The tunnel spat them out into the open night, behind a row of abandoned shipping containers near the river. The cool air slapped against their smoke-choked lungs, and for a brief second, Meera allowed herself to believe they had survived.
But relief never lasted long around Raj Rathore.
He was already scanning the shadows, adjusting his cuffs, his pistol ready. The fire raging behind them painted the sky orange, sirens wailing faintly in the distance.
"Your men will be here soon," Raj murmured, not even winded. "Question is… will they save you, or deliver you?"
Meera's eyes narrowed. "You're paranoid."
"No." He turned his head, meeting her gaze in the dim light. "I'm alive."
Before she could retort, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She froze. Figures were emerging from between the containers—five, no, six men, dressed not in mercenary black but in plain clothes. Guns glinted under their jackets.
Meera's stomach sank. These weren't CBI reinforcements.
The lead man stepped forward, a cigarette glowing in his hand. His face was lean, scarred, with eyes that burned with arrogance. "Rathore," he drawled. "Didn't expect to find you gift-wrapped with a bureaucrat tonight."
Raj's smile was ice. "Khalid."
Meera stiffened. The name rang bells—Khalid Ansari, a fixer with ties to half the underworld of Delhi. Ruthless, unpredictable, always one step ahead of the law.
Raj muttered under his breath, "I told you. Out of the fire, into the trap."
Khalid's men fanned out, blocking every exit. The leader took another drag from his cigarette, then flicked it casually into the dirt. "See, I was hired to pick you up, Rathore. Alive, preferably. But dead will fetch me nearly as much. The bureaucrat, though…" His eyes lingered on Meera, sharp and hungry. "That's a bonus."
Meera raised her pistol, steady despite the pounding in her chest. "Try me."
Khalid laughed. "Fiesty. Shame you won't last."
Raj stepped slightly in front of her, subtle but deliberate. "Careful, Khalid. She's not the prize you can touch."
Meera bristled. "I don't need your protection."
"Good," Raj said coolly, "because you'll be too busy protecting me."
Before she could reply, Khalid snapped his fingers. His men raised their guns.
The night erupted.
Gunfire cracked, sparks flying off metal containers. Meera dropped behind cover, returning fire in sharp, precise bursts. Two of Khalid's men went down immediately, but the rest pushed forward, relentless.
Raj moved like liquid shadow, diving low, shooting with ruthless efficiency. He slid behind a container, then suddenly grabbed Meera by the wrist, yanking her down as a bullet tore through the space where her head had been.
"Keep your head down, officer," he hissed, eyes flashing. "You're not invincible."
"I told you," she snapped back, firing another shot, "don't touch me!"
Another volley of bullets peppered their cover. Khalid's laughter echoed over the chaos. "Look at you two! Fighting like lovers in the middle of a warzone. How poetic."
Raj's jaw tightened. He peeked out, took a shot, clipped one of Khalid's men in the shoulder. "We can't stay pinned. Too exposed."
"And your brilliant plan?" Meera spat, ducking as rounds ripped past.
Raj smirked despite the firestorm. "Distract them."
"Distract—?"
Before she could finish, he was already moving. Raj broke from cover, sprinting low, firing with brutal precision. His sudden assault drew every gun his way.
Meera's heart stuttered. Instinct screamed at her to stay down. But something sharper—something dangerous—forced her to rise, unleashing her own hail of bullets, covering his advance.
Together, they turned the trap into chaos.
Khalid cursed, retreating a step as two more of his men fell. "Kill them both!" he roared.
But just as Raj reached the edge of the containers, headlights flared. A convoy of black SUVs roared into view, engines growling. Doors slammed, and armed men poured out—more mercenaries, their weapons gleaming.
Meera's blood ran cold. They were surrounded. Again.
Raj paused, lips curling in something between amusement and fury. "Interesting," he murmured. "Khalid didn't come alone. Someone paid for a show."
Meera's hands tightened on her pistol. Sweat dripped down her spine. For once, she didn't even try to hide the question trembling on her lips.
"Raj… who the hell wants you this badly?"
He looked at her, firelight and headlights painting his face in harsh contrasts, eyes dark with secrets.
And for the first time, Raj Rathore's smile wasn't cold—it was lethal.
"You're asking the wrong question, Meera," he said softly. "The real question is—why do they want you?"