Chapter 117 : "Didn't I say not to point a gun at my wife?"

....Violence Ahead. Read at your own risk.....

Rafi wasted no time in reaching Ibrahim. The gun in his hand, a cold, metallic monstrosity, gleamed menacingly in the fading light. He thrust it towards Ibrahim's head, his voice a guttural growl. "Where are Omer and Harith?" he demanded. 

The guards, mirroring their master's aggression, whipped their guns towards Ava and Faisal. The air crackled with tension, thick with the unspoken threat of violence.

And Faisal reacted instinctively. His hand darted into his pocket, emerging with a gun of his own and aimed at Rafi's men. The gun was a smaller, sleeker weapon compared to the ones Rafi's men wielded. Faisal stepped forward, his body forming a shield between Ava and the armed men.

Ibrahim, his eyes narrowed to cold slits, met Rafi's gaze with an unwavering defiance. "I have a gun too," he said, his voice surprisingly calm despite the weapon pointed at his head. "Tell your men to lower their weapons from my wife, Rafi. Otherwise, the consequences won't be pleasant."

"First tell me about my sons, where are they?" Rafi snarled. His jaw clenched, his anger battling with a flicker of hesitation. He knew Ibrahim wasn't a man to be trifled with. 

The guards remained unmoved, their guns still trained on Ava and Faisal. Sensing the imminent danger, Faisal murmured to Ava, "Step behind, Ava." 

Ava, her mind reeling, obeyed, taking a step back as Faisal mirrored her movement, placing himself between her and the armed guards. It wasn't much – a shield made of flesh and bone against the cold steel of guns – but it was all he could offer in that moment as Ava didn't listen any of them. 

Ibrahim took a calculated step forward. The movement caused the gun to dig deeper into his skin. Fear? Not a trace of it. Fear was stranger to him. Fear was not a language he understood. He was Ibrahim, the predator, not the prey.

Rafi's gun, held aloft, trembled slightly, betraying the turmoil within. He might be fueled by fury, but the fear of harming Ibrahim, of igniting a full-blown war, flickered in his eyes.

The last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the tombstones. The cemetery was now cloaked in the deepening embrace of darkness, adding an ominous weight to the already tense atmosphere.

Ibrahim's lips curled into a humorless smile, "Your sons. You should know where they are. How would I, of all people, have them?"

He was waiting before taking any action. There were other two three people in the cemetery who are giving respect to their relatives. Ibrahim was waiting patiently for the cemetery to empty of all unwanted eyes.

Rafi's grip tightened on the gun, "Don't play games, Ibrahim! You took them! You kidnapped them! Where have you hidden them? Tell me!"

Ava stood frozen. Kidnapping? The word echoed in her mind, heavy with disbelief and horror. Ibrahim had kidnapped Rafi's sons? Her mind reeled, refusing to accept the horrifying truth. Her gaze darted between Ibrahim and Rafi, each holding a piece of the puzzle she desperately wanted to solve. It couldn't be true, could it? Ibrahim couldn't do that. Could he be capable of such cruelty?

Ibrahim met Rafi's gaze head-on. "Do you have any proof?" he challenged, his voice devoid of emotion. "It's not good to accuse innocent citizens without evidence, Rafi."

He cast a swift glance around the cemetery, his sharp eyes taking in the growing darkness and the absence of any onlookers. The other people were already gone. This was his chance, the moment he'd been anticipating. No prying eyes, no witnesses - They Were Alone. The other people were gone already.

With a smooth, practiced movement, his hand dipped beneath the sleek black leather jacket, his fingers brushing against the familiar cool metal of his own gun. The action was so subtle, so swift, that it went unnoticed by the others.

"Proof? What kind of proof I need, Ibrahim? You send those…....." Rafi was about to reveal the chilling truth of the bloody shoelaces. But before he could complete the sentence, the world erupted in chaos.

With a lightning-fast movement, Ibrahim lashed out, his hand striking Rafi's wrist with the force of a viper. The impact sent a jolt through Rafi, his gun flying out of his grasp and clattering onto the ground. The suddenness of the attack disoriented him, forcing him to stumble back two steps, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Instinct taking over, Ibrahim acted without hesitation. He aimed his gun not at Rafi, but at the guard who had his weapon trained on Ava.

Ibrahim's fingers tightened around the trigger. Two shots, quick and precise, ripped through the air. The bullets found their mark, sinking into the chest of the guard. The man, unprepared for the sudden attack stumbled backward then crumpled to the ground clutching his wound, a crimson stain blossoming on his shirt as life ebbed away. His life extinguished in an instant, a gasp escaping his lips before he was swallowed by the silence. Blood, thick and viscous, spilled onto the soil, staining the pristine white marble of a nearby headstone a macabre shade of red. 

Ava watched, transfixed by the gruesome scene. Her breath hitched in her throat, a strangled cry trapped within her chest. The haunting image of the guard's life slipping away, his eyes locked on hers in a final, accusing stare, burned itself into her mind. It was her second meeting with death, and this one was even more brutal, more raw.

Ibrahim's voice, devoid of remorse, boomed across the scene, "Didn't I say not to point a gun at my wife?"

The remaining guard, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events, froze, his gun hand trembling. Faisal, ever the opportunist, saw his chance. His gun barked once towards his leg, the bullet finding its mark with a sickening thud. The guard, clutching at his bleeding leg, crumpled to the ground with a groan, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle, a scream of pain ripping from his throat.

A sinister smile played on Ibrahim's lips as he approached Rafi, now unarmed and vulnerable. With a casual step, he planted his boot on the fallen gun of Rafi's, his gaze cold and mesmerizing in a haunted way.

Rafi took a step back. Without his gun, he was a mere shadow of his former self. Ibrahim, towering over him, gripped his collar with a hand like iron, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper.

"Your sons," he murmured, "are in a safe place. Back where they belong. Now leave."

Rafi, his eyes wide with confusion, "What… what do you mean?"

But Ibrahim paid him no heed. His senses remained on heightened alert. He saw it from the corner of his eye – he saw the remaining guard who just shot by Faisal a minute ago in leg had managed to raise his gun once more. His hand trembled, his aim shaky, but his will was unwavering. Ibrahim let the guard to fulfill his last wish. 

With a desperate cry, the guard fired. The bullet tore through Ibrahim's black leather jacket, grazing his arm just below his shoulder. A searing pain lanced through him, but Ibrahim barely flinched.

"Bloody idiot," he muttered, a snarl twisting his lips. He whirled around. The guard was still aiming at him. 

Before the trigger could be pulled again from the guard's gun, before another bullet could even leave the chamber, Ibrahim's gun roared like a hungry beast. Four bullets, four miniature bursts of hellfire, erupted from Ibrahim's gun. They found their targets: chest, head, abdomen, leg. The guard twitched once, twice, then lay still, another silent monument to Ibrahim's ruthless efficiency.

Blood staining his black leather jacket, Ibrahim turned back to Rafi. "Run," he hissed, his voice a growl. "Run and find your sons before I change my mind. Your guards will get a peaceful funeral tomorrow. Consider it's a gift." 

Rafi gulped and mumbled a hollow threat. "You'll pay for this, Ibrahim." But his words lacked conviction, mere whispers in the face of raw power.

He turned and fled, his steps echoing through the graveyard, a desperate scramble for survival. He had no time to mourn his fallen guards. He had only one thought: finding his sons before it was too late.

Ibrahim watched him go. His arm throbbed, but his eyes held no regret, only the cold glint of a man who had chosen his path and walked it without flinching. 

On the other hand, Ava sat beside a nearby gravestone, her entire body trembling like a leaf caught in a whirlwind. Her hands, pressed tightly against her ears, strained to silence the sound of gunshots that still played on repeat in her mind. Even though silencers had muffled the initial blasts, the scenes of violence had burned themselves onto her retinas, etched with a brutal clarity that no darkness could erase.

She had witnessed, in the span of what felt like both an eternity and a blink, the brutal violence of life and death. Two men, mere moments ago standing defiant and alive, now lay crumpled and still, blood stains blooming across their lifeless forms. It was a spectacle that no soul should ever be forced to endure.

Faisal who was standing near her screamed, "Ibrahim, come here now!"

Ibrahim came towards her like a storm, his wounded left arm hanging limp against his black leather jacket, a crimson stain blossoming beneath the dark fabric. He stood in front of Ava for a moment, his gaze taking in her trembling form. He had never wanted her to witness violence, to bear witness to the darkness. The sight of her breakdown tore at his heart. Her eyes remained squeezed shut, refusing to acknowledge the carnage that lay just a few feet away. 

Ibrahim knelt before her, tentatively cupping her cheek, the blood stain from his wound smudging against her pale skin, "Nothing happened, baby girl. Nothing happened. Forget everything you have seen."

But forgetting was impossible. How could she forget the way the men's eyes had glazed over, losing their spark of life? 

 The metallic tang of fear still clung to her tongue, the phantom scent of gunpowder tickling her nostrils.

 As she opened her eyes, the fear returned, not from the dead guards, but from the man who had taken their lives. Her voice, a hollow echo, trembled with accusation. The fear had burrowed deep within her, twisting her insides.

 "You… you killed… you killed them," Ava murmured. She rose to her feet, her legs shaky and weak, as if the ground itself recoiled from her. Her gaze darted to the still forms of the fallen guards. Their lifeless forms, sprawled like discarded dolls. 

"He killed them," she repeated, the words a broken litany, a chant of disbelief. "They died… they… died…"

The weight of the scene, the chilling knowledge of what Ibrahim had done, pressed down on her, crushing her spirit with its unbearable weight. The world spun, the cemetery blurring into a kaleidoscope of fear and despair. 

And then, Ava crumpled. Her body, drained of its strength, finally gave way, and she slipped into the oblivion of unconsciousness. Ibrahim stood and quickly caught her before she hit the ground.

"Damn, everything got ruined," Ibrahim cursed under his breath.

Faisal stepped forward. "Go home, I'll handle these bodies."

Ibrahim cradled Ava's limp form in his arms, "I have to go. Make sure no trace is left here."

Faisal, glancing at Ibrahim's injured arm, questioned, "But how can you drive?"

"It's nothing," Ibrahim dismissed. He turned, his steps carrying him and the unconscious form of Ava towards the exit of the cemetery. 

But little did anyone know, this evening would become the seeds of a decision which Ava would take soon. A decision that would change Ava's life. The seeds of doubt would bloom into a choice that would rewrite the narrative of their marriage, their lives, and perhaps, even their destinies.