Chapter 39 Locked And Loaded
Closing her eyes, she thinks bitterly, I’m his wife but his heart belongs to someone else. To him, I’m just a responsibility not a choice.
Her hands clutch the frame tighter. Tears continue to fall. Is this my fate? she wonders. To be so close to Shorya, yet so far from his heart? I’m his wife only on paper never in his soul.
Her heart shatters a little more with each breath. She comes to accept what hurts the most for Shorya, there is only Sunaina. His heart holds no room for anyone else, not even for the woman he has married.
Neeti clutches the picture tighter to her chest, holding on to the love she can never speak of the love she alone carries, in silence.
The soft morning light filters into the room, casting a pale glow through the windows. My eyes flutter open slowly, and as my senses return, I realize I’m wrapped tightly in Samar’s arms. His face is only inches away handsome, calm, and utterly peaceful. For a few still moments, I just watch him, captivated by the serenity of his sleeping face.
His sharp features, the slight mess in his hair, the gentle rhythm of his breath brushing against my skin it all makes the moment feel like a dream I don’t want to wake from.
Then a knock sounds at the door. I try to move, but I’m locked tightly in his arms, held close against his chest. His grip is firm, as if he’s afraid to let me go. My heart races as I tap his cheek gently.
“Mr. Rajput, wake up someone’s knocking.”
Samar stirs, slowly opening his eyes. They’re still heavy with sleep but hold that intensity that never rests. I whisper again, “Someone’s at the door.”
Without a word, he kisses my forehead and gets out of bed, walking toward the door. When he opens it, one of his bodyguards stands there, breathless and covered in sweat.
“Sir… J.K. has launched an attack. He’s going to fire a missile on India within the next hour,” the guard stammers.
Samar’s eyes widen for a moment, then harden into calm focus. In a low, sharp voice, he says, “Get the jet ready. I’m coming. Alert the entire team.”
He strides past me, grabbing his coat, utility belt, and weapons. My heart pounds with fear.
I hurry after him. “What’s going on? Where are you going? Why are you taking those pistols?”
He doesn’t answer. He quickly freshens up, puts on his coat, dons his black sunglasses, and grabs four or five pistols.
I stand in his path, panic in my eyes. “Please, just tell me what’s happening! Why won’t you say anything?”
He looks at me, face emotionless, voice cold and composed. “Don’t leave the room.”
Without another word, he walks out. I run after him. “Mr. Rajput! Wait, please…”
But he locks the door from the outside. I pound on it with all my strength. “Open the door! How can you just leave me like this? Where are you going with guns?! Please tell me!”
He’s gone.
I watch him walk toward the jet, his team lined up in formation. The bodyguards salute as he passes. As he climbs into the jet, he turns one last time to glance at my window.
Then he boards, and the jet soars into the sky. I collapse to the floor, back against the locked door, tears streaming down my face, my heart breaking with fear, confusion, and helplessness.
Within minutes, I imagine him slicing through the icy winds, descending upon a desolate, snow covered region. The landscape is stark and cold, nothing but silence and frost blanketing the ground. Beneath that stillness lies a heavily guarded secret base, hidden from the world, where J.K. is preparing his most dangerous attack yet.
Inside the base, chaos reigns, yet it’s controlled chaos. Giant screens display missile launch timers, tactical maps, and weapon statuses. Dozens of armed men move quickly, obeying J.K.’s sharp commands.
“Missile launch in 5 minutes!” J.K. shouts, his voice cold and ruthless.
Then a thunderous sound shakes the earth. A deafening crash erupts as I watch through my mind’s eye Samar’s jet tear through the reinforced steel roof, landing right in the heart of the enemy base like a strike from the heavens.
Metal shatters. Dust and debris fill the air. Alarms blare. Everyone freezes.
J.K.’s face twists in horror. “What the hell?! How did he get here?! Samar Rajput? Kill him! Shoot him dead!”
Before anyone can react further, the jet’s hatch bursts open. Samar steps out, dressed in his signature black suit, sunglasses hiding the fire in his eyes. A pistol gleams in his hand, and behind him, his elite guards emerge, fully armed and silent, like shadows ready to strike. The air is thick with tension, the scent of war palpable.
His gaze locks on J.K. No fear, no hesitation. Only cold resolve.
“Kill him!” J.K. roars again.
Gunfire erupts. Bullets fly, automatic rifles, machine guns but Samar doesn’t flinch. He moves with purpose, dodging death as if it’s nothing. His guards return fire with perfect precision, dropping enemies left and right.
Clad in black, pistols in hand, Samar moves forward like a storm, firing without hesitation. Each shot finds its mark. Behind him, his secret force storms in, eyes blazing with one mission: take control, at any cost.
J.K.’s men fall one by one, unable to withstand Samar’s lethal precision. Smoke and chaos fill the air. Within moments, the entire base is under his command.
J.K., now desperate and bleeding, tries to hide in a corner, but I see Samar is already there. He grabs J.K. by the collar and throws him harshly into a chair. Blood trickles from J.K.’s hands and legs, yet defiance still lingers in his eyes. But Samar’s eyes they burn with fire the fire of retribution.
Samar steps forward and places his foot on J.K.’s lap, pinning him down with both power and disdain. In a cold, calm voice, he says, “Defuse the missile.”