Not a place for healing.
A hiding place
A place for breaking.
A place for disappearing.
Her breathing came faster—ragged, shallow, painful. She pulled at the straps instinctively, panic drowning reason. The leather cut into her skin, leaving red marks. The metal rings rattled violently with every desperate twist.
“Let me out… please—somebody—please—”
Her voice cracked, strangled by fear.
Then she heard it.
A faint metallic shift from somewhere in the room.
Aanya froze.
Her pulse throbbed inside her ears.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dimness—and that was when she saw him.
He was standing against the far wall, half-swallowed by shadow, arms folded, shoulders broad beneath a fitted black suit.
The man from the alley.
The man who took her.
The man whose voice had haunted the last moment before her world went black.
Her breath hitched.
Her stomach twisted.
He didn’t move. Not even a fraction.
He just watched her—unblinking, unreadable, cold.
But the cold wasn’t empty.
It was controlled.
Calculated.
Dangerous.
Aanya’s voice barely escaped her throat. “You…”
Her heart crumpled into fear and anger and disbelief.
“You kidn*pped me,” she whispered, horror creeping into her tone.
The man stepped forward, and the light fell across his face—sharp jawline, clean-cut features, dark eyes that held no mercy but too much awareness. He looked like he belonged to a world that didn’t tolerate mistakes.
“You’re awake,” he said simply.
His voice was the same—low, composed, steady like nothing in his life ever slipped out of his control.
Aanya fought the restraints again. “Let me go! Please, I don’t know what you want—I won’t tell anyone, I swear—”
He didn’t flinch at her panic.
“You’re safe,” he said, as if saying it made it true.
She laughed—broken, shaking, disbelieving. “Safe? SAFE? I’m tied to a bed!”
“You were thrashing when you woke up,” he replied. “You would’ve fallen.”
“You tied me up!”
“To protect you from yourself.”
“Do you even hear how insane that sounds?”
His jaw tightened ever so slightly. That was his version of irritation—small, controlled, contained.
“You’re not a prisoner,” he said quietly.
Her eyes widened, and she let out a humorless, breathless laugh.
“Then why am I restrained?”
“Because waking up in my world usually involves screaming.”
He reached forward and loosened one strap. Aanya jerked away instinctively, and he paused—not forcing, not arguing.
Just waiting.
That startled her more than aggression would have.
He loosened the second strap—slow, precise movements, as if he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. As if he didn’t want to frighten her more.
But everything frightened her.
His silence.
His calm.
His eyes.
Especially his eyes.
When the last strap fell away, Aanya scrambled backward, pressing herself into the corner of the cot, curling her knees to her chest.
He stepped back, giving her space.
That terrified her, too.
“Why am I here?” she demanded, voice trembling. “What do you want from me?”
He studied her—not in a leering way, not cruelly, but with a strategist’s gaze. A man who assessed threats, patterns, possibilities.
But she wasn’t a threat.
She was just… a girl who walked home too late.
“Aanya,” he said, and the sound of her name in his voice felt wrong. Intimate. Heavy. Like he wasn’t supposed to know it but did.
Her breath froze. “How do you know my name?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he circled the room slowly—hands behind his back—like a man leading an interrogation.
“You were near the warehouse,” he said finally.
She blinked. “What warehouse?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t lie.”
I’m not lying,” she stammered. “I didn’t see anything!”
“That’s the problem,” he murmured. “You didn’t know what you saw.”
Her heartbeat raced.
“I didn’t see anything!” she repeated, louder, harsher.
He stepped closer, his shadow brushing over her like a cold wave.
“Three nights ago,” he said, “a man was shot inside that warehouse. A very important man. Some people would kill to avenge or silence.”
Aanya swallowed hard.
“I just heard a sound,” she whispered. “I—I didn’t know it was a gunshot.”
He held her gaze, and for a moment, something flickered behind his eyes—some distant emotion he quickly smothered.
“You walked past the warehouse,” he said. “Thirty seconds after the shot.”
Her stomach plummeted.
“They saw you.”
The words hit her like a blow to the chest.
“Who?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
His silence was louder than the truth.
“You’re lying,” she said suddenly. “You’re trying to scare me—”
“If I wanted to scare you,” he said softly, “you would know.”
His calmness terrified her more than shouting ever could.
She shook her head, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Why me? Why take me? Why—”
He interrupted her quietly.
“Because if I didn’t take you, they would have.”
The room went silent.
Dead silent.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“What… what do you mean?”
“They marked you,” he said. “The moment you turned your head toward the warehouse door.”
“No,” she whispered. “No, I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She felt her heartbeat ricochet painfully in her chest. Her fingers dug into the thin mattress.
“So you kidn*pped me to… protect me?” she asked, the idea sounding absurd even as she spoke it.
He looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
“Yes.”
Her breath stilled.
“But protection,” he added, voice darkening just slightly, “doesn’t always look the way you want it to.”
Aanya stared at him, a mix of fear and anger, and confusion swirling violently inside her.
“Who are you?” she breathed.
His eyes locked onto hers—calm, cold, unshakably certain.
“The only person keeping you alive.”
She felt those words in her bones.
Not because they were comforting.
Because they were true.
The door behind him opened slightly. Two men waited outside—built like walls, wearing the same expressionless obedience.
He turned his head and spoke without raising his voice.
“Wait outside.”
The door shut again.
He looked back at her, stepping closer in slow, measured movements.
“You’re not leaving this place tonight,” he said. “It isn’t safe.”
Aanya flinched. “It doesn’t feel safe here either.”
“I know.”
He stood over her—not touching, but close enough that she felt the weight of his presence.
“You don’t trust me,” he said.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Good,” he replied. “Trust gets people killed.”
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
“Aanya,” he said softly.
She looked up despite herself.
His expression—usually unreadable—softened by a fraction. Barely noticeable. But real.
“I’m not your enemy,” he said quietly.
Then, after a beat:
“But the people looking for you… are.”
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
And Aanya Malik, alone in a concrete room that smelled of metal and fear, realized something terrifying—
She wasn’t afraid, only because he had taken her.
She was afraid because a part of her believed him.
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