THE DEMON'S LEGACY
Chapter 3
When Barsad entered his capacious room, only the gentle hum of central air conditioning and the low volume of the television disturbed the quiet. Across the room, the blinds of the broad glass veranda doors had been drawn against the sun, but enough light made its way into the space to reveal Sanjana sleeping on the sofa to his right where a suite of furniture formed a companionable square. The illumination from the fifty-inch TV mounted on the interior wall shined against the silken ebony of Sanjana's hair, which was splayed about her neck, shoulders, and full breasts like a widow's veil.
Barsad smiled and set aside his pack before slipping across the room toward her. With a stirring in his loins, he glanced at the nearby bed, then silently sat on the coffee table in front of Sanjana. She wore a simple, pale blue chiffon sari, the fabric draping her expansive baby bump. Watching her sleep was as satisfying as drinking a tall glass of ice water after a long run or a strenuous work-out in the palace gym. It replenished him and erased the aches and fatigue from the mission. Having Sanjana here when he returned from the field always gratified him in a surprisingly powerful way, especially when he remembered his decades of bachelorhood, when coming back to base meant little more than restlessness for the next mission. Now he looked forward to the days he could spend with her, especially once the baby was born.
Sanjana's cocoa complexion had the flawlessness of youth—she was nearly twenty years younger than Barsad. Her full lips were slightly parted, beckoning a kiss. Long eyelashes lay like feathers against the skin above her high cheekbones, cheekbones that gained prominence whenever she smiled, which was often. Yet, that smile had not always come so readily.
Nearly three years ago, shortly before Barsad had met her, she had been raped by her fiancé's brother. After the attack, her marriage had been called off, and her father had rejected her out of deep shame, partially blaming her for the rape. Her ex-fiancé's father was Hisham's brother. Feeling sorry for Sanjana, he had petitioned Hisham to ask Maysam to hire Sanjana as her maidservant, which she did. Sanjana's beauty and demure personality had instantly caught Barsad's eye, and he had set about earning her trust and friendship, a long, slow process, but one that was well worth the effort. Being a sniper had taught him to be the most patient of men.
But, just as Barsad had begun to make inroads with the girl, all nearly collapsed one terrible night when Bane and he were gone on a mission. Amir El Fadil forced himself on Sanjana, claiming what he felt was a master's right and a way to goad Barsad. But he paid for his crime with his life, thanks to Barsad's skill as a sniper. Though Sanjana suspected and was grateful for Barsad's part in avenging her shame, more than a year passed before she could gather the courage to sleep with him, no matter how great her love and desire by then. Even after that, Sanjana struggled with her trauma. It was Barsad's patience and kindness that eventually helped her trust again, and deepened her love for him as well.
Now Barsad's lips twisted in an ironic smile as he watched her sleep, thinking of how Bane often teased him about his choice in women.
"I thought you would end up with someone like Selina Kyle, brother. Someone outside the law, not a sweet, feminine child such as Sanjana."
Barsad had to agree with Bane, though he sure as hell never shared his view with Sanjana. Even all this time later, she still looked at him with a certain innocence, as if she didn't completely understand that he was a trained assassin. And he found that he liked that. Although he never pretended to be anything other than what he was, he also didn't share much with her about his work. If she asked, he gave only vague details and reminded her of his oath of secrecy to the League. She never pressed but neither did she hide her curiosity. Last year she had even asked him to teach her how to shoot, which he had happily done. And though she had no natural talent for it, she had a genuine desire to learn and improve. Sharing his life's passion in this way drew him even closer to her, in the same way Sanjana's belief that he had been the one who had assassinated Amir had bonded them, a fact that he had never confirmed, for her safety as well as his own.
He reached to brush back a tendril of her hair that had slipped across her face. She made a small sound and stirred. Her nostrils twitched then flared, and she breathed deeply as her eyes lazily opened enough to see him. Sanjana smiled dreamily. Barsad smiled back.
"Are you real?" she murmured. "Or just a dream?"
"I'm afraid I'm real, darlin'. In no good dream does a man smell this bad. But that's not going to stop me from kissing you."
"I hope not."
Sanjana remained with her head on the pillow while their lips met. She always tasted so damn good—sweet and fresh, lips as soft as a down pillow. His hand drifted to her swollen belly.
"How are you and the baby feeling?"
"Tired, all the time. And hungry."
Barsad helped her sit up, then settled next to her, taking her hand in both of his. "Well, it's almost suppertime, and I promise not to keep you up late tonight. In fact, I'll probably be asleep before you."
"Aren't we a pair?" She kissed him again. "I'm so glad you're home. I'm always afraid the baby will come when you aren't here."
He put his arm around her. "No need to worry about that anymore. Bane's assured me I won't be going anywhere now until after the birth."
"And hopefully not soon afterwards."
"I hope not."
"Bane stayed here a long time after Henri was born," she said hopefully.
"Yes, but he's Bane. I'm not as privileged." Barsad winked and added with mock importance, "I serve at the pleasure of the Demon's Head."
Sanjana scoffed. "You are more than an employee to Bane; you are his brother. For that, I will always be grateful to him. He respects you more than anyone in the world."
Barsad laughed. "You don't see us away from here, darlin'. Don't let the bear fool you with his gentlemanly ways around you women. He's a harsh taskmaster, even with me."
"Well," she said with an impish smile and side glance, "you can be trouble, John Barsad."
"Someone has to challenge him. Keeps him on his toes."
Sanjana rested her head against his shoulder and sighed. He kissed her smooth hair, buried his nose in its coconut scent.
"I should take a shower before we eat. Don't wanna show up at Maysam's table looking like a beggar and smelling worse."
Sanjana lifted her head. "Oh, John. Can't we eat here? Just the two of us?" She gestured to the small dining area near the veranda doors.
He kissed her cheek. "I'd love to, but we're expected. You know we always eat with the others when we first get back. That's how Maysam likes it. Abrams is even coming."
Sanjana couldn't hide her small frown over the invitation.
"Sanji," Barsad said, "you've gotta get over this thing with Maysam."
"I can't help it, John. I was her servant for three years."
"Yeah, but not the past three months."
"But after the baby is born, I will go back to being her servant."
"That's your choice, not Maysam's mandate, remember. You don't have to do that."
"But it wouldn't feel right for me just to…be here, doing nothing, like some privileged woman of fine breeding, while you are in the field. I'm a child of the Jaipur slums. When I came here, I couldn't read or write or even speak anything but Hindi. For me to pretend—"
"You aren't pretending. You're the mother of my child. Don't forget, it was Maysam who brought us together."
Barsad instantly regretted saying this when he saw Sanjana's hurt look. This was not the time to have this discussion, not with her hormones raging and his need to clean up before their meal.
"Yes, she brought us together that first night so I could be your whore. That is probably how she still sees me. And why wouldn't she when we're not married?"
"You weren't my whore then, and you aren't now. You're being unfair to Maysam. She doesn't look at you that way."
"I know it's hard for you to understand, John. You grew up in a totally different world."
"I understand the caste system better than you think, Sanji."
"Understanding it and living it are two very different things."
Barsad took her face in his hands, drew her even closer. She was more wounded than angry, and he hated seeing her this way. It was always the same with this damned topic. He offered a placating smile and kissed her pouting lips.
"Let's discuss this after supper. I need to shower, and we need to get dressed so we're not late." He saw the shadow of further battle in her eyes, so he gave her a boyish grin. "Please, mere bachche kee maan."
"Can't you just tell them I don't feel well?"
"I could, if you want me to be a liar."
She sighed in frustration.
He kissed her hands then stood. "I have to shower. I smell like guns and sweat."
###
Abrams had never been a huge fan of Indian food, but he had to admit tonight's Tandoori chicken was damn near flawless, served with rice and grilled vegetables, accompanied by a cucumber salad. He had always been more of a red meat and potatoes kind of guy, but Maysam's chef had outdone himself this time.
"It would appear you're enjoying the chicken, Aaron," Maysam said from the head of the rectangular table. She was the only person who ever called him by his first name, a practice he found both discomfiting and pleasurable.
He paused with a drumstick halfway to his spice-besmeared mouth and saw that Maysam, Bane, Talia, and Barsad were looking at him with amusement. Only Sanjana, across the table, next to Barsad, kept her eyes on her own plate, silent as usual while at Maysam's table. The heat of a slight flush warmed Abrams's cheeks.
"Er…yes. It's excellent."
"See what you would have missed out on if you hadn't come?" Maysam said with a sly look that bordered on sultry. Or was it his active imagination conjuring what he wanted to see?
"Now, Jiddah," Talia said, "you know he embarrasses easily. Don't scare him away."
"Pay the women no mind, Abrams," Bane said. "They enjoy trying to make us uncomfortable. We must stand firm."
Abrams produced a weak smile of appreciation for Bane's defense, then bit into the piece of chicken, happy to have an excuse to be unresponsive. Next to him, Bane chuckled and went back to his own meal. From the other side of Bane, Talia gave Abrams a wink before leaving him alone to stew in his own awkwardness. Barsad came to his rescue by engaging Maysam in palace gossip. For a mere instant, Sanjana lifted her empathetic gaze to Abrams and offered a tiny smile of fellowship. He tried to smile back but failed miserably.
Abrams had never felt comfortable around beautiful women, and here he sat at a table with three of the most beautiful he had ever seen. At least with Sanjana, he sensed that slight kinship, that understanding of the outsider. Even if Barsad hadn't told him about Sanjana's uneasiness regarding her relationship with Maysam, he would have figured it out. Like him, she was an employee sitting at the boss's table. Yet with Abrams it was something even more that made him ill at ease…
He was in love with Maysam.
Easily he remembered the first time he had seen her; it had been in this very room. Bane had brought him to the palace to recover from a gunshot wound suffered while helping Bane apprehend a notorious terrorist, a dangerous operation in which Abrams had been a triple agent. The success of that mission—in conjunction with the CIA—had gained immunity for Bane and Talia for the Gotham takeover, so Maysam had been especially grateful to Abrams when they met that first day at lunch. He had expected to see a woman who looked her age—early seventies at the time—so when Bane introduced her, Abrams found himself struck speechless by her timeless beauty. Few lines marred her forehead and lean cheeks, and a spark of cunning enlivened her prominent dark eyes. She carried herself like a queen, back straight, chin high, tall, stately and slim. When she spoke, the sexy throatiness of her voice also took him aback for someone her age. Not that she was so much older than he in his mid-sixties, but still…
After Abrams's recovery, it had been Bane's idea that he remained as part of Maysam's personal security force. Talia and Bane had feared that if Abrams returned to his job with German intelligence, the radical Islamic terrorist organization he had betrayed would hunt him down and kill him. Though the initial idea had not overly appealed to Abrams for a variety of reasons, once he met Maysam, he couldn't say no. After a year and a half, she had promoted him to head of security. The new position made it necessary for him to spend more one-on-one time with her to discuss issues of her safety.
Abrams, with no family except a father who worked too many hours and an abusive uncle, had left home straight out of high school in Maryland, enlisting in the army and surviving two tours of duty in Vietnam. Like many, he returned to the States and found civilian life an impossible adjustment. He dabbled with various jobs but had little success in holding one for very long. He drank too much and abused drugs. When he reached rock bottom and ended up in rehab, he managed to crawl out of that dark hole and realize that without a purpose he would never survive. So he returned to what he knew—soldiering. But this time he carried a gun as a private soldier, a mercenary. And he was good at it…until it landed him in the pit prison.
During the checkered years of his unhappy life, there had been a few women, but nothing lasting more than a couple of months. After that, there had been only the occasional prostitute. Otherwise, he had given up on relationships. Maybe that was why he could endure being in a cell next to Bane's mother—and, later, Melisande—better than other men could.
But, since coming to the palace, things were different. He experienced emotions that he had thought never to feel again. He had not been searching for them either; they had simply found him. And no matter how much he rejected those feelings, those stirrings, he couldn't escape them. Surprisingly, he didn't want to. Yet, he wasn't sure what to do with them either.
"I saw another cornhusk doll in Henri's room," Bane was saying, drawing Abrams back to the table. "Did you take my son to the bazaar today, Maysam?"
"Yes. I hadn't planned to, but when he found out I was going, there was no denying him."
"You went with them, of course, Abrams?"
"Of course. And I'm glad I did."
Bane turned, instantly keen. "Did something happen?"
"No, but…" Abrams shrugged one shoulder. "Call it a hunch."
"Call it nonsense," Maysam said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Aaron thinks Diya Panjabi's daughter is a spy."
"I never said that," Abrams countered calmly.
"A potential threat, then." Maysam's attention returned to her plate as Hisham poured her more coffee. "It's still nonsense."
"What did you see?" Bane asked.
Abrams shrugged again. "Maybe nothing. But Diya's daughter—Nyssa is her name—rarely comes to the village to see her mother, according to Maysam."
"Her mother is ill," Maysam said. "She is here to take care of her and mind Diya's stall in the bazaar. Nothing more."
"Maybe that's all there is to it," Abrams conceded. "But she had a look about her. It's the look of a soldier."
"A soldier?" Maysam echoed.
"Yes. And after we returned from the bazaar, I did some checking. Nyssa was married to a rather notorious and skilled mercenary. She met him in the trade."
"You mean," Barsad said, "she was a mercenary herself?"
"Still is, according to my sources."
Now Maysam ignored her food, interest wiping away her previous dismissiveness. "But that still doesn't mean she is here for any other reason than to care for her mother."
"Sure, probably," Abrams said. "But I think she bears watching all the same."
"Of course," Bane rumbled. "Make sure someone is surveilling her at all times while she is here."
"I already have Davos on it."
"Make sure the woman knows Davos is watching her," Bane said. "It may deter her and cause her mother to caution her."
With a brow furrowed by concern, Talia asked, "Did she speak with Henri? They bought that doll from her."
"Yes," Maysam said. "She was very kind to him. He liked her."
"Perhaps," Bane said, "until the woman is gone from here, Henri should not go to the village. Abrams, ensure Diya Panjabi has the medical care required for a swift recovery, so her daughter's services will no longer be required. Use discretion in accomplishing this, of course. We don't want to be overt in our intervention."
"I'll see to it."
"We will plan on having her shadowed once she leaves here, until we are satisfied she poses no threat."
Abrams caught Maysam's frown, and she avoided his gaze for the rest of dinner. Afterwards, everyone went to the adjoining veranda for dessert and coffee. As soon as he finished dessert, Abrams begged leave. He was surprised when Maysam left the others to escort him through the dining room.
"I want to apologize," she said.
"Apologize? For what?"
"For trivializing your concern about Diya's daughter, especially in front of the others."
"You don't need to apologize. Things have been quiet for a while. It's natural to let your guard down a bit."
"Well, I should know better. But, yes, things have been peaceful. Having my granddaughter and great-grandson here with me all the time has perhaps made me a little soft."
"Nothing wrong with that. That's why you have me and the others; let us worry about your safety while you enjoy your life."
They paused when they reached the door. Maysam rested her hand on the doorknob but didn't open the door. She studied him with her intelligent eyes, and he wondered what truly lay behind them.
"Perhaps," she said at last, "you should enjoy your life as well, Aaron. When you're here, socializing with my family, you should understand that you are a part of that family, not my employee."
Her words flustered Abrams. She was the only person who had such an effect on him, and he hated himself for his helplessness in such a moment.
"I appreciate that, Maysam, but I don't think I've earned that inclusion. We haven't known each other very long."
She laughed. "It's been almost three years, Aaron."
"What I mean is, we haven't known each other as long as you've known the others. Hell, you've even known Sanjana longer than you've known me."
Maysam's gaze never wavered, making him squirm internally even more. He wished she would open the door and let him escape to the solitude of his room, yet he also enjoyed her closeness. It made him slightly lightheaded, like drinking too much whiskey, hard and fast. She was intoxicating, classy. Too damned classy for him.
"Perhaps," Maysam said, "we would know one another better if you accepted more of my invitations to share my table."
"Your brother thinks it's inappropriate, and so does Nashir."
Maysam waved away his words and tsked. "What do I care what they think? And you shouldn't care either." She smiled to dismiss his concerns. "Now, promise me that the next time I invite you," she pointed in warning, "even when Bane and Barsad are not here, you will accept. I'm beginning to think you don't like my company, Aaron."
Nothing could be farther from the truth, he almost said but bit back his enthusiasm.
When he hesitated, Maysam leaned closer, as if trying to hear. She wore an impish smirk that reminded him of Talia, or was it Melisande? No, in the pit prison there had been little occasion for such lighthearted emotion from Talia's mother. Either way, Maysam had succeeded in banishing the years from her attractive face, and he could believe she was younger than he.
"Er, um…"
"Must I issue a direct order?" Maysam persisted. "Perhaps Bane could convince you. He does have his ways of…persuading people. However, I understand pain is often involved."
Abrams couldn't help but grin at her game, though he hated smiling too much around her because he felt it accentuated his cursed hair-lip.
"I'll think about it," he said. "No need to poke the bear, as Barsad would say."
She removed her hand from the doorknob at last and took a step back. "Yes, Barsad would know a thing or two about that, wouldn't he?" Her smile remained, making Abrams's temperature rise, among other things.
"Well," he stammered, "thanks for dinner."
She allowed him to leave without securing his promise, but he could tell by the pointed lift of her eyebrows that she wasn't going to let him off the hook.