Swindon, England — Kiaan sat alone in a shadowy corner of a dim café, fingers trembling slightly as he stared at his phone's screen. He was dialing again—this time, a number he wasn't sure would still be active. Reyaan Malhotra, the man who haunted his every waking moment, never stuck to one number for long. Yet Kiaan was desperate to reach him, to hear that voice one more time, to confront the darkness that had marked him forever.The call rang out in the silence, long and tense—before abruptly clicking off. Kiaan's heart pounded. No answer. But he couldn't stop. He tried again, dialing with cautious hope. The line flickered, and suddenly—a voice.
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In Sunderland, England — Arav's sharp eyes caught the faint ringing from a burner phone resting on the cluttered desk. Without hesitation, he grabbed the device and quickly informed Zayed.
"Got a call coming in on this burner. Probably from Malhotra's side," Arav said, his voice taut with urgency.Zayed's fingers danced across his phone, sending the alert straight to Reyaan Malhotra.
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Back in Swindon — The line connected.
"Reyaan…" Kiaan breathed, the familiar, dark power in that name making the air heavy around him. But the moment he heard Reyaan's voice, a cold shiver ran down his spine. Something primal and terrifying stirred deep within him—fear. A fear Kiaan had never known, not even when death stalked his every step."Missing me, agent?" Reyaan's voice was velvet and steel, mocking, yet dangerously calm. "Want to spread your legs for me again?"
Kiaan's jaw clenched, the insult striking deeper than any bullet ever could. But he refused to show weakness.
The silence stretched between them before Reyaan's voice cut through again, colder, sharper:"That mark won't disappear from your wrist, no matter if you die tomorrow. And I won't let you die—not until I take my last breath. You're mine, little agent. The devil's mark is permanent."Kiaan's throat tightened. His voice was steady, but beneath the calm was a storm."I want to see your face, Reyaan. Face to face."For a heartbeat, silence. Then Reyaan laughed—low, dark, and chilling."Curious to see the man who marked you, huh? Or do you want to see the face of the one who was above you when you screamed, gasped for breath, begging for mercy… begging for more?"Kiaan swallowed hard. The words dug into his soul, unearthing wounds he thought long buried.
Reyaan's voice softened, yet every word dripped with dominance:"I only give orders, kid. I don't receive them."The line went dead.
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Kiaan sat back, eyes fixed on the tattoo on his wrist—Reyaan Malhotra's name inked in bold, an eternal reminder of power, pain, and possession.In that moment, he understood the war was far from over. The devil's mark was not just a brand—it was a bond, a curse, and a challenge.And Kiaan was ready to fight it, no matter the cost.