The First hunt

The city of Mumbai never slept. Beneath its glittering skyline, dark secrets festered in the shadows. The underworld thrived in silence, ruled by the man they called Shaitan—Rudra Rathore.

In the dimly lit alleyways of Dharavi, a group of men in black suits dragged a trembling figure into an abandoned warehouse. Blood dripped from his forehead as he struggled against the grip of his captors.

A sharp click echoed through the air as Rudra Rathore stepped forward, his presence suffocating the room like a storm on the horizon. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his dark eyes held no mercy.

"Where is the shipment, Mahesh?" Rudra’s voice was calm, too calm—the kind that sent shivers down a man’s spine.

"I-I don’t know, sir! I swear, I didn’t—"

A single gunshot rang through the air. Not a kill shot—just enough to graze Mahesh’s ear, drawing a sharp cry of pain.

Rudra crouched before him, gripping his jaw. "I don’t tolerate liars."

Mahesh whimpered, nodding frantically. "It’s… it’s with Kabir Thakur’s men! They ambushed us—took everything!"

Rudra’s jaw tightened at the name. Kabir Thakur. His greatest rival. A man who wanted him dead.

He stood up, adjusting his cuffs as he turned to Ishaan Kapoor, his right-hand man. "Kill him."

Mahesh's eyes widened in horror. "No! Please! I told you the truth—"

The sound of a suppressed gunshot silenced his pleas.

Rudra sighed, wiping a speck of blood off his sleeve. A necessary lesson.

---

MEANWHILE – THE POLICE HEADQUARTERS

"Rudra Rathore."

The name alone made Aarohi Mehta’s blood boil.

The dim glow of her laptop illuminated the countless files stacked before her—evidence, crime reports, witness testimonies. Years of work, all leading to one man.

The untouchable devil of Mumbai.

She tapped her pen against the desk, her sharp brown eyes scanning the latest intel. A mafia deal had gone sideways in Dharavi tonight. Another dead body.

"One step ahead, as always," she muttered under her breath.

"Still obsessed with Rathore, huh?" a voice teased.

Aarohi turned to see Saanvi Dixit, her best friend and an investigative journalist, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

"I call it ‘doing my job,’" Aarohi replied dryly.

Saanvi walked in, glancing at the files. "Three years, Aarohi. You’ve been chasing this guy for three years, and he’s still out there, playing king of the underworld. You really think you can catch him?"

Aarohi’s grip tightened around her pen. She had to.

This wasn’t just a case. It was personal.

"My father was killed in a gang war. My mother still has nightmares of that night," Aarohi whispered. "And the man behind it? Rudra Rathore."

Saanvi sighed, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Just… be careful. He’s dangerous."

Aarohi’s gaze hardened. She didn’t fear danger. She hunted it.

---

THE FIRST COLLISION

Aarohi adjusted the strap of her concealed weapon as she stepped into the high-end club Velvet Noir, an elite lounge rumored to be Rudra Rathore’s den.

The music pulsed through the air, a hypnotic rhythm of power and seduction. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the devil himself.

And then—she saw him.

Rudra Rathore.

He stood near the bar, sipping his whiskey with the ease of a man who owned the world. His presence was magnetic, dangerous. Women whispered his name in awe; men feared it in silence.

Their eyes met.

Aarohi felt an unexpected chill run down her spine. He was watching her, too.

She took a deep breath, tightening her grip on the hidden recorder in her coat. This was her chance.

She walked towards him. The hunter had entered the lion’s den.

---

TO BE CONTINUED…

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