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Chapter 3: The prey strikes back.
The only thing we never get enough of is love; and the only thing we never give enough of is love. Henry Miller
Today I met Armaan Malik. It feels strange to pen my feelings down. This man, unlike any other I've ever known, left behind an impact. To say his eyes, those endless frosty blues arrested me and held me, had been another pair, would be a deceit. He is exceptional to my knowing of a man. I cannot describe what I felt, for it was indescribable, and a little forbidden. I would like to think that's what makes it exciting. Excitement, thrill, adventure... These are mysterious territories. The plain, old simple, girl that I am, I shall be terrorized, embarrassed, horrified at their mention, and yet it felt alien and so good; to thrive on the edge of thrill and adventure and more. This beautiful man is everything girls like me should never think of. I shall remember that. And to speak of it, his manners, or lack thereof has left me gasping for air. His audacious, bold behavior, or shall I say atrocious and incorrigible one, has shaken me more. To say, I am four-and-twenty, and today was the first ever time I'd been kissed, would be an old spinster's tale. But I was, and it was devastatingly, horrendously, unacceptably, forbiddingly, a guilty pleasure of mine, and I, would not, could not, and absolutely shall not think of it. I despise this man. Don't I?
-Shilpa Malhotra, the day she met Armaan Malik...
.
.
Karan Malik measured the odds.
"I am not an easy man to please." He finally decided to speak. His voice was that of a man, a man in all his glory. The deep, guttural sound erupted from his chest and seared through the room, like that of a bullet's in silence. It was like every other part of his anatomy; it was threateningly intimidating.
His eyes glimmered like a tiger's as it leaped at the deer, finally victorious, filled with ecstasy and his thick, black brows that nestled above, rose in wicked arcs. He relaxed, looming over his prey, enjoying his nervousness.
"I have a wife. I have children. Please give me time. I would do anything, anything. Please," he sounded like a man, sitting at the other end of a bullet and begging for mercy. As he fell down on his knees and clutched Malik's coat's edges, Karan saw before him a man who had lost the prissy arrogance of his face, and the sheer confidence he carried with him. His eyes were life-less, luster-less balls of melancholy. Dents nestled beneath the under-curves of his eyes and his lips thinned as if he were trying to cut short his wails of helplessness.
He craned his squat neck and smothered a cry with his dusty-brown sleeve. His callow mannerism almost had Karan's manager fleeing from the room, sure enough of what to come. Karan clasped his hand; it seemed to shrink, in his callous, strong grip, like that of a bird's claw. Karan jerked the hand off, pulling the man up as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of peas.
"I feel at the ends of mercy. Not a pleasant mood to send me in. Give me a good reason and I will let you go. That is of course apart from your family's melodrama. This world has almost too many unwanted, unneeded families, orphans, nobody would care if yours adds to it; especially not me."
Karan let the man go, who stumbled on his feet. He brushed off his coat and craned his head back to stare at the man, who cowered beneath his gaze; hot and penetrating, it left you unsettled, intimidated...speechless.
"I-I will do anything you say. Anything..."
Karan remained as silent as a corpse. Nothing unnerved one's opponent more than silence. It feeds upon their insecurities; it denies them the relief they're searching for. It unsettles them and leaves them fretting, sweating.
"Please. I beg of you. I will do everything you want. I'll double your profits; I'll return all the money with triple interests. Please I beg you." the man cried.
Karan didn't utter a word. Not a muscle moved.
"I will rub your floors clean; I'll wash the ground you walk on. Anything-Anything... Jesus Please!" he was broken. It was time to lurch forward and collect the booty of war; of victory.
Karan lowered. All six inches of muscle and strength flexed in a magnificent artwork brought to life, that of a composed, perfect deity. His roughish mouth arched in the slightest hint of an arrogant smirk. His black balls of eyes, like thick painted coals on fire, burned with the barest of hints of a glimmer and his cleft chin lifted up in a nod.
An autocratic brow rose, his face filling with wicked, wicked intent. Karan lolled back against the mahogany desk.
"I might," he trailed off, planting seeds of furious anxiety in the man, who stared at Karan, like he was his God right now. It amused him to no ends as he watched the man kneeled before him, mouth slackened, a quivering jellyfish torn asunder in terror, "might let you continue with your disgusting life, if you do something for me."
"I'll do anything! Anything," the man did not hesitate. There was no question if he would.
"I want you to kill someone," Karan's words bristled off casually, like one would say, I want you to close the window, or make me an omelet. They held no hesitation; there was not a trace of importance in them.
The man, forty-five years of age, all frigid and disheveled, froze. He hesitated, and Karan Malik, did not, ever, entertain hesitations. He refused to accept them.
"Get rid of him Parker," he tossed nonchalantly making a move to turn around when the man barked with urgency, "No! I will, I will. I will do anything you say."
Karan didn't turn his head back, he focused his gaze on the man from the corner of his eye, pouring himself bourbon and plunging it down his throat. He relaxed as silence stretched, the air hung heavy like scent of rotten flesh, and Karan took his time, taking his prey apart, piece by piece.
"Dr. Drake Sean," Karan lifted his portfolio, shuffling through it non-interested, "A cardiologist, such as the likes of you, would know," he moved forward very carefully now, each word weighing denser than the air, slow, threatening string of letters, "how just a slight shiver, hesitation, fiber of doubt can ruin a whole operation. If your fingers shake, just a little, I'd like you to know there will be consequences and you won't be alive to know them." Karan trailed off, now his attention solely on Drake.
"Of course. Of course. I wouldn't hesitate. Please give me a chance."
Karan stood up, flexing his broad arms and turning his back at the man. He shot a look to his manager who trotted forwarded on his feet, hurrying, and offered Karan his keys.
Drake stood poised in great discomfort and uncertainty, gawking at the man's back. This man was, if nothing, intimidating, scary, and not to be trifled with.
"Strip him off, of his humanity. I want a skilled assassin in next week. If he cannot be that, he has no reason to be at all," Karan shot off, fixing his coat, and ordering his manager without turning to look at the man.
He marched to the door then halted. He turned his finely sculpted face and looked at the man one last time, choosing his words carefully, and speaking with a wicked knowledge of the human brain, "I've not build my empire, showering mercies to people. You'd know better than to trick me," and left.
...
To think of it, twenty-six years of her life had withered in the race of propriety. She had never been enough, never been good enough. She thought of all those days when she'd smiled, when she'd heaved with breathless laughter, glowed with joys, jumped with uncontained happiness, roared with triumph, thought, thought that life had been beautiful; of all those, mortifying, cold curves of smiles in her life that had been hollow dents. Every passive second of her existence was nothing but a cheap caricature, one that laughed at her as she smiled, one that chided her when she beamed, and one that spat at her when she called her life bliss.
They had been running her through a wringer, then hanging her on a cliff hanger with a cracked, loose hoop and cheering her all the way. Faces lit with pride and joy, mouths screaming praises endlessly as she finally gave into the illusion of a temptation, gave into them, and high on ecstasy plunged into the hole they'd dug for her. And when she'd been high on her victory, drunk on her invincibility, she'd been half way through the hanger, reaching for the other end with eager arms, those faces peeled off their facades, embracing their truthful selves, and watched with elevating pleasure, as the hook loosened, her illusions cracked through, and she fell, from the peak to nowhere, to inexistence.
It had been four hours she'd last seen Armaan's mother. She sat in the cold room, like a shrinking corpse in a coffin. She had been addled, to think she once had a life, a brain, seemed a far-fetched possibility.
It took her seven more to compose herself. Seven hours of hell and back, of fury and frustration, rage and rebellion, truth and terror, defeat and deadness, astonishment and acceptance. It took her seven hours to go through all the endless moments that together formed her, very, life. She searched madly through every second of it, dug in deeper, scratched until dainty paper was left, screamed and questioned every possible relationship she had.
And came forth her.
An answer.
People fooled her because she was easy to fool. She was a girl, trapped in fairytales, and happy endings. She'd dreamt of white knights, shining armors, beautiful smiles and kisses all her life before settling for Sid. She had lived in a world of fairies, and sweets, where, absolutely, no cruelty occurred. She'd been shielded from the outer world, oblivious to its realities, the horrors. She'd been too weak, too weak to even be an opponent in the first place, to stand a chance in the very first one.
Who could she blame? All she'd ever done is shed tears, bellow, been a burden all her life, depended on others.
Had she been strong, she would've bolted across the room, and killed the woman who'd confessed murdering her parents. She would've attacked her, ripped her flesh apart. She couldn't do it, and the worst part was Naina knew she couldn't do it, and she'd sat there relaxed, not even in the slightest scared of anything.
Armaan...
She rolled the name off her tongue for hours, just whispering it again and again. She endeavored to come to terms with what happened. She'd felt his love, it had been there laid out, spread all around her. She'd seen the truth in his eyes. How could someone be such a perfect actor? She remembered all those selfless moments when he could've used her but didn't. She reminisced the night, that darkness filled with pouring, over-flowing showers of rain when he'd been so unsettled, he'd come unbounded. She'd run like a madman searching for him, and then she'd passed out in his arms. And he'd put her back together. He'd been sick with worry, he'd been overcome with terror, and he'd stopped short of having sex with her later too.
Why would Armaan Malik, the son this woman described, the cold charmer, the man with a plan do that? Why would he not take, with ruthless efficiency what he needed, when he needed, when he had, had the opportunity?
Did Armaan ever love her? Was any minute of that perfect plan slippery or real?
Shilpa wiped her clammy hands with her dress, and steeled her spine. If it was about survival, she was ready for one hell of a fight.
She looked around the room, knowing well, and have had checked the locked doors. She stretched out of the window, looking for possible escape, but they were at the third floor, and the height was more than enough for suicide itself to sigh with terror.
Shilpa paced the room agitated then stormed back to the window. There, abso-fu-cking-lutely, had to be a way, for her to get out. She scrutinized her surroundings. Beyond the windows, and beneath the pale blue sky, were stretched, peristyle gardens, a fountain, seated amidst the thick bushes of moss green. Guards were situated around all perimeters, two, at every turn. Cameras, the ones she could see, monitored, like a monotonous hawk on guard. The unseen, well she didn't know where they were, but definitely, they were monitoring her. To escape this place was fighting against an army, unarmed; to shorten, impossible.
She looked around desperately, needed something to arm her, to help her. Her hands were clammy, and her forehead prickled with thick bordering sweats. If she didn't make this escape, she'd regret it. She thought of all those amazing, reality jail shows she'd watched as an avid viewer. At times she'd been fascinated, how criminals had eyes, sharper than owls, on look for every little detail, thriving on the edge of adventure and discovery, forming plans, which were impossible for one to even conjure. At times she thought they were pure, utter geniuses, and should've been better use to the country, if they were not so bent upon wrong.
However, now in this moment, she knew, it was not just sharp sense; it was raw and naked desperation. It fueled them, and drove them forward like an impetus. They were drunk upon it, ready to do anything and everything, for the ray of sunlight.
She knew, and right now, so was she. She was willing to take her chances. She was willing to do, absolutely, anything.
Shilpa's averted gaze landed on the canopy bed's blue curtains. Thin pieces of fabric, that formed a transparent sheen of blue veil round the bed. They were glorious, just right now she was not in the mood for appreciation. She pulled off the drapes, running her thumb through the fine material and judging its strength. It was fragile, one that would easily be torn apart, if applied added pressure. But she was desperate, and as she had agreed before, more than addled.
She pulled them out, tying rough, hard knots on the ends as they formed one long layer of knotted net. She, next, jerked the bed sheet and pillow covers off, tying them in unified knots, joining them all, one after another, to the end of the loop.
She cursed then, releasing her frustration and ending it with a sigh as she reached for the mattress and pulled it up. There was no guarantee, her plan was full of loose loops, but she was past caring.
Shilpa searched the drawers madly, but unsurprisingly, they bore nothing. No weapons for Shilpa to use.
She placed her ear against the door for any sign of movements, but it was as if, the woman had declared her dead. Eleven hours, of nothingness.
She fidgeted; waiting for a beat then made a dash towards the T.V., getting hold of the remote and pulled out the 9 volt batteries. These had to do. Shilpa roamed her eyes all over the room, pulling the batteries of another gadget and then pulled out steel bands curled around the room lamps. Her fingers cut, and bruised as she sharpened the wires with the edge of the bed, then curled them, twisting them into a bird's nest. She joined them all at the base, pulling the batteries and then rubbed.
It took her ages, it was almost not happening. She cursed then, throwing punches against the bed's wood stand and trying again and again, after which, finally, the sparks caught friction, and together they created a fire and Shilpa lit the bed afire.
She threw all woody furniture around in the fire, waiting for it to embrace the room in roaring flames.
She smiled in triumph, when fire alarms went off in a wild frenzy, and she peaked through the window then screaming at all the guards to help her, or she'd jump. She wasn't sure if the plan would work. She'd made a good handiwork of taping up the possible sprinklers in the room. And for now, the water wasn't enough to extinguish the escalating blue and gold roars.
Shilpa, wished with everything she had, for all the men to come. She screamed, bellowed, acting as if in grips of an intense hysteria, and luckily for her, men dashed around the garden, dodging and scurrying through the house. She could hear, shrills and whispers outside the room. Servants must have known by now. Shilpa hadn't much of a chance.
She folded the mattress with all her might, and pushed it through the window. She had formed all physical angles with which it could land below. She'd measured the effect of air on its falling, but with one long prayer, she stuffed heavy metal decoration pieces, in it. She tied one end of the long looped and knotted train of material, to the zip of the mattress. Her plan could backfire, and she knew it, had carefully thought and measured her chances. She stuffed one end inside the mattress, pulling the zip and then, with one heavy push, she sent it rolling down and it landed three feet away from beneath her, in a diagonal spread. The other end, tied to the window pane stretched and Shilpa tested the knots, tightening them once again. She wrapped her coat over her head, trying to protect it from any worse injury. Placed one head right against her head, the other on the rope and sighed. This was it. If she did it, she'd have time, and if she didn't, she'd have peace.
She whispered incoherent words of prayer and benediction, before slipping down the looped hinge, wrapping her legs around it, and finding a fast, rough rhythm slipping all the way down. Just when she was but two feet above the ground, the zip came off, pulling the mattress with it, and Shilpa clung to the upper end of the loop, making a jump for it, and she landed, right at the mattress's edge.
She threw out her breath in a whoosh. Her limbs ached now, and she took a second to compile herself. Her back had taken a cleft jolt, and she felt it hit her hard. She winced. Her ears were ringing with the splitting sound of her own heartbeat. Surprisingly, when she parted her lips, a giggle broke through, and then another, breathless shots of laughter spurted out.
She quickly gathered her limbs and jumped to her feet, looking around madly, her whole system pumping with thick, intense course of adrenaline.
Shilpa sprinted to the doors, but then shook her head, running the other side and coming to a wall. She knew the doors had guards. If she in anyway even made it outside, they'd be hot on her trail. There was no way she could make it far. She recounted her possibilities. She had to strategize again.
"Okay, Okay I can do it." she heaved with burning lungs and lunged for the other end. She waited a beat before pulling inside the security guard's cubicle. Luckily it was empty. She found one of the guard's clothes. They were baggy breeches and a cotton jacket of grey color. She didn't have many choices there. She pulled off her clothes, binding her breasts in a hard-spun bandage and pulled on the jacket.
She felt like a haggard captive, her senses on hypersensitive mode. Never had she imagine, such a day would come. She was not so sure, her life was same anymore.
She coiled her hair in a chignon, pulling them in a cap and hared off the cubicle. Contrary to her heart rate, her steps crawled across the rocky terrain. She had no idea how much time she had before the guards were back, hot on her tail. She had to make use of whatever time she was provided. She steeled herself, and then knew it was this moment. She walked to the front gate like a confident, brawny man. She was high-strung, a bundle of nerves but she kept her face down and calm, and passed them praying like one religious, nun. And then she did the impossible. She walked past those gates and hawks, with her sanity and body intact. She walked past!
The guards had seemed nonchalant, staring at her window and the commotion rather. Shilpa kept walking and when she was finally a long way from the door, she ran. She sprung across the roads of Germany like a raving lunatic; spent, heaving, and panting. She didn't stop. It was as if her own life was pursuing her with a focused intent. She didn't stop, until she'd dashed through streets, dodged a lot of them, changed ten hundred and twenty courses and landed near an isolated river.
She knew to be in an isolated area was her worst decision. At that moment she couldn't help making it anyway. She was edging on maddening paranoia. To be or not to be, like Shakespeare had said once. She knew traffic afforded her chances of a fight and discreetness, chances of escape, but they also expanded her chances of being noticed and caught. And in all truth, she knew not, where she was right now. In front of her a river loomed, sprawled across the ground in its sheer beauty, illuminated by the shimmering midnight moon with all its silver lining.
There was no sign of men, anywhere near. She assumed it was hunting or picnic spot, or much like one where you came for a jog at the morning or a romantic stroll at nights. Nonetheless, it wasn't a permanent one.
The cold hung in the air digging its frosty, snowy heels and Shilpa shuddered with the chill creeping through her body. It was getting colder and the winds hit her in the face. She wrapped her fingers around her arms, and fell down on the ice-cold land with chattering teeth.
Shilpa hadn't brought her cellphone with her. She knew she could've been tracked. She'd just thrown her purse inside the pocket, needing money, though right now she couldn't much use it. She closed her eyes, then they fluttered open, roaming across the barren land, the wafting smell of sea and mud hit her and she felt content.
In that moment,
For that moment,
She felt at peace.
Acres of woods stretched across, adjacent to the short lake. The whispers of squirrels, bees, owls, and bats reverberated through the air and she smiled, letting a lone tear find its way down.
What would she do with her life now?
How long before she's caught in this web again?
She wanted to go to the police, but knew, predicted, there would be Naina's men watching out for her, but then what would have she told the officers? A mundane story? A proof-less spin? She had, absolutely no evidences to strengthen her cause.
Shilpa allowed herself a mirthless, sharp bout of laughter. At least the bitch Naina hadn't expected this. She let herself imagine her beauty of a face, transforming into the beast she was; her lids lifting in arrogant astonishment, her lips thinning in acute displeasure. She could feel the fury resonating off her in waves. Oh how Shilpa would've loved to see it. Today, indeed was a day of surprises, she realized. For, it was her own self she'd surprised the most.
She curled up in a frozen ball, and dropped her eyes into pits of oblivion. She needed a moment's rest, just...one...
...
Karan parked his Aston Martin convertible, and reached the house in long strides. His mother had given him six calls. Though he had, had no intention of picking, he knew something serious had had to happen. Was it about Shilpa Malhotra? He found himself following the long staircase to his mother's room.
She was perched at the edge of her bed, her face like a tight-fist. Crimson with fury, she looked up at him, and the ball of black unfurled. She lurched towards him, throwing her hands up in the air, and screamed with gritted teeth, "I can't believe that, that FOOLISH GIRL ESCAPED!"
Karan stared at the spectacle that was his mother with one, uninterested raised brow.
"Who? One of your maids?"
"This," she pointed her finger at Karan and snarled, "is not funny! Shilpa Malhotra! That, that rat's daughter, that gutless, spineless piece of dirt. She escaped. She ran away. Of all the-How could have she done it?"
Astonishment shot through him, quickly resolving into a blank faade. He remained expressionless, but he took a moment to study his mother. Shilpa Malhotra? The weakling babe his brother had been about to marry, and his mother had plotted against, had escaped? For all he knew about the woman, he knew she was a puddle of dreams and over-sweetened happy-ever-afters. He'd not taken her for someone to have, well, escaped.
"Well if you wouldn't have done such a terrible job of keeping her in, I cannot imagine, she would've been able to escape," he retorted with a raised brow.
"Oh what do you think?" Naina was offended, outraged, "Escaping was impossible! Her room was locked! There were guards every f**king where! I do not understand. How a spineless lass like her got the courage to pull that stunt off? I just simply, do...not...understand!" she barked.
Karan watched his mother pace around the room like a wounded lioness. His to be bride had escaped? Truthfully, where, absolutely, nothing ever surprised Karan Malik, the two words, Shilpa-escaped', had done their damage. He was, in fact, astounded. The submissive jellyfish found a back-bone?
"I think I am missing the details here mother. What did she do? Fly over the guards like superman's other, undiscovered better half? Fill me in by all means."
"Oh how would I know?" she settled back on the bed with a thud, groaning in frustration and pulling her hair out, "That bitch! How dare she? I'd locked her in. There was absolutely no route out. There was no weapon in the room. There were no lighters or matches. She somehow put the room to fire! She got the attention of all the guards as if she was begging for her life. When they got to her room, the fire-fighters were there, she was gone. The room was on fire. It took us a moment to realize she was gone. She'd covered the only working water sprinklers in the room with coiled tape. She'd used the bed's mattress and the canopy curtains and sheets to get down. Nobody saw her go! But can you believe it? The guards had let her pass! One's clothes were missing and hers were on the floor in a heap. That-that f**king-
Karan didn't follow the rest of the story, walking out of the room, impressed. He allowed himself a small smile. The cat for slaughter was wild after all. He'd not let himself think much about Shilpa Malhotra. He hadn't had much time to. He had known she was Armaan's plaything, or so it was said. Armaan Malik, his brother, one he didn't give a fig about. His mother had often blabbered about the girl though, spitting her name like a bitter piece of salmon. And then he'd looked into her. Armaan had, had been furious and devastated. And then Karan had known, she was a weak spot for Armaan Malik, and he loathed his brother, enough, and more, to do everything to push his buttons, shred him into pieces. And the link was Shilpa.
Armaan had of course not told Shilpa the truth about Maya, and there had been nothing better than unnerving him. Shilpa Malhotra, had become the chink in his armor, and she had, unknowingly, become the steel in his. He'd been fascinated with who she was, as fascinated as Satan was with its playthings. It had been a passive interest. The girl had seemed a dull mockery to his thrilling life. Foolish, foolish women. They all were, he thought.
He hadn't been much looking forward to meet her. He'd been looking forward to marry her and get her in his bed, get the deed done, and then destroy her. His reasons for marrying her were deviously ulterior, and selfish. His mother knew nothing about them. He had no problem with her thinking herself the fox, when he though she was nothing but a befuddled lamb.
It had always been about Armaan and him. Nineteen years ago he'd walked away, with nothing but the desire for revenge.
And revenge would be his.
As soon as she would be his.
Her relationship with Armaan, added fuel to the furious fire kindled.
But she'd stepped ahead, and done something, he wouldn't have imagined. She'd managed to escape. And with sadistic fascination he conjured, he'd have akin pleasure in getting her back.
At his nod, a guard gave him Shilpa's discarded clothes. He stared at them for a stretched moment. A button hanging loses from its hold, slid in his palm and he held it, watching the plum colored circle with avid interest and intent.
He remembered the last night. After months of vigilance, he'd finally seen her. He'd finally held her in his arms. She'd clutched him like her life had depended on him, and she'd looked up at him with green balls full of hope and love. Just before they'd gone forward and slipped back into black, just before her lips had uttered, Armaan'...
He'd definitely enjoy stripping Armaan from Shilpa.
He pocketed the button, pushing the clothes back in the hands of one maid, and headed out.
He was going to find his bride-to-be.
I don't know the precap.
🤔
I'd like to think they'll meet and smooch, or not. Or maybe not.
🤔
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣Originally posted by: xoxpunkxox
hahahaha you know what i loved fifty shades of grey =P and soo i am a huge fan of spartacus =D hahahahah do i need to say anything else ?🤣
smooch? .. save it for karan and shilpa i have some better plans for us =D *wicked smile*
Is there anyone interested in reading ArSh(Armaan-Shipa) ff, it's such a old show that I'm not sure if there any fans left in this forum.
Pyaar Kii Ye Ek Kahaani
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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