Page 65 of Born in Sin (Phoenix #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

VIRAT

He watched Kabir fumble in the dark as he found his way deeper into the dark room.

“Shourya,” he said tersely.

“Two minutes to deactivation Sir.”

“What the hell is Sons of Andhaka?” Cara’s gaze was fixed on the screen, her hand trembling as she gripped the arm of her seat.

“Andhaka, in Hindu mythology, isthe name of an Asura who was ultimately defeated by Lord Shiva.” Vikram appeared to be reading from his phone.

“Andhaka,” Virat said quietly, watching Kabir step into a large hall, dimly light with scattered sconces like something from a medieval horror movie.

Several cloaked figures stood around the hall in a loose circle, hoods pulled low over their masked faces.

“Was known for coveting a woman who was not for him. Parvati, Lord Shiva’s consort. ”

“So, that’s why Sons of Andhaka,” Cara murmured. “They want women who are not meant for them.”

“We are the Sons of Andhaka,” a voice was intoning as Kabir stood in the large hall watching everyone warily. “We come together from all spheres of life; politics, business, media, entertainment, technology, energy, healthcare, finance, justice, law enforcement, and, of course, government.”

“What the fuck does he mean by law enforcement?” Vikram murmured.

Virat held up a hand, silencing him.

One cloaked figure stepped forward. The minute he did, it became increasingly apparent that he was the one talking.

“I am the Andhanatha.” He spread his arms out wide. “I am the leader, the father, the head of all that you see. In this world, I am God.”

Kabir’s calm voice came through the speaker. “Thank you for inviting me to join you. I’m still not clear on what this group does or what this is about.” A pause and then he added hastily, “I do know that it’s a great honour to be invited.”

“What do we do?” the Andhanatha mused. “Who are we and what do we do?”

He paced the room, his robes swishing around his ankles.

All around him braziers burned, red embers gleaming in their depths.

The walls of the large, cavernous room were hung with ancient tapestries and antique weaponry.

All of it set up for effect but clearly having seen no actual action.

There was a lot of drama and theatrics but hopefully, not enough follow through.

“We are power. We are the past, the present, and the future. The people in this room run the country. We make the decisions. We hold the power of life and death over the millions of people populating this earth. And we are the only ones who matter.”

“Pompous dickhead,” Cara muttered.

“Sir.” Shaurya stood from his seat. “Deactivation of security systems complete.”

“We have only five minutes before the guard crosses us. Let’s wait.” Virat’s gaze was fixed on the Andhanatha. What was it about that particular cloaked man that was triggering his instincts?

“So, this is about business networking?” Kabir asked, his voice coming through clearly.

A deep booming laugh sounded. All around Kabir, the others chuckled and laughed in unison. The sound set Virat’s nerves on edge.

“We have no need for business networking. We are the entire bedrock of business in this country. We are the ecosystem that allows everyone to breathe. We are everything.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Virat’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Andhanatha, his instincts still prickling. “Get to the point, dickhead.”

“There are three things that run this world.” The Andhanatha held up one finger. “Money.” Another finger went up. “Power.” And finally a third, “Sex.”

“We are all three. From today, from this moment, the Sons of Andhaka will be your family, your friends, your world. In return, for the pleasure of belonging, you will have your every wish fulfilled. There is no law that you need to uphold. There is no punishment you need to fear. We are the law. We are the punishment. We are everything. It’s a new world order and we are the ones running it. ”

“Thank you for including me in your…” Kabir seemed to be searching for the right word. “Brotherhood,” he settled on finally, apparently not wanting to go with twisted cult or fucked up secret society like Virat would have.

“Yes.” The Andhanatha clasped the shoulder of one of the men. “It is a brotherhood. And like with all circles that form, there must be an offering of faith and trust. We must know your value for us.”

“What would you like from me?” Kabir’s voice was quiet but steady.

“Today is not for your offering, my friend. All new initiates receive first, before they give. Your turn to offer will come and what is to be presented will also be specified. But that’s for later. Today, you join us in swimming in the deep pools of power.”

They watched as a large metal table was wheeled in, an unconscious woman lying on it, naked, spreadeagled and handcuffed to the table. It wasn’t their plant. It was some other poor woman.

“Tonight, this offering is yours.”

Virat caught Cara’s hand and squeezed. Her trembling fingers squeezed back.

The guard and the dog strolled just past the perimeter, their gaze focused on the lawns sprawling out around the house.

Virat raised the walkie. “Alpha team. Status?”

From the shadows, a voice crackled back, low, clipped, invisible. “Ready, sir.”

Vikram’s voice followed. “Snipers?”

“In position.” The faintest echo, but the message was sharp.

“Bravo team on standby.”

“Copy that.”

Inside the house, the Andanatha droned on, his voice oily and distorted by the voice modulator, as he monologued about legacies and dominion. But outside, the only voice that mattered was Virat’s.

“Go.”

Doors flew open. The team spilled out of the van—Vikram leading, Virat at the center, Cara at the rear. Virat’s eyes flicked back to her more than once.

He’d checked her vest himself. Tightened every strap. Adjusted her comms. Triple-checked her gear. And still, it didn’t feel like enough. He’d asked her to stay behind, begged, even.

She’d just looked him dead in the eye and reminded him, “This ends with me.”

Ishaan and Amay fell into formation, flanking Virat and Cara as they approached the door. Alpha’s point man crouched low, affixed a charge. A sharp pop. The lock blew, and the heavy door creaked open.

They slipped inside.

The hall was dim, wide, echoing. Shadows danced on polished floors. A guard turned, just in time to be dropped with a clean strike.

They moved fast, methodical, down the corridor. Two more guards fell before they could shout. Silent. Surgical.

Then they reached the final doors.

Voices carried through, distorted, amused, and in one notable case, worried.

“Is that woman drugged?” Kabir’s voice, strained. “Is she willing for this?”

“Willing?” the Andanatha mocked. “The only will that matters is ours. We don’t ask. We take . The rulers of the new world own everything, including this.”

There was a sickening slap of flesh. “Consent,” he said, pinching the unconscious woman’s breast, “is irrelevant.”

“And what will you take from me?” Kabir asked, his voice dangerously neutral.

“Your famous girlfriend, perhaps,” the Andanatha mused. “A pretty tribute.”

Fury propelled Virat forward. He gave the signal.

The doors slammed open.

“POLICE!” Vikram’s voice cracked like thunder. “HANDS IN THE AIR!”

For one charged second, silence held. Then everything detonated.

Cloaked figures scattered, some charging at the team in desperation, others shoving over statues and furniture to block their path. An incense bowl was kicked over, sending up a plume of smoke that clouded the air. The sharp tang of sandalwood and panic burned in Virat’s nostrils.

Virat surged forward, weaving between two attackers who lunged. He ducked a swinging staff, pivoted, and brought the butt of his weapon hard into a man’s stomach. The robed figure collapsed, gasping.

To the left, Kabir tackled someone trying to slip through a side passage. Vikram bellowed orders, wrestling another to the ground.

Cara darted forward. Kabir tossed her the robe he’d removed, and she caught it mid-step, dropping to her knees beside the unconscious woman.

She flung the robe over her and scanned for a key or clasp—nothing.

Her hands moved fast, checking for a pressure point or a latch, but the cuffs were sealed tight.

“Come on,” she muttered. Her eyes flicked upward, debris was flying and shadows moving. A heavy crash sounded to her right, a cabinet toppled, missing her by an inch. She shoved it away, one arm shielding the woman even as more debris rained down.

Virat didn’t blink. He kept his gaze trained on the Andanatha as he fought his way towards him. Because the figure still hadn’t moved.

Robes untouched, head tilted slightly. Watching Virat. Only Virat.

Virat stepped closer.

“You’re not getting out of here,” he said quietly, over the din.

The Andanatha lifted one hand slowly and then flung a handful of fine powder straight into Virat’s face.

Instinct took over. Virat twisted away, coughing, his eyes stinging, but he didn’t fall. He forced his vision clear just in time to block a blow. The Andanatha was on him, deceptively fast, striking with vicious precision.

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.

“AMAY!” Virat’s panicked roar rent the air, adding to the clamour and chaos in the room.

Celi’s frightened eyes met Virat’s and then she stumbled, her chest heaving. Virat reached for her, dropping his gun and taking the weight of her body in his arms.

Celi looked at him, her breathing laboured and heavy.

“I-I-I can’t breathe.” The words were a struggle, her panicked gaze focused on his face with absolute trust. “Vir, I –“

She went boneless in his arms, her eyes rolling back and her head going limp.

And Virat’s world went quiet.