Chapter 55: Breath Beneath the Earth

Chapter 55: Breath Beneath the Earth


The night was colder than it had any right to be.
Even with the roar of the convoy’s engines, Raaz could hear the pounding of his own heart. The phone call still rang in his mind—Kartik’s voice dripping with venom, laced with a smugness that made Raaz want to break his neck with his bare hands. His men had tracked the signal to a warehouse on the outskirts, two hours from Lonavala, and now every second felt like a blade pressing into his chest. He had imagined finding her a hundred times in the last few days, but tonight… tonight, it was life or death.

The headlights cut through the darkness as they reached the warehouse. Without hesitation, Raaz jumped out, his boots hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. He didn’t wait for the full perimeter sweep—he stormed forward, his men fanning out around him like a storm tide. Yash wasn’t here, still recovering from his injury, and for the first time, Raaz felt the absence of his shadow. But it didn’t matter. Tonight, there would be no mercy.

The steel doors groaned as his men forced them open. The inside was a dim sprawl of shadows and crates, the smell of oil and damp concrete hanging in the air. And then came the first rush—Kartik’s men, armed and desperate. Raaz moved like a man possessed, his fists a blur, the crack of bone echoing through the warehouse. Every hit landed with the thought of Aanya’s terrified face, every blow a promise that he would get her back.

One man lunged with a knife; Raaz twisted his arm until it snapped, the weapon clattering to the floor. Another swung a metal pipe; Raaz caught it mid-swing, yanking it free and driving the end into the man’s ribs until he collapsed, wheezing. His men fought with the same ferocity, the air filling with grunts, gunshots, and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground.

And then, in the clearing of the fight, Raaz saw him.
Kartik stood near the far wall, flanked by only two men now, his posture loose, his lips curved into that infuriating smirk. He didn’t look like someone cornered. He looked like someone who still had the upper hand.

Raaz stalked forward, his boots echoing with each step. “Where is she?” His voice was low, deadly, a growl that made even his own men glance up.

Kartik tilted his head, feigning thought. “She?” he said with mock innocence. “Oh, Raaz… you mean your precious little wife?”

The muscles in Raaz’s jaw tightened. “If you’ve touched her—”

“If I’ve touched her?” Kartik chuckled, the sound sharp and cruel. “I did more than that. I broke her. And now…” He took a step forward, leaning just enough so his words cut straight to Raaz’s bones. “Now you’re too late. She’s gone.”

Raaz’s vision narrowed, blood roaring in his ears. “Liar.”

“Believe what you want,” Kartik said, shrugging. “Even if you kill me now, it won’t change the fact that she’s buried. Somewhere out there, screaming under the earth where no one can hear her.”

The world tilted. Raaz’s fingers flexed, aching to wrap around Kartik’s throat, but some small, cold part of him held on—he needed to know where.

But before Raaz could speak, far from the warehouse, Aanya was living the nightmare Kartik had painted.

—

They had dragged her from the small, dingy room where she’d been kept. Her wrists and ankles burned from the ropes, her voice hoarse from crying and begging. The night air slapped her face, carrying with it the scent of damp soil and petrol. She could hear the crunch of gravel under boots, the low murmurs of Kartik’s men, and the rhythmic scrape of shovels biting into earth.

She tried to dig her heels in, to twist away, but a rough hand shoved her forward, nearly knocking her off her feet. “Move,” one of them snarled.

“Please,” she whispered, the word trembling on her lips. “Please… don’t do this.”

No one answered. The pit grew larger with each shovelful, the earth rising in a dark, damp mound. The sight of it sent ice into her veins. This wasn’t just a threat. This was a grave. Her grave.

One of them yanked her forward and shoved her to her knees at the edge of the pit. She could smell the raw earth, could see the worms wriggling in the dirt, could almost imagine it closing over her face.

She thought of Kabir—his shy smile, the way he clung to her when he was scared. She thought of Tara and Samay, their determination to save her, the way they’d risked everything. And then, against her will, she thought of Raaz. His fierce eyes, the way his arms felt around her when she was terrified, the rare moments when his voice softened and he called her “jaan.”

She didn’t want to die. Not like this.

“Get in,” one of them ordered.

Her breath came fast. “No, please, I—”

The slap came hard, cracking across her face and making her head spin. Pain bloomed hot on her cheek.

“Get in!”

Hands shoved her forward, and she stumbled into the pit, her knees hitting the damp soil. The smell was suffocating. She looked up at the ring of faces above her, shadows against the starless sky, and for the first time, she felt truly alone.

The first clod of dirt hit her shoulder, cold and wet. Another followed, this one scattering across her lap. Her throat tightened.

She screamed. She screamed until her voice broke, until the sound was nothing but a rasp, until the earth began to swallow her legs.

—

Back at the warehouse, Raaz’s grip tightened on Kartik’s collar, yanking him close. “Where. Is. She?” Each word was a knife’s edge.

Kartik only laughed, a hollow, chilling sound. “You’ll never find her in time.”

Raaz slammed him against the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact. “If she dies,” Raaz said, his voice low and trembling with rage, “I will burn the world until there’s nothing left of you, your men, your family—your name will vanish.”

Kartik’s smirk wavered for just a second, but it returned as quick as it had gone. “Then start burning.”

Raaz’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling, but there was no satisfaction in it. Only the gnawing, suffocating terror that Kartik might be telling the truth.

—

In the pit, the dirt was up to her waist now. Her arms were still bound, her struggles weaker. The cold had seeped into her bones, the air heavy with the scent of soil. Her mind drifted in and out of memories—Kabir’s laughter, Tara’s teasing, the feeling of Raaz’s coat wrapped around her on a cold night.

Her chest ached with each breath, fear constricting her ribs. Maybe it would be easier if she just… stopped fighting. Maybe she could pretend she was somewhere else.

Another shovelful hit her chest, knocking the air from her lungs. She coughed, dirt scraping the back of her throat.

Somewhere in the darkness above, one man muttered, “Hurry. He’ll be here soon.”

Her heart jolted. He. They meant Raaz.

She wanted to scream for him, to tell him where she was, but the earth kept falling, and her voice was gone.

The world grew smaller, darker, colder.

—

And somewhere, not far enough away, Raaz swore he would tear apart every inch of this city until he could breathe her name again.

Raaz’s POV

The night was a blur of headlights, engine roars, and the pounding of my pulse in my ears. Every second that passed without her felt like a piece of me was being ripped away. The warehouse stench of Kartik’s lies still lingered in my nose, his mocking voice taunting me—“She’s gone… buried.”

I refused to believe it. I couldn’t.

We had broken Kartik’s men in the warehouse, the survivors scattering like rats, but Kartik himself had slipped through my fingers. I knew he was out there watching me chase shadows, laughing in the dark. My men combed the streets, questioned anyone they could drag into an alley, but no one knew where she was. Or they were too scared to say.

I drove like a man possessed, Yash’s call ringing in my ear as he relayed fragments of intel between groans of pain. “A van… last seen heading north… dirt road, forest line…” The words barely left his mouth before I swerved off the main road, tyres biting into gravel.

The headlights caught the churn of fresh tyre tracks, deep in the mud. My gut clenched. She’d been here.

We tore through the woods, branches scratching the sides of the SUV, until the beams cut across something that made my blood run cold—a half-dug patch of earth, shovels scattered, the ground uneven, recently disturbed. My chest constricted, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

I was out of the car before it had fully stopped, my boots hitting the soft earth. The world went silent except for the rush of blood in my ears.

“Aanya!” I shouted, my voice shattering the night.

The soil was loose under my hands as I clawed at it, dirt wedging under my nails, coating my palms. My men dropped to their knees beside me, digging with frantic urgency, but my mind was a blur of images—her smile, her stubborn glares, the way her lips trembled when she was scared.

I was too slow. Every handful of dirt I threw over my shoulder felt heavier.

And then, as my hands hit fabric—cold, damp fabric—I froze. My fingers found her shoulder, limp under my grip. My heart lurched violently.

We dragged her up from the earth, the ropes still biting into her wrists, her face pale under the streaks of dirt. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted slightly, no breath visible in the cold air.

My knees hit the ground beside her. “No… no, no, no…” My voice broke. I cupped her face in my palms, my thumbs brushing the grit from her cheeks. “Aanya… jaan, open your eyes. Please.”

Nothing.

The world tilted, my chest collapsing inward. I pressed my forehead to hers, dirt falling from my hair, and I couldn’t stop the sound that tore from my throat. It wasn’t rage this time—it was grief. The kind that stripped a man bare.

I didn’t hear the footsteps at first. It wasn’t until a shadow fell over me that I looked up, my vision blurred.

A tall man stood there, broad-shouldered, in a dark coat that seemed to swallow the night around him. His blond hair glinted under the moonlight, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and accented.

“You are too slow, my friend,” he said, kneeling beside me.

For a moment, my mind couldn’t place him. Then it hit me—Mikhail Volkov. Russian mafia. An ally from years ago, when blood and business had brought us together in Moscow. We hadn’t spoken in two years.

He looked down at her with something unreadable in his pale eyes. “But lucky for you… I am not.”

Before I could ask, he pressed two fingers to her neck, his other hand moving to adjust her head. “She is unconscious, not dead. You hear me? Not dead.”

The words punched the air back into my lungs. “What—how—”

“I had my own men watching this bastard Kartik,” he said simply. “When they saw him send his dogs to dig her grave, they followed. I arrived minutes ago. They ran like cowards when they saw me.” He smirked faintly, then his tone hardened. “But she needs a hospital. Now.”

I swallowed hard, my hands still cradling her face. The relief was so sharp it almost hurt. She was alive. Alive.

“Mikhail—” My voice cracked, the weight of gratitude choking me.

He shook his head. “No thanks. You would have done the same for me.” His gaze flicked to the men behind me. “Get her in the car. Keep her warm. She’s weak, she’s cold, and she’s been without air too long.”

We moved as if the earth itself had caught fire. I slid my arms under her, lifting her against my chest. She was so light it made my stomach twist—she should never have to feel this weightlessness for the wrong reasons. Her head fell against my shoulder, her hair damp and tangled, her cheek cold against my collarbone.

Her lips were chapped, the edges blue, slap mark on her soft cheeks. I could feel the faintest brush of her breath against my neck, and it was enough to keep my heart from shattering completely.

I walked toward the car like I was carrying the most precious thing in existence—because I was.

In the SUV, I refused to let go. Mikhail climbed into the front, barking directions to my driver in Russian, and we sped toward the city lights in the distance. The engine’s hum was the only sound for a while, broken only by the occasional sharp inhale when I thought I might lose her again.

I pressed my lips to her temple, whispering against her cold skin. “You’re safe now, jaan. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Mikhail glanced at me over his shoulder. “She will be fine. But Kartik…” His lips curved into something deadly. “Kartik will not.”

I met his gaze, the rage in me re-igniting. “He won’t see another sunrise.”

But for now, there was only her.

By the time we reached the hospital, my knuckles were white from holding her. The emergency staff rushed forward as soon as they saw us, prying her gently from my arms, their voices clipped and urgent. I followed them inside, ignoring the nurses telling me to wait.

They worked quickly, checking her vitals, cutting away the damp ropes from her wrists and ankles. I stood at the foot of the bed, my eyes locked on her face. Even unconscious, she looked fragile in a way that ripped me open.

I didn’t care who else was in the room. I bent down, brushing my lips against her forehead. “You fight, Aanya,” I whispered. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this.”

Mikhail’s hand landed on my shoulder. “She’s strong. She will wake.” His voice was calm, certain.

I nodded, my throat tight. My world had been seconds from collapsing tonight. I wasn’t going to waste another moment letting her slip from my sight again.

Not while I still had breath in my lungs.