Chapter 2. Him

**Riders on the storm

Riders on the storm**

The music played softly as he continued his speedy and energetic strides on the treadmill, his naked torso glistening with sweat.

**Into this house we're born

Into this world, we're thrown**

His slow pants reverberated in the air. His well-built, indestructible biceps were on full display. His eyes formed a deep frown as if he was thinking hard. A few strands of his hair shadowed his forehead.

**Like a dog without a bone

An actor out alone

Riders on the storm**

He pressed a button, and with that, the speed of the treadmill increased, and his legs moved fast, his jaw clenching with the rush of adrenaline in his blood vessels.

**There's a killer on the road

His brain is squirmin' like a toad**

His grip on the handle increased, as did the intensity in his grey eyes and the speed of his legs.

He smirked.

"Just a few more," he encouraged himself.

**Take a long holiday

Let your children play**

After carrying on at the same speed for a few minutes, he increased the speed further. His teeth ground against each other, and his legs moved faster than ever.

The sweat increased.

The speed increased.

The pants increased.

**If ya give this man a ride

Sweet memory will die

Killer on the road, yeah**

"10," he counted in his brain.

**Girl you gotta love your man

Girl, you gotta love your man**

"9"

With every count, his strides became rapid.

**Take him by the hand**

"8," adrenaline rushed in his veins.

**Make him understand**

"7," his breathing accelerated.

**The world on you depends**

"6," he gritted his teeth.

**Our life will never end**

"5," he clenched his jaw, his legs running at an inhuman speed.

**Gotta love your man, yeah**

"4," he muttered.

**Riders on the storm**

"3," he panted heavily.

**Riders on the storm**

"2," his pupils dilated. He was about to make it. Break his record.

**Into this house we're born**

"1"

**Into this world we're thrown

Like a dog without a bone**

"0!" he uttered with merriment, slowing down the treadmill before completely stopping it and getting off.

He panted heavily as he gulped down a glass of water placed nearby before sitting down on the couch in his gym as the music continued to play behind him.

Very few things gave him contentment, and defeating himself was one of them. Just like he did now, by breaking his treadmill record. It made him feel undefeatable.

When he caught his breath, he got up, drying his sweat with a towel, when he felt someone entering the gym.

He turned his head and saw the woman he had been with last night entering, wrapped in a small towel that barely covered anything.

"I believe I told you your job was done," he stated, his attention on her, his face stoic and void of any emotion.

**There's a killer on the road**

"Shehryaar," she whispered.

And his jaw clenched.

She bit her lip seductively and moved towards him. Her fingers intentionally loosened their grip on the towel. Her thighs clenched tightly against each other at the sight of the handsome beast who had been with her so mercilessly last night.

She could still feel him going in and out of her while her legs were wrapped around his waist, her upper half on the bed, and the lower in the air. She knew then that he liked it rough, and she wanted it rough.

Her core was already soaked, remembering the events of last night.

"I want something from you," she muttered as she moved closer to him. When she was close enough, she deliberately let the towel fall from her body.

A fake shocked expression marred her face, which he deciphered immediately.

"Huh! I'm sorry," she said in that fake shocked tone and made no move to grab the towel.

"What is it you want?" he asked, not glancing at her naked body.

She moved forward, invading his personal space and tucking her hands behind his neck.

"Don't touch me," he whispered in a calm tone. She ignored it, not sensing the calm before the storm.

"You didn't touch me last night," she uttered without shame, her eyes lingering on his lips as she licked hers with desire.

"And you didn't kiss me last night," she whispered, moving forward, standing on her tiptoes to place her lips on his.

He shook his head slightly.

"Bad move," his mind said.

Before her mind could register, he suddenly gripped her throat—not too tightly, but the threat was there—and in a jerk, he landed her on the couch where he had been sitting before.

Panic struck her eyes.

"You want to kiss me?" he gritted, increasing his hold. Anger was evident in his features.

When she took more than two seconds to reply, he further increased his grip, now cutting off her air supply, and jerked her body forward before harshly smashing her back onto the couch.

"Si...sir," she whispered in a shaky voice filled with trepidation.

"Are you here to be with me again?" he demanded.

"Si...sir. Wh.."

"You want my lips on you when you’ve been with a hundred men daily?!" he gritted, his brows furrowed with sudden anger as his other hand threaded into her hair, tightly holding her locks and arching her neck at an uncomfortable angle.

"Le...ave," her heart beat fast.

"God damn answer!" he clenched his jaw.

"Yes...yes," she answered quickly.

"Yes, what?" he questioned.

"I want to be with you again...I want you," she replied swiftly before his temper rose more.

He smirked, his hand freeing her locks and separating her thighs, tapping her nub harshly with his calloused hand.

"You should know," he stated, and slapped her hard on her core, making her gasp for air, but the tight grip on her throat didn't let her.

"I don't do it twice," he stated, delivering the hardest hit there, removing his hand and getting off of her.

"Show yourself out," he ordered, and she immediately got up, her legs moving quickly towards the door.

"And," he said in his deadly voice, making her stop in her tracks. Her bare back faced him. She didn't have enough courage to look back at him again.

"Dare to call me by name again, I'll cut your lips," he finished, and she ran out, not caring to cover herself.

................

"Sir, we've picked out only five people based on their GPAs as you told," Hammad, who worked as his PA, informed him as Shehryaar moved towards his office and he followed behind him.

He had fired the last assistant due to her non-serious behavior towards work, and he couldn't tolerate any idiocy or laziness at work. Work was his life. He had built this whole empire on his own, not taking any help from his brother, Irtaza, his father, Haider, or his grandfather, Shabbir.

He wanted to build his business with his hard work, and he did that. After burning the midnight oil and years of struggle, he at last reached the point where his company was globally flourishing, progressing by leaps and bounds.

He wasn't a person to ignore mistakes. The first impression was the last impression for him. If you've made a single mistake, you're fired the very next second. No apologies, no justifications, no arguments. And who would argue with him? The whole staff knew how scary their boss was, and no one could ever win against him in arguments. He was so manipulative, with that dark and cold aura always around him.

He was an extremely anti-social person; only a few, rather just four men, were close to him: Irtaza, his elder brother; Moosa, Irtaza's first in command; Zaroon, his closest friend; and Hammad, his PA, who dealt with all the mafia activities. Even then, he had maintained his distance from Hammad too; he would discuss the mafia deals with him only.

As Hammad was always busy dealing with mafia matters, Shehryaar wanted a personal secretary who could help him deal with the business, so he decided to advertise it, as expected, there were tons of applications, out of which, on his orders, Hammad picked just five.

The fewer the people, the better it is. One of his philosophical statements.

On reaching the office, he sat on his swivel chair, and Hammad, who was following behind him, came inside too.

"When have you scheduled the interviews?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Tomorrow, sir."

"Great. Till then, you'll have to be my secretary."

"Fine, sir."

"What are the names of the candidates?" he asked.

"Maham Saleem, Hamza Junaid, Ijaz Raza, Atif Ishaq," Hammad listed. All these names were etched in his memory due to the amount of research he had done on them. There were tons of applications, and only these five got the chance.

"The last one?"

"Sheharzaad Qureshi."