Taken (Many Lives Book 2)

by Laxmi Hariharan

  As if aware of my scrutiny, his jaw hardens and he goes still.

  A military stiffness creeps into his limbs. Arms at his side, a pulse beats at his temple. And his chest rises-falls-rises.

  Heat spools out of him, reaching out to me, and my mouth goes dry. He’s not as unaffected as he’s pretending to be. And neither am I.

  I trace the lines of his shoulders with my eyes. Broad shoulders. He’s only a few years older than me, in his early twenties, but his muscles are already filling out, hinting at the man he’s becoming.

  Hinting at the amount of time he spends taking part in intense physical activity.

  Unable to stop myself, my eyes track to his chest. Through the open ‘V’ of his shirt I can see a brown, smooth, nearly hairless chest, sloping down to sculpted abs. Flat stomach, muscles silhouetted under the shirt.

  I have his gun and yet I can’t bring myself to shoot him. I’m not sure why. After all, that’s what privileged scum like him deserve, right? I might have been like him once but now I know what it means to be helpless. To sleep on the floor night after night with mosquitoes feeding off your blood.

  No, he’s never known that.

  And when he’d dropped the towel, I’d got a glimpse of that long expanse of his naked back. And I’d wanted him to turn around then so I could see him fully. See that part of him which I know even now is reacting to my words.

  I know he’s aroused but I don’t dare glance at the bulge in his trousers.

  As if sensing my thoughts, he folds his hands, leaning back on the balls of his feet.

  The biceps stand out on his upper arms. His chest strains against his half-buttoned shirt. A smooth brown expanse of skin.

  He clears his throat and my eyes flee back to his face.

  Features composed into that faceless mask, he bites out the words, ‘To repeat the obvious question, what was that about. Are you propositioning me?’ His voice is cold, formal.

  A contrast to what his body is screaming.

  It’s obvious he’s turned on, for he shifts a little as if to accommodate the blood rushing to the muscles lower down.

  ‘Look at you going all so tough-soldier on me…’ I drawl, perversely satisfied that I’m not the only one affected.

  He doesn’t reply and the silence stretches on.

  His eyes bore into me. Glinting. Fire sparking out of them. Oh! He’s not as calm as he’s trying to be. He’s mad. Angry.

  Another cloud of heat spools off him, tugging at my belly and a shudder runs through me. He’s turning me on just by looking at me. Through me. Those eyes, as if looking straight into my soul.

  Can he see the ghosts of my past life? Can he tell what I want from him?

  "You have no idea what you’re getting into, do you?" he snaps.

  He gives me a pitying look. One mixed with disappointment.

  This is not the first time he’s been propositioned. There’ve been other desperate souls like me before this. Just, he didn’t expect this from me. A flicker of anger runs through me at the judgment on his face. It’s so easy for him to think the worst of me.

  "I know it all too well," I say, my voice bitter. ‘When you’ve lost everything, the only thing you can barter is yourself. What’s wrong with that?’

  My voice lowers at the last few words but I know he can hear me.

  A resigned look comes on his face.

  "What’s your name?" he asks.

  I hesitate.

  When I don’t speak immediately he says, ‘You know my name. Besides, if you want me to sleep with you, the least you can do is tell me your name.’ He lets that hang in the air between us.

  "Ariana," I say reluctantly. "Ariana West."

  It’s not like he can’t track me down. Besides it shouldn’t matter. By the time he figures out why I’m here, I’ll be gone.

  "Pleased to meet you. You’ll forgive me if I don’t welcome you with a cup of chai. You’ve put me at somewhat of a disadvantage, as you may have noticed," he says in a droll voice.

  A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. And the breath I’ve been holding whistles out from between my teeth.

  "It’s the one thing I like about this promised land, the chai. The spices they put into it, the fragrance and all those flavors. Just yummy!" I half-smile. "There’s a tea shop up from our place in the Jungle where the chai boy makes a mean cup."

  "I hope it’s sweet enough for the spoon to balance upright when you stir it." He chuckles.

  I grin back, a smile tugging my lips. "No, my tastes haven’t stretched that far, but the way Kiran makes it…"

  "Kiran?"

  "The chai boy…" My voice fades a little. I hope he’s still OK. I don’t say it aloud, but his eyebrows shoot down over his nose as if he can sense the unspoken words.

  "So what are your other haunts?" he asks, then frowns. "Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way—"

  I slice the air with my palm, silencing him. "Well, the Jungle has bars, nightclubs, corner shops where you can buy stuff. Everything you need to survive. It’s a proper town. One that everyone wants to leave," I add, my voice bitter.

  My words hang in the air.

  "Why are you here?" he asks, his voice terse.

  When I open my mouth to reply, he stops me with, ‘And don’t give me the bullshit of wanting to sleep with me."

  "I want a place to stay in this city," I snap back, angry that he’s seen through my discomfort in the role I’m trying to play.

  Even before I complete my sentence he’s shaking his head. "Not happening," he says. "Even if I wanted I couldn’t let you stay here. The numbers are tightly regulated."

  "Come on. One more person, it’s not like a big thing, is it? Not in this city of thousands."

  "You don’t get it," he goes on as if I haven’t spoken. "Everyone has an ID card here and our movements are tracked. Everything is controlled. The council knows everything each citizen does. There’s not a chance in hell you can jump the system."

  "And you call this the new world? Seems more like a prison—" I say.

  He raises his hand and the implicit command in them shuts me up.

  "But a clean and healthy one," he says, "where everything works. Where the air is pure. Everyone has a decent life, and besides, it’s 99.99 per cent crime free."

  "What happened to the 0.01 per cent?" I ask aloud, only half-joking.

  His voice goes cold. "If you hate the thought of living in this city, why are you here? Why are you so ready to offer your body in return for a place to stay?"

  So that’s what he thinks I am. A whore.

  I did offer to sleep with him, of course.

  Yet, now that he’s actually thinking of me that way, I am upset. It makes me angry. And before I can stop myself, I jump up to my feet and, walking up to him, press the barrel of the gun squarely between his eyes.

  "I have you right where I want you," I say.

  Locking eyes with him, I stare into those stormy, swirling depths. I could finish him just now and take what I want and walk away. And no one would know.

  But he doesn’t blink, he’s not even afraid.

  "Do you now?" He looks from me to the gun and even as a flicker of doubt leaps into my eyes, he’s moving. So fast that before I can blink he’s in front of me.

  The next instant he’s holding the gun to my head. And I’m flat on my back on the bed and he’s on top of me.

  Over me.

  All around me.

  The hard planes of his body press down on me, his hipbones digging into my waist. Heat from his chest slams into me and a leap of desire twists my gut.

  His leg is between mine and feeling the bulge in his jeans I go rigid. Not like this. I don’t want him to take me like this. And yet the heat in my belly flares once again. Despite myself, a groan escapes me and I shut my eyes, mortified. How can I still want him right now, when he’s holding a gun to me? Why does a part of me insist that he will not hurt me despite the threat dancing off him?

  The breath heaves o
ut of me in a rush. My heart thunders in my chest, slamming against his body, crushed against him. A ripple of desire, of fear shudders through me. And I know he can feel it too.

  "Shhh! It’s OK." He lowers his gun but doesn’t move away.

  His pulse races at the base of his neck. A shudder runs down his spine. He doesn’t touch me though. Just goes still, the planes of his body molded to mine.

  And I want him to stay, too.

  I want him to brush his lips to mine, run his finger down between my breasts, over my belly, lower still. And then his weight is gone.

  His bare feet thud on the ground.

  By the time I open my eyes he’s already slipping on a shoulder holster over his unbuttoned shirt and sliding the gun in.

  Dropping back into the armchair he says, "You know how to fight with a sword, I’ll give you that, but you had the gun on safety all along."

  I redden at that.

  "Fine. I’m sure there’ll be many out there who will happily take what I have to offer and give me a place to stay," I bite out.

  Sliding out of bed, I turn around and make for the door.

  Where can I go? What do I do now?

  My thoughts race around my head and yet I keep going. As I reach the door of the bedroom a feeling of helplessness flickers through me and I flinch. If I don’t complete my mission, if I can’t persuade him to let me stay…my sister and my mother will certainly not make it out of this city alive. A wave of sickness washes over me. I wonder if I should stop, turn around and throw myself at his mercy when he says, his voice reluctant. “One day. You can stay one day.”

  I keep going.

  "Two," he grinds out.

  I stop just outside the bedroom door, my hands folded over my waist, squashing down the desperation that still twists my gut.

  "Five days," I throw at him over my shoulder, pleased when my voice comes out all firm. Unemotional. Like him.

  "Three days. And. Not. An. Hour. More," he snaps, a tone of finality in his voice.

  I try not to let the triumph show on my face. But I can’t stop the relief from creeping into my eyes.

  "Don’t be too happy about it. You’re going to have to bunk on the couch in the living room," he says, adding, "remember you have to keep completely out of sight. No one and I mean No. One. Can know you are here. Do you understand?"

  I’m about to nod when there's a knock on the door.

  6

  She can’t be seen here, no way. Jumping to his feet he walks up to her and gripping her hand drags her back into the bedroom.

  "Hey," she protests.

  "Shut up. And stay quiet," he snaps and the vehemence in his voice finally gets through to her.

  Almost flinging her inside the room, he slams the bedroom door shut before heading to the main door and flinging it open. The man pushes his way past Jai into the room.

  As usual, his father fills the space with his presence. He’s almost as tall as Jai’s six-feet-two-inches in height. But he’s broader, his well-sculpted shoulders showing the marks of his life – surviving the tsunami, getting through Jai’s mother’s death and now this, the responsibility of running the capital of the newly formed Indostan.

  At forty-nine, Vikram’s jet-black hair is just beginning to gray at the temples. He looks more youthful than his years. Enough to still set female hearts racing, as Jai knows. Enough for the younger cadets in his team to crush on him.

  "You should have called, Mayor," Jai tells him, his voice formal.

  The man’s amber eyes, so like Jai’s, rake his son’s face. "I wanted to get a report of the operation. Firsthand," he says.

  Vik’s features are closed. Jai’s always admired his ability to shut off all feeling and focus on his duty. To do what’s best for everyone, for his family, for his country.

  Taking a step forward, the older man clamps his hand on Jai’s shoulder, gripping it so tight it hurts. Jai winces a little but the other man doesn’t notice. A smile cracks his features. It takes the edge off the harshness of his uniform. As always, Vik wears black trousers, a black shirt and army issue boots, which weigh a ton, as Jai well knows. When he was younger he’d tried to walk around in them, wanting to see how it felt to fit into his father’s shoes. Now he knows better.

  "You did well, Jaidon," he says.

  In the five years since Jai started training, this is the first time his father’s told him anything resembling a compliment.

  Then Vik surprises him even more by adding, "I know how difficult it is for you to do this. I know you don’t always agree with the decisions the council and I make."

  The council, formed of eight self-elected "elders" who survived the tsunami, may have started out with good intentions but Jai often doubts their judgment. Their sole aim is to make this city the foremost economic power in the world. And it’s not that part he disagrees with.

  It’s just…what if you didn’t want only that? What if you wanted more than just commerce and the comforts it could buy? What if you wanted something that went deeper? Something to feed your soul?

  As if reading Jai’s mind, his father’s eyes soften, and a smile plays around his lips. It lights up his features, giving Jai a glimpse of a younger, more caring version of the person he knows today. For a second, he sees the man his mother fell in love with. Just thinking about her makes it unbearable for him to be so close to his father. It’s as if Jai can sense her through him.

  He’d been just eight when Ruby had been killed, protecting the city from the shifters. She’d died but not before making Jai promise that he’d carry on what she’d started. That he’d become a Guardian of the city she loved.

  His mother may have gone but she had made sure she’d tied him to the city. Tied him to her apron strings. Pushing that thought away, Jai moves to the window. When his father walks up to stand next to him, he shifts away but the other man doesn’t notice.

  Outside, the late evening sun catches the sparkling waters of the bay. Looming over it all are the twisted girders of what was once the Sea Link Bridge.

  While the city had reinvented itself after the tsunami the ruins of the broken bridge had been deemed a waste of time and money to clean up. Or perhaps they had been left as a reminder, a warning that however far they may have come, at heart, the city would always be about money.

  Sometimes Jai feels he’s been born in the wrong decade, for, in this post-tsunami universe there’s no space for feelings or emotions. All there is is, is duty, about finding your space in the system and staying there.

  "Whenever I see it, I think of her…" his father says softly, then looks away as if unable to bear the sight of his past. "It’s not like me to get emotional. I am getting sentimental in my old age." He laughs a little before turning to look at Jai. "But today when I heard that you’d been called out on a mission—"

  "You should have more confidence in me," Jai says, a tinge of bitterness creeping into his voice.

  "Oh! I do. And more than you know. You are so like her though—"

  "You underestimated her too, didn’t you?" Jai shoots back.

  Strange, these flashes of insight, which come as you grow up. When you begin to see your parents and their relationships with each other in a new light.

  "She was strong all right. Ruby had a will of her own. And if you thought I was the one in control of our relationship you are wrong."

  They chuckle in shared memory, still staring out the window, still refusing to look at each other.

  Finally, Jai places a tentative hand on the other man’s shoulder. He feels the strength of Vik’s muscles below his military fatigues. It reminds him that this is the same father he’d leaned on in his growing years. The one who’d comforted him when he was bullied at school for preferring to read poetry over participating in a shooting competition.

  "I’m a lot like her," he says. "But I’m like you too," he tells Vik.

  The other man nods and this time when his father smiles it reaches his eyes. "I have no doubt about that. Y
ou wouldn’t put aside your own wishes to keep the promise you made to her if you weren’t like me," he says.

  But inside, Jai knows that’s not completely true. Like his mother, he’d much rather just follow his heart’s desires. Just jump in first and think later. And yet, as if to stop that, as if to hold him back, it’s she who’s bound him to this life of ‘doing what’s expected of him first’.

  "I’m just glad you’re safe," says Vik. "I had to come see you in person to make sure you were fine."

  "That wasn’t hard to admit now, was it?" Jai says in a droll voice. This, at least he’s inherited from his father. This dry humor.

  Vik nods. "Touché. I deserved that." He nods. Folding his hand over his chest he asks, "So the shifters are getting desperate aren’t they? I’m surprised we haven’t had any outbreaks inside the city—"

  "There’s more," says Jai, then hesitates before continuing. ‘They seem to have grown stronger, faster. Fast enough to dodge our bullets.

  "They move swift enough to evade bullets?" he repeats as if he hasn’t heard Jai correctly. "That’s impossible…"

  "Is it?" asks Jai. "We’ve always assumed that the occult nature of the sword, and whatever forces it triggered when it sparked off the tsunamis is responsible for the accelerating genetic shifts in the world. No one even knew of shifters till we sighted them a few years ago. What’s to stop them from becoming more agile as they learn how to tap into their strengths?"

  The full impact of what Jai’s saying dawns on Vik.

  "So how did you kill them?" he asks.

  Jai glances at the sword.

  "They may be able to dodge bullets but apparently a blade is harder to evade," Jai replies. "It also means that—"

  Vik interrupts him, his mind already moving a couple of steps ahead. "—that we need to organize intensive hand-to-hand and sword-training camps, immediately. This is far more serious than I thought—"

  He pauses halfway and looks at Jai strangely. "Still, you did manage to overcome the shifters with your sword?"

  I nod. "It helped that it was that sword," he says. "There was one other thing I wanted to tell you." Jai hesitates, then goes on, "This one wolf…shifter…" he corrects himself. "It was younger than the others. And it didn’t fight me, didn’t threaten me, just stood there watching me. It was almost friendly—"