Page 104 of Born in Sin

They grappled with Virat driving him back toward the altar. The robed figure kicked out, knocking over a brazier. Embers burst, fire licking the edges of ancient tapestries.

Smoke thickened.

Virat forced the Andanatha down with a knee to the chest, holding his hands to the side. The man wrestled a hand free and pulled his gun out.

“Don’t do it,” he told the man who was pointing a gun at him. “It’s over.”

The man shook his head. “No, my son, it’s not.”

My son. Virat’s skin crawled as he stared at the man. But no, he couldn’t be. Virat’s father was dying and confined to a wheelchair and attached to an oxygen tank. This man was healthy and looked to still be in the prime of his life. And yet, there was something.

He scrambled to his feet, dragging the Andanatha to his as well. Stepping away, he levelled his gun at the man.

“Take off your hood,” he said hoarsely. One of his men moved into position behind the Andanatha, his gun pressing against the cloaked temple. “Now,” Virat added.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the man lowered his own gun before raising a hand to slide the hood of his cloak off and untie his mask.

Rakesh Aatre, Amay’s father, locked eyes with him and smirked. “What are you going to do now, Virat Jha? Ruin your friend, your brother’s life, by destroying his father?”

A dull roaring sounded in Virat’s ears as he stared at the man who had broken his friend as a child and would break him all over again as an adult.

Amay stepped out of the shadows, from his position in the perimeter of the room. His father paled at the sight of him.

“You ruined me the day you killed my mother,” Amay told him, his voice a scalpel, drawing blood. “This, having you arrested, is going to be the greatest pleasure of my life.”

Rakesh’s eyes flashed, murderous vengeance lighting them up.

“Everybody, hoods down, masks off,” Virat said, his voice sounding strange to his ears, his gaze still on the man who’d fathered one of his best friends. When no one moved to comply, his team did the work for them, yanking the hoods and masks off and revealing faces.

Virat looked away from Rakesh long enough to scan the people standing without their protective masks. Naveen. Ashish. Parash. Majid. All expected faces. And then there were the others. Disbelief tore through him as he scanned the rest. Rakesh Aatre aka the Andanatha hadn’t been lying. The men standing here read like the who’s who of the city’s elite.

“Sir.” Vikram sounded like he’d expire from shock as he stared at the Inspector General of Police. “IG Saab.” The man didn’t meet his eyes.

“Celi.” The broken word disrupted the silence that had fallen around the little confrontation. Virat glanced at Majid who was looking at Cara, his black, broken heart in his eyes. “It is you?”

And then his Queen, the love of his life, still cradling the sleeping woman on the table nodded to the man who’d betrayed her. “Hello Majid.” A hard, bitter smile graced her lips. “Long time no see.”

“We should have asked for tribute from the new initiate today,” Rakesh Aatre sneered. “She would have made a good fuck.”

Virat’s gun swung around in a neat arc, the barrel landing on Rakesh’s forehead. “Go ahead, give me just one more reason to blow your fucking brains out. I already have plenty but this one might tip me over the edge.”

His gaze locked on Rakesh’s taunting, evil one. Blood pounded in his veins, fury a poison overtaking his system and erasing logic.

“Vir, no!” Cara appeared beside him, her hand on his arm, stepping between him and Rakesh. “Killing him, killing Amay’s father, will take a piece of your soul. They don’t get you, remember? Not one inch of you. You’re mine and I will not let them have you. You’re MINE! You promised me that-“

A gun went off in the quiet that framed her impassioned speech.

“VIR!” Cara’s scream rang in his ears in the aftermath of the gunshot.

No one knew where the shot had come from or who had been the intended target. All around them, the team took the Sons of Andhaka down, divesting them of their guns and restraining them.

But Cara didn’t look away from him. She patted him frantically, her hands searching for any hint of injury and finding none.

“You’re fine,” she said, relief lightening her gaze as she cupped his cheek. “You’re fine.” A small cough escaped her, a drop of blood welled at the corner of her mouth and slipped out. Virat’s heart stopped.

“Celi.” Her name was a bare breath of sound, horror and anguish twisted through it.

She opened her smiling mouth to answer him and then he saw awareness dawn. She touched her side, her trembling fingers touching the small, round hole in the skin on the side of her torso, the patch of her body that had been left exposed by the bulletproof jacket. A freak shot but a devastating one.

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