𝔇𝔞𝔴𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔇𝔲𝔰𝔨 (The Legacy Duet - 2)

Damnum

𝕿his was how I was going to die.

Ghazanfar swore and, with an alcohol-induced rage, swung his hand back and I knew exactly where it was headed. Except at that moment, the door to the room swung open. The chills that ran up my spine announced him long before his face came into view. My body froze. My lungs refused to breathe. Every sense was alert. I hadn't heard him. I hadn't heard the door drift open.

But I knew he was there.

Faster than I could process it, Taimoor grabbed Ghazanfer's wrist and swung him back up against the desk, away from me, his other hand locking around his throat. I'd never know if he planned on saying more because Taimoor gripped his shoulder and spun him toward him, slamming his fist directly into his jaw and sending him flying backward onto the wall away from me.

The rage that had been on Ghazanfar's face melted into fear like he was facing a real lion about to tear him limb from limb. Taimoor was standing over him, with the deadliest snarl on his face like he was about to tear Ghazanfar apart.

"I'm going to say this once," he paused and let out the softest yet deadliest laugh I'd ever heard—like the kind of laugh they give to the quiet psychopath murderers in horror films. "If I find you anywhere near her, I will break you; I will break you into so many pieces that it would be a sheer impossibility to find them all to put you back together to identify you again."

"Hey man, this isn't your problem. She's-" he squinted, pushing himself up as Taimoor advanced on him. Ghazanfar's eyes bulged when they opened and saw him—the man who'd hit him. "Monster—" bending down, Taimoor's hand cinched tight into the collar of Ghazanfar's shirt, cinching off blood and air to his disgustingly small brain.

"Don't fucking speak," Taimoor demanded, hauling Ghazanfar to his feet and forcing him back toward the elevator. "Don't even look at her."

Fear evaporated the color from his face. When his grip tightened around his throat, Ghazanfar started to turn a sickly purple.

"I didn't mean it," he wheezed through Taimoor's grip.

"Liar," Taimoor drawled. "One more thing," faster than I could see, faster than Ghazanfar could react, Taimoor hit him on the cheek, leaving a mark at the exact place Ghazanfar had left on my cheek. "A small reminder so you don't get any ideas."

"W-What kind of monster are you?" Ghazanfar demanded, his gaze indicating that he meant both in action and appearance. I gasped and Taimoor's grip tightened, and Ghazanfar began to jerk against him, his body desperate for air that Taimoor was rapidly rationing, his face going hard and drawing attention to the ropes of scars beside it.

Maybe I was the monster here—for not caring about what happened to Ghazanfar. But I wasn't monster enough to not care about his widowed mother. A woman who loved this boy with all of her heart. A woman who'd dedicated her entire life to him.