"Don't move!" Exclaims one of the guards. I warily put my arms up, facing the three men. When they inch towards me, I close the door shut in their faces and quickly lock it, turning my back to the door and wheezing in shock. They had guns, the guards, and I wouldn't want to be in the opposite end of those ever again.
"Aarav! Call the police, and stay on the ground. They could shoot through the walls." I whisper.
Suddenly, as if they heard my thoughts, they bang on the door forcefully. It was made of oak, a brown tarnish covering its intricately carved flower designs.
They probably did not want to cause any property damage, and by the looks of it, they wanted us alive. They didn't shoot me on sight when they had a clear shot.
I think for a moment. I have an idea.
Acting on my instructions, Aarav searches for his phone in his light blue ripped jeans, but I stop him.
"We could still escape!" I say, placing my hand on his arm. We were kneeling on the ground while the guards pound on the doors. There are no windows in this room; all it had was a plain bed, (albeit now covered with Aniket's blood) and a en-suite bathroom which emitted an awful smell.
"Hide in the washroom." I say ripping out a few inches of my dress in the bottom. For a millisecond, I feel sorry for this dress. I wasn't meant to wear fancy dresses that cost a fortune. "Do what you can for his back. Lock the door and only come out when I call you, alright?"
"Krithi, what do you have in mind?" Aarav groans, adjusting Aniket's weight before trying to stand from his kneeling position.
"Do as I say, alright? And stop asking questions!" I bellow, moving on to rip another section of the ruffles on my dress.
"I have to ask questions when your practically stripping in front of me!"
"Shut it and get your derrière out of here!"
Aarav shakes his head, struggling with Aniket as he limps into the washroom. The moment he closes the door and I hear the sound of the lock clicking, I pull the door open, hiding behind the oak.
As I planned, a single guard walks through the door cautiously, and I use the opportunity to shove the door into the other guard about to stride in. The man outside screams in pain, and I smirk at my accomplishment, simultaneously locking the door, and covering the idiotic man's mouth with my ripped strap of the red dress. He struggles to breath, and drops the gun. He was taller than me, about a foot taller, and my ankle hurt from trying to tip toe up to his height.
He elbows me near the chest, and I howl in pain but I don't let go of him. I wrap the cloth tighter around his mouth. He groans from the absence of oxygen in his lungs, grasping for his precious air.
His broad back facing my front, I slide the cloth down to his throat, and tighten it, choking him. I cry in pain as the stitches on my ankle reopens and the blood starts pooling beneath my foot. I couldn't take it anymore, so I pick up the black gun in my hands, pointing it to the back of his head. He slowly turns, trying to take off the rag from around his neck. He manages, flinging it across the room.
The man's eyes widen as he sees the gun in my hands. He tries to take a step toward me, and I slide the safety, giving him a clear warning that I will shoot him if he takes another step.
He raises his hands in defeat. That's better. I point the gun to his arm, shooting his bicep. The wound is far from his artery, so he should be alright. I manage to shoot him on his left ankle without shaking the gun, and he howls in pain, cursing in the process. I don't want him to be walking; he can only try to hurt me if he can be fast on his feet.
YOU ARE READING
The Workaholic Wife (COMPLETED)Romance
A workaholic doctor never thought about marriage a day in her life until she woke up to find a man in her bedroom. Her mother wanted grandchildren and she wanted to abide her wishes, so that her mother would not scorch her ears until she does. What...