Bollywood and the Beast (Bollywood Confidential) by Snyder Suleikha

Author:Snyder, Suleikha [Snyder, Suleikha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2014-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

Don’t you give up now.

The gin was still buzzing in his head. The ground still seemed entirely too close. But Taj’s arms were tight and warm and solid. Ashu held on, taking in great gulps of air, wet with tears and tasting of alcohol…distantly aware that they were not alone. That he’d put on one last grand show for a crowd.

Rocky was just over Bhaiya’s shoulder. Kamal stood back, shaking—with fury or with fear, Ashraf couldn’t begin to guess. But when Bhaiya finally released him from his ferocious hug, they were drawn together like magnets. Nahin, warped magnets. Not a tight snap but a tentative one.

Kamal towered over him, taller, bigger, stronger than ever before. But weaker, too. Bewildered. “Why?” he asked, something that sounded almost like hurt lacing his low voice. “Why did you not come to me, Chote Saab?”

It was an odd question now. Here. But still he tried to answer. “I didn’t think you wanted me to. I thought it would be better if I…if I…”

“Chote,” Kamal whispered raggedly, reaching out to knuckle Ashraf’s jaw. “When I have stayed with you for ten years, why would you think you can leave me behind?”

These words made even less sense. Ashu clung to them anyway. “Y-you stayed for me? What about Taj?”

“He is my duty. You, Chote Saab, are my heart.” As Kamal spoke, he took Ashraf’s hand, flattening it over the organ in question, which pounded like a drum.

His own heart seemed to follow the same erratic rhythm, still racing from his reckless dance on the ledge. And perhaps something more. But he couldn’t know what that something was. Not with daru and death still sloshing in his veins. So he just gripped Kamal’s forearms like the railings of a staircase leading him back down from the precipice. “I won’t go,” he whispered, in barely passable Urdu. The kind that would never be set down as poetry. “Not…not like this.” A nervous glance back at the parapet was his only punctuation. “I cannot promise you I will succeed. But I will try. Is it acceptable if I try?”

“Good.” Kamal replied in English. Of course the beautiful bastard spoke English. “That is very, very good.

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