The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(77)

“Pia’s safety depends on you dropping the case.” She put steel in her voice. A warning and a plea.

“How do you know? Are you sure they’ll keep their word? We have experience with such situations, Tara.”

He was mistaken if he thought she’d back down. She had given up all her dreams for her daughter. She wasn’t about to lose Pia to Arnav’s stubbornness.

“They’ll kill her. They nearly did you in with that accident. They shot Shinde. She’s a little girl. They won’t think twice.”

“They’ll lose all leverage if they do.”

“Pia is a bargaining chip now?”

“I didn’t say that. You don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t understand. You didn’t rush her to the hospital each time she was ill, or to school when she was late. You don’t care. About her, or me. This is all a mistake.”

She should never have met Arnav again, let him bring her to his place. She was to blame for this. She lifted one of his files and hurled it at the wall. Papers flew out, fluttering in the air like the notes clients tossed to her at the Blue Bar. A bar girl couldn’t ever count on a man.

“Tara!”

Tara stormed out of Arnav’s room, and when he followed, she slammed her door in his face and locked it.

She took herself to the window. A lone neem tree swayed in the breeze in front of a garage. Yellow orioles screeched and fought, pecking on the bunches of bitter fruit, like in her childhood home in West Bengal.

Reflexively, Tara stared at her phone lying on the table. As a mother, she had one job—to protect Pia. She sat down on the bed, considering her options. The only other people she knew in Mumbai were Nandini and Shetty. Arnav called her name, knocking on the door. She ignored him.

The phone rang, scaring her, but it was the voice she wanted to hear.

“Have they called again?” Zoya said.

“No. They demanded that Arnav back off his cases.”

“Will he do it?”

Tara couldn’t lie to Zoya, so she spoke what truth she could.

“He’s promised Pia will be safe.”

“I’m going to Rasool.”

“Rasool Bhai?”

The thug who had turned into a big don, one of Mumbai’s most infamous.

“Yes. Well, I don’t have his number, but I know someone who does.”

“Are you mad? Why would he help you?”

“He predicted I’d return to him one day, of my own free will. He was right.”

Zoya couldn’t go back to that life, those bruises.

“No. Let me talk to Arnav first.”

“You do your thing; I’ll do mine. Rasool has connections. He’ll sort it out, in exchange for me.”

“Don’t say that, Zoya.”

“Pia is thirteen. Pretty. She’s your daughter, but also mine. Don’t stop me.” The line went dead.





CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX


I hate sequins. Rubbed against you, they can scratch you raw till you bleed.

Each time I’ve seen a counselor Bilal has arranged for me, they have asked me questions. Write down the answers, they said, even if you can’t speak about it. Write them down for your own eyes. It will help you at school. Express yourself.

So that’s what I’ll do now.

Let’s start from the first occasion she entered my room one afternoon Dad wasn’t at home.

I loathed her smirk.

That’s not true. At my so-called elite boarding school, the only time someone touched me was with their fist or feet, or a rare pat on the shoulder. How many days can a human go without being touched with affection? What does it cost to stay away from all touch, good or bad? Dad’s belts caressed me more than his hands. Slaps, punches. Bilal nursed me each time. So when she stroked me at first, it was on my hair, my forehead, and I liked it. Then I didn’t. Then I did, so much. I didn’t hate it. Later, I was scared because she told me she would tell Dad.

He can’t keep up with me, she’d say, but you can. Come here, she’d flick her finger, and I’d go. How do you touch someone you ache to strangle and kiss at the same moment? I burned to kiss her, no denying it. All over. She let me when she was in the mood. Her game. Her rules, her timing. That Diwali evening in the study when Dad was in the shower, when she had returned from a party in her sequined saree. Gagging and suffocating between her legs, my face scratched by the blue sequins, terrified for my life. I can’t stand Diwali now. Makes me want to set the world on fire.





CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN


ARNAV

In the afternoon buzz, Arnav moved through his warm-up stances. Each movement sent tendrils of pain coursing through his broken shoulder and injured arm, but he needed to assure himself that he could still his mind; and his legs were in working order. In the days ahead, he would need both. A week ago, Tara wasn’t a part of his life, but now she’d become the epicenter of a slow earthquake, his days on the brink of collapse.

She’d tried to steal away last night to go beg Shetty for help. It had taken all of sensei’s persuasive skills and Arnav’s pleas to stop her. She’d finally fallen asleep at dawn. It was as if her mind had decided to shut her down.

Afterward, he’d stayed up, leaning against her bed—terrified she might run again. He’d had little to no sleep, but it didn’t matter. He’d coped with worse.