Page 69 of Born in Sin

Chapter Twenty-Three

VIRAT

The chill of the night air tugged at his hair as Virat stood on the narrow balcony of the safe house, arms braced on the cool metal railing. The breeze carried with it the sharp tang of the sea mixed with the acrid smoke of distant street food stalls, drifting up from the city below. Far beneath him, Mumbai sprawled in chaotic brilliance, a pulsing artery of headlights, neon signs, and the constant hum of life. The city that never slept wasn’t just awake tonight. It was alive and restless, like a beast prowling under moonlight.

The honk of an auto-rickshaw cut through the air, followed by a burst of laughter from a nearby street corner. Pedestrians wove between cars with practiced ease. Hawkers shouted over each other, selling spicy vada pav, chai, plastic toys, and imitation jewellery. The world below was noisy, bright, and utterly indifferent to the war being waged in the shadows above it.

Behind him, the safe house was dimly lit and cluttered, filled with the quiet hum of activity. His team sat on mismatched couches and bean bags, crowded around the open boxes of pizza strewn across the center table, eating straight from thecardboard like students at a dorm party—except each of these so-called students carried weapons, and had lives weighed down with secrets.

The faint scent of cheese and oregano clashed with the metallic edge of gun oil and disinfectant. Monitors lined one side of the room, blinking quietly. On the largest screen mounted to the far wall, a live feed from Majid’s residence played on loop—empty rooms, shadowy corners, quiet entrances under digital surveillance. Another screen pulsed with incoming data—Majid’s phone activity, intercepted messages, call logs.

One of Virat’s techs sat hunched over the desk, his fingers moving in a blur across the keyboard. A coffee cup balanced dangerously close to the edge. Others rotated in shifts, never letting the stream of intel lapse for even a second.

Then he heard it, a knock on the front door, quiet but firm.

Virat turned slightly, eyes narrowing. Shourya was already moving toward the door, the shift of his weight catlike, his hand dropping instinctively to the concealed firearm holstered under his jacket. His posture was casual, but every muscle in his frame was ready to strike.

The door creaked open.

And she stepped in.

Cara. Alone.

No Kabir. No security detail flanking her. Just her.

Virat’s jaw tensed. The first sharp flare of anger lit in his chest, not the raging fire yet, but the slow, controlled simmer that was infinitely more dangerous. What the hell was she thinking? Wandering around Mumbai at night without protection? Heclenched the balcony railing tighter, the metal digging into his palms.

She scanned the room, nodding greetings, offering brief smiles to people who looked up from their food or screens. And then, she looked toward the balcony.

Her gaze found his through the glass door. A flicker of something passed between them. Her smile faded, replaced by something unreadable. She didn’t move. Neither did he.

The door between them was shut. But everything else, the noise, the people, the city, the danger, fell away. For a suspended moment, it was just them, caught in the eye of a quiet storm.

She walked over, sliding the doors open and stepping out. The noise from the room swelled for a second and then shut off as she slammed the door shut. The glass vibrated with the force of the motion. He saw his teammates dart startled looks in their direction before averting their gaze. Virat gestured to Shaurya and he stepped up and drew the curtains, giving them an illusion of privacy.

“Problem?” he asked her.

“Many,” she answered crisply, her entire body seeming to vibrate with barely controlled rage and fear. “But I’m not here to discuss them. I’m here for one thing alone.”

Virat waited but she didn’t expand on that. “Am I supposed to read your mind now?” he asked, his hold on his own temper wearing thin. He’d spent the whole day watching other men love the woman who owned him, heart and soul, one on screen and one off. He was dealing with it but for the love of God, could he not catch a break? A few minutes to himself on this dark verandah was all he’d aspired to but now she was here too,looking at him like he was the devil incarnate when he had no idea what the hell he could have possibly done to make her mad now.

“How are we going to keep Kabir safe on Saturday?”

Right. Of course. This was about Kabir. Virat stared up at the night sky. It was almost a full moon tonight, stars scattered over the cloudy canvas. So many stars and still no light in the world.

“We’re on it. My team and I will ensure nothing happens to him. We’ll have eyes and ears on him at all times and we’ll have an armed team in close proximity.”

“I don’t want him to be forced to have sex with some poor, coerced girl.”

“It won’t get that far,” Virat told her quietly. “All we need is confirmation that the girl is being held there against her will and we’ll put a stop to it.”

“If you don’t, there will be two people being raped there that night, Vir!” Her voice was shrill, her composure shredding like cheap paper under a sharpened pencil. “You can’t let that happen!”

“Celi –“ He turned to face her.

“No.” She backed away from him, her body trembling. “I won’t do that to him. He means too much to me.”

“I know.” He walked over to her, cupping her cold face with his hands. “Trust me. I won’t let that happen. To him or to her. They’re both our plants, remember. The girl as well. We are in control of the situation. I promise you.”

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