Page 2 of Addiction

Gotta go, my fight is about to begin.

You know how to stop it ;)

Bloody fucking bastard, she yelled aloud. She told her bodyguard to hurry. He pressed the accelerator, and yet it took her a good fifteen minutes to reach the sports club.

She opened the door of her car and tumbled out even before it had fully halted and ran inside. She froze as she took in the scene inside the fighting ring. Her brother already looked bruised and battered.

Armaan punched Rajiv on the nose, and blood rushed down his face. Oh God. He lifted his arm to strike her brother again and she yelled aloud, “Stop!”

Armaan’s hand froze mid-air. He turned to look at her. His eyes focused beyond her on her bodyguard, and a sinister look crossed his face. She noticed the cut on his lip and the bruise oozing blood on the right side of his forehead. His chest was a crisscross of purplish wounds. But what made her breath hitch was the sheer perfection of his body. His broad shoulders, that muscular chest and those ripped abs that looked rock-hard. Fuck. The devil was too bloody good looking.

Armaan gave her a smile—that devastating smile that caused all her thoughts to scatter. She collected herself quickly. As a rule, she stayed away from men who were too handsome for their own good. She knew firsthand that the more handsome the man, the greater the evil that resided within him. She and her younger sister, Reina, had been victims of such a man once. And Armaan Oshnov exactly fell into that category—one she ought to stay the fuck away from.

She glared at him.

His smile widened.

Seeing her attention on him, he started raining blows on Rajiv, suddenly thirsty for violence. When Rajiv staggered back against his blows, Armaan arched his brow. Yes or no, he mouthed.

Without waiting for her reply, he lunged at Rajiv. She watched, transfixed, as her brother managed to evade several of Armaan’s blows and landed many of his own on him. God, her brother actually knew how to fight. They both were equally matched in size and strength, and neither looked willing to back off.

When one of Armaan’s kicks hit Rajiv in the chest, Sheena screamed from beside her. Navya went to her, squeezing her arm. She noticed that both of Armaan’s brothers, Mihir and Vedant, had come to support him.

Armaan managed to land several hits on Rajiv, and Navya’s heart tripped. From her side, Sheena quietly wiped a tear. Fuck this. It was enough and had gone on for too long. She was the only one who could end this. And even though she’d hate herself for this, she had to do it. There was no other option.

When Armaan faced her next, she looked at him straight in his eyes, and gave him a nod. A corner of his lips tipped in acknowledgement.

In the next moment, she saw him backing off. His punches became slower and less harsh. His kicks became lighter. He allowed Rajiv to get in several hits on him before he punched Rajiv, but with less ferocity than earlier. Still, neither of them was completely backing off.

“I cannot bear this anymore,” Sheena said. “If neither of them is backing down, then we have to make them.”

She and Sheena spoke quietly, quickly discussing their options, when suddenly, both their eyes fell on something in thedistance. They looked at one another, and the same idea clicked in their brain. Sheena urged her to hurry. Navya left her for barely a few moments before she returned and handed Sheena one of the pipes. They shared a look and then turned on the water from the fire extinguisher hoses at the same time. A strong gush of water fell on the men in the ring, shocking them apart. They both fell on their backsides as water continued to rain on them.

The look Armaan levelled on her was of pure disbelief. She continued to drench him with water until he raised his hands, conceding defeat.

She turned the hose off, not looking away from him.

His lips quirked, and his eyes shone with appreciation and… and desire, before he started laughing. God help her! She was in so much trouble. Her heart sped. Her hands shook. Reality hit her in the chest.

She had just agreed to a deal with the devil incarnate, and she had no clue how the hell she was going to get out of it.

Fuck. Her. Life.

1

Four years later

London

Armaan Oshnov entered the basement of his mansion in London, walking toward the dim light in the center of the vast space. The sound of flesh being pounded, tortured groans, and heavy breathing reached his ears. The smell of blood and sweat was thick in the air around him. Two of his most trusted men, Arlo and Vasily, were roughing up a man bound and tied to a chair. Armaan’s knuckles twitched as he looked at the man—a phantom reaction to past pain, a sharp reminder of the numerous physical fights Armaan had gotten into with this very same man in their younger years.

The man’s eyes landed on Armaan and widened in recognition.

Armaan stepped forward. “Hello, Dorab. I’ve been looking for you.”

“A…Armaan, it’s you.” And then Dorab spat on the floor, looking defiant as ever.

Armaan sighed. Even bloodied and bruised, his former orphanage mate had the same chip on his shoulder that he’d carried for as long as Armaan had known him—a sign of a bully through and through. He even looked the part. Dorab had grown to be bulkier, meaner, and uglier. His skin looked hard and blemished, various scars crisscrossed his body, and his eyes held that same revulsion he’d always felt for Armaan during those years they had lived together. Time definitely hadn’t been kind to the man. Dorab had always been a snake, but he was also the only one who could give Armaan the answers he sought. Patience and violence were the only ways to deal with assholes like him. So, Armaan waited. He stood still, allowing Dorab to take his time to assess him.

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