the once crore Deal

Chapter 1

The One Crore Deal - Chapter 1

​It was dead of night, precisely 3:00 AM. A sleek black car tore down the deserted, winding road like a phantom before abruptly slamming on its brakes, halting in the middle of the asphalt with a violent, spine-jarring jerk.

​The full moon hung high in the sky, casting an ethereal, silvery glow over the desolate surroundings. He stepped out of the driver's seat, the cold midnight breeze rustling through his stylishly cut hair. With an air of absolute detachment, he walked around to the back door.

​In one hand, he held a sleek, silenced gun; in the other, a smoldering cigarette. Taking one final, slow drag, he flicked the door open and yanked her out by her slender wrist with practiced ruthlessness.

​He shoved her roughly so she stood before him, bathed in the pale moonlight, before taking a few steps back to study his target with cold indifference. He crushed the cigarette stub beneath his heavy boot, raised his weapon, and locked his sights on her.

​She stood there, draped in torn black clothes that seemed to swallow the moonlight. Her complexion was porcelain white, marred mercilessly by dark, bluish-purple bruises that bloomed across her face like painful secrets. In a bizarre, haunting way, her battered skin mirrored the moon above—just as the moon bore its dark craters, someone had brutally scarred her fragile frame without an ounce of mercy.

​Yet, a hardened killer like him shouldn't have cared. This was just another job, a transaction dictated by a hefty payout. He was a shadow, a lethal shooter who never compromised his assignments, and never once let emotion cloud his judgment.

​And yet, a flicker of genuine bewilderment crossed his sharp features. People had paid fortunes for his expertise in the past—why on earth were they wasting his elite skills on such a small, fragile target? This trivial hit could have been delegated to any street-level thug.

​Narrowing his eyes, he pushed the stray thought aside and steadied his aim.

​Despite his cold resolve, his gaze involuntarily traced her features. In the silver moonlight, amid the bruises and blood, she possessed a dangerous, magnetic pull. Her long, ink-black hair whipped wildly in the wind, tangling across her pale face, occasionally brushing against her trembling lips.

​She stood motionless, head bowed, waiting resignedly for the fatal bullet to pierce through her mind and end the nightmare. She looked half-dead already, her shallow, fragile breaths the only proof that life still clung to her battered body.

​Slowly, inexplicably, his finger loosened on the trigger, and he lowered the barrel of his gun.

​"Get lost. Disappear from here tonight," he growled, his voice deep and rough.

​He reached into his pocket for another cigarette, turning his back on her to walk away.

​"Shoot..."

​A breathless, fragile voice pierced the quiet night. He froze, slowly turning his head back to look at her.

​"I said, shoot me!" she screamed suddenly, her voice cracking with a raw, desperate agony. She lurched forward, closing the distance between them with a reckless defiance that stunned him.

​Her eyes burned with a strange, intoxicating fire—a deep, bottomless ocean of pain that pulled him in against his will. Trembling, she reached out, grabbed his hand, and pressed the cold metal barrel of the gun directly against the center of her forehead.

​"Pull the trigger, finish your job, and get it over with!" she sobbed, tears finally spilling over her bruised cheeks, catching the moonlight like diamonds.

​"Listen to me, woman," he snapped, fury flaring in his chest to mask the sudden, uncomfortable tightness gripping his heart. "Whoever hired me, I always finish what I start. But I am letting you walk away tonight. Consider it a miracle and run!"

​"I don't want your pity or your favors! I said, just shoot me!" she shrieked, her fists hammering weakly against his chest.

​Snap!

​The sharp, ringing sound of a slap echoed through the silent night air as frustration and a volatile chemistry boiled over between them.

​"What kind of monster do you take me for? I don't kill the already broken! If you are so eager to die, go find another way!"

​With a rough push, he shoved her back, stormed over to his car, and threw himself into the driver's seat. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, tires screeching as the car bolted forward at breakneck speed.

​In a split second of madness, she threw herself directly into the car's path. The vehicle struck her, sending her tumbling over the hood before she vanished toward the back.

​"What the hell?!" Cursing fiercely under his breath, he slammed the door open and rushed back.

​She lay motionless, face down on the cold asphalt, a pool of dark blood beginning to seep from her head.

​"Are you out of your absolute mind?" he muttered, his usual calm composure completely shattering as he gently lifted her.

​She was unconscious, her breathing dangerously faint. Without a second thought—ignoring every professional instinct he possessed—he tore a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it firmly against her bleeding forehead. He didn't even understand why his hands were shaking, or why a cold sweat broke out across his neck.

​Scooping her frail body into his arms, he rushed her to the car, flooring the accelerator once more. His mind was an absolute battlefield of confusion. Why hadn't he left her there to die? How was he supposed to hide her in his own flat if the people who ordered her hit found out? It was a dangerous, life-threatening dilemma.

​Driving like a madman through the sleeping, silent city, he finally screeched to a halt in front of a secluded residential building. The emptiness of the parking lot at half-past three in the morning was a welcome relief.

​Cradling her securely against his chest, he carried her up to his private flat, fumbling briefly with the keys before unlocking the door.

​Inside, the layout was modern yet stark: a spacious TV lounge leading to a long corridor, flanked by his bedroom on one side, a minimalist kitchen on the other, and a wide balcony overlooking the glittering skyline of the sleeping city.

​He rushed straight into his room, gently laying her down on the soft mattress before dashing to fetch his emergency medical kit.

​Kneeling beside the bed, his fingers brushed against her face as he carefully cleaned the dirt, bruises, and the bleeding wound on her head, applying antiseptic with surprising gentleness. For a fleeting second, his hands froze. Up close, the sheer magnitude of pain etched across her delicate face hit him like a physical blow. Who was she? Where did she come from, and what kind of monsters wanted her dead?

​He snapped his hands back, desperate to shake off the sudden emotional entanglement. Stray strands of her dark hair fell across her face, sticking to her lips in a way that irked his orderly nature. Impulsively, he reached out, gently tucking the silky locks behind her ear, his thumb brushing her soft cheek for a fraction of a second.

​Cursing himself softly, he stood up abruptly, abandoning the bedroom, and strode out into the dim lounge.

​He sank onto the sofa, struck a match, and lit a fresh cigarette. Leaning his head back against the cushions, he stared blankly up at the ceiling, lost in a labyrinth of dark thoughts as the hours ticked away into the deep night.

​With his light wheatish complexion, sharp jawline, stylishly trimmed beard, and a silver chain resting against his collarbone, he was the picture of effortless masculine charm—a dangerous man who had long ago lost his way in the dark, colorful vices of the underworld.

​Lost deep in the heavy haze of his own thoughts, exhaustion finally claimed him, and he drifted into a restless sleep right there, leaning back against the sofa as the first pale light of dawn began to bleed through the horizon.۔۔۔