The Goddess Legacy

Chapter 40

Indiana Singh watched three go-go dancers bump and grind to the pounding techno beat of an internationally heralded DJ spinning tunes from his station on the raised stage. Singh took another swig of champagne and closed his eyes, letting the rhythm shake him to his roots, the alcohol a welcome relief after days of sleepless tension.

Kitty Kat, an upscale club that catered to the city’s elite, was jumping. The crush of bodies undulating on the dance floor was a nightly mating ritual for the privileged, and the cost of admission to the exclusive venue exorbitant — but not tonight, on Singh’s last outing in New Delhi on his victory lap.

He was now a rich man; only a tiny fraction of the planet possessed more than he, and he had decided to spend some of it living large for a night on the town before leaving forever, his ticket to Sri Lanka already purchased, a new life calling to him beneath a palm tree on a secluded white sand beach.

The DJ yelled into his microphone and the crowd went wild, hands waving in the air as the computerized lights overhead strobed and spun and changed color. Singh opened his eyes and rubbed them with a trembling hand, suddenly light-headed from the unaccustomed alcohol. A young woman at the bar next to him batted her eyes flirtatiously and he smiled, his teeth glowing white in the black lights shining from the ceiling. She toasted him with a champagne flute and turned to whisper something to her friend, another woman wearing expensive designer jeans and a top that cost as much as his motorbike.

He tossed the remainder of his champagne back and ordered a final drink, the prepaid card patrons bought upon entry almost depleted. The bartender, a young man with a rakish haircut and gym-toned muscles, brought him another glass, and Singh sipped the intoxicating elixir, savoring the effervescent tang. The price of each glass was enough to buy lunch for a week in his run-down neighborhood.

But that was then. Before he’d made his big score. Before he’d become a winner.

Before he’d had to run for his life.

A wave of sadness washed over him as he remembered his brother’s final words to him — a warning he hadn’t heeded. Now his brother was gone forever, leaving Singh the last in the family to carry on its legacy. He would move to more hospitable climes, find himself a young beauty to bear his children, and grow fat doing nothing, living an untroubled existence, perhaps operating a bar for tourists in an out-of-the-way spot. Anything was possible now.

Now that he had the money to fulfill his dreams.

He lingered over his champagne and glanced back at the beauty who’d caught his eye, but she was now texting someone with singular focus, uninterested in Singh any longer, as though she’d evaluated him and found him wanting. Anger surged through him at the thought of being judged by a smug princess whose biggest problems were laughable. Her parents no doubt were wealthy, rendering Singh’s low-class origins as obvious to her as if he’d had his shortcomings tattooed on his forehead.

He was used to that reaction and didn’t care. She couldn’t ruin his night. Nothing could. His first night of many where he was finally free of mundane concerns. There would be women aplenty, he reckoned, women who wanted him for who he was, who didn’t judge him with the disdain of the New Delhi royalty he despised.

Singh considered saying something to her but bit his tongue, realizing that he was probably a little drunk. The last thing he wanted was the disgrace of being thrown out of the club, which would surely be the end result of starting a fight with one of the elites. Better to bow out gracefully, return to his hotel, and sleep off his seething resentment.

He turned to go and almost collided with a middle-aged man who looked out of place in the young, cosmopolitan scene. Singh’s breath caught in his throat at the man’s icy stare, and he mumbled an apology as he staggered past, finishing his champagne on the way to the exit. The man was probably Indian mob, which ran much of Delhi, just as similar criminal syndicates operated in most major metropolises the world over. He had that vibe, the ability to radiate danger with a glance. Singh shook his head to clear it — that wasn’t his concern. None of it was. He was on his way, and the city could rot for all he cared.

Singh walked through the lobby and out the exit, where two bouncers were keeping a long line of hopefuls in orderly check. He enjoyed the envious looks from those relegated to the queue as he made his way down the block, and barely registered two figures on the other side of the street keeping pace as he reached the intersection.

His pulse quickened as he turned the corner instead of crossing, hurrying in the opposite direction from the one where he’d parked his bike, unsure whether the pair were simply muggers working the area or something more ominous. He cursed his hubris in going out — he should have stayed locked safely in his room until he’d raced for his plane. But his ego had gotten the better of him, and now he was on a dark street with unknown prospects, a rabbit with wolves in hot pursuit.

He heard footsteps and dashed away, refusing to be an easy target. Up ahead was another street packed with vehicles, their lights and horns calling to him; his pursuers would be unlikely to continue the chase in a crowded thoroughfare. He was nearly to the corner when a blow to his back knocked the wind from him and drove him forward, off balance. His feet tripped over each other as he stumbled and then went down, hard.

Singh hit the pavement with a thud, but rolled in an effort to regain his footing. He was struggling to stand when a knife-wielding figure stepped in front of him, grinning like a demon. Singh managed a cry before it was cut off by a blow to his skull, and the street receded into blackness as he lost consciousness, his last impression the impossibly sharp teeth of his attacker and the hideous deformity that was the apparition’s mouth.