Page 59 of Born in Ruin

Mouni let out a peal of laughter, throwing her head back. It was impressive to note that neither of the watermelons moved an inch. She had a good surgeon.

“My husband couldn’t care less who I fuck darling. If he knew, the only question he’d ask is if he could join us.” The last bit was said with a wink which made Ishaan’s balls retract in fear. That chastity belt was coming in pretty handy right now.

He forced a smile and was about to murmur something meaningless when he saw Majid move his hand to Mayukhi’s ass. A red haze of fury covered Ishaan’s vision and he was already moving towards them when he saw Mayukhi’s hand slip behind, grab Majid’s middle finger and twist it so far back, he could have sworn it was a millimetre away from cracking. Majid moved his hand away with a speed that would have been laughable if Ishaan hadn’t been so furious.

Mouni appeared beside him, her nail scraping against his neck again. What the fuck was up with that? Was it her signature move or something because if it was, it wasn’t working.

As he turned to shrug away from her, he saw Ashish and Naveen break away from the group, a whispered conversation erupting between them. He watched carefully as they left the crowded room through the only door at the end.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked the neck scratcher. “You said you know a place?” He was already walking, her hand in his, heading towards the door.

She squealed and scrambled to catch up in her heels, doing a little bunny hop along the way. His gaze snagged on Mayukhi’s who rolled her eyes at him when he mouthed the word ‘woo’ to her. She shook her head and turned away but he caught the smile she was suppressing. She had balls of steel. God, he loved that woman!

He came to an abrupt halt, his heart stumbling in his chest. And for a moment, he forgot everything else. He forgot about the men he was meant to be following and the woman he was supposed to be seducing. None of it mattered more than letting Mayukhi know what she meant to him.

She was talking to Sri, Naveen’s wife, and didn’t notice him staring at her. A loud thudding sound from the other side of the door had everyone jumping, someone screamed in the distance. Ishaan was running even before the screaming stopped. He burst through the door to see Naveen lying on the floor, unconscious. Ashish was babbling incoherently, a spent syringe lying on the floor beside him.

“What did he take?” Ishaan asked, dropping to his knees beside Naveen’s prone body. Ashish didn’t speak, his pupils blown wide as he stared at his best friend.

“Call an ambulance,” Ishaan snapped, starting CPR on the dipshit.

“On it.” He heard Mayukhi’s steady response but didn’t look up. Now wasn’t the time for it.

“I’m a doctor,” someone said in the background, coming to kneel beside him. “I’ll take over.”

Ishaan handed it off to the other man without hesitation, stumbling back. Mayukhi’s hand came to his back, a silent, steady comfort.

“I called Amay as well,” she murmured. “His hospital is the closest.”

Ishaan nodded, his eyes still on Naveen’s unconscious body. Memory slammed through him, the present fading into the past. He saw his thin, nine year old hands slamming against his father’s chest in a poor imitation of what he saw on the television screen. Sweat dripped down his forehead, into his eyes, making them sting. He blinked rapidly, wiping his forearm over his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Mayukhi asked, just as they heard rapidly approaching sirens.

He wanted to answer her, reassure her, but the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck somewhere inside the mind of a child who’d seen far too much before he’d even had a chance to live the life of a child.

They watched Naveen be loaded onto the stretcher and taken away, the doctor guest and Naveen’s wife, Sri, going with him.

Parash came over to thank Ishaan for what he’d done but he shrugged off his grateful hand and walked out of the stifling space, Mayukhi following right behind him.

“Ishaan.” Her voice was soft, an unfamiliar tone for Mayukhi Chatterjee.

“I can’t breathe.” He tugged at his tie, yanking it off, as they reached the car. He opened the top, few buttons of his shirt, with shaking fingers, rubbing a hand on his tight throat.

“How can I help?” she asked, calmly, though her eyes were wide and worried. “Should we go to the hospital too? I’ll call Amay!”

“No.” He put out a hand to stop her, leaning against the car, his hands on his knees. “Give me a moment.”

She came to stand beside him, one hand curving gently around his face to bring him closer to her. He rested his face on her chest and shut his eyes, allowing for once to let his shields fall and to let someone other than his friends in. His breathing slowed and his heart rate calmed as she held on to him, her presence the only thing grounding him in the moment.

“Was it your father?” she asked, when she knew he had himself under control.

He nodded, shutting his eyes and turning his face into her warmth. She held on tighter.

“I was nine,” he murmured. “I was the one who found him. He survived but we had to empty the last of our finances to pay for his treatment. We got him into rehab and maybe hitting rock bottom helped because he stopped drinking after that.”

“He’s well now?” Her hand stroked his head, fingers sliding through his hair. He leaned into her touch.

“He’s alive,” he said. “My family is happy.”

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