PROLOGUE
Kabir steppedup to the mic, one hand coming up to cradle it.
"Hello New York," he crooned.
The crowd went crazy, the screams resounding through the open ground. An irreverent grin graced his mobile mouth as he looked out at the controlled chaos of the crowds who had come to see him and his band perform. A bra came flying through the air dropping on to the stage at the feet of his bass guitarist. Ayaan laughed, a wild burst of joy. Kabir grinned. the mood was electric tonight and that always brought out the best in him.
"How are we doing tonight?"
More screaming ensued, the sound making his ears ring. He loved it. He lived for it. This was the high he'd spent his entire life chasing. A drug that swam through his veins and soothed the beast within.
Kabir looked over his shoulder at Malik, the drummer, and nodded. Malik picked up his drumsticks and opened with a riff that had the screaming crescendo. Kabir tipped his head back, closed his eyes and allowed the sound to wash over him. David, his lead guitarist, joined in as did Amay on the keyboard. Heglanced over at Ayaan, his bass guitarist and best friend, and grinned, wild and electric.
And then, Kabir Kashyap, began to sing. If the mood in the stadium had been electric before, it now went supersonic. His deep baritone rolled through the night making every woman there sigh and dream impossibly sexy dreams, filled with hot, steamy passion and the kind of frustrated desire that only existed in women’s hopes and in Kabir’s lyrics.
Kabir closed his eyes and opened the door to his heart. He allowed every smile, every tear, every memory to stream through him as he raised his voice to hit a note of desperate yearning, plucked straight from the bruised strings of his heart. Painted on the backs of his eyelids he saw her tangled curls, her pointy chin, her big eyes, and her sweet smile. He saw her furious heart, her unshed tears, her whispered pleas, and her quiet adoration.
He sang of love, forbidden, taboo, and unmatched. He sang of hope, endless, poisoned, and unattainable. And he sang of despair, bottomless, familiar, and yet, unknown.
And when he felt like his heart could shatter no more, he opened his eyes, scanned the heaving masses of his rabid fans and swung into a song of sex, dark, intense, and desperate. The screaming response he got had him grinning, a feral edge to the baring of his teeth. He tossed his jacket, sweat pouring down his face and torso as he walked over to where Ayaan stood. Their voices melded, a symphony as familiar to Kabir as his earliest memories of jamming in his bedroom with his friend.
By the time they’d finished their set, the mayhem in the grounds was only matched by the screams of ‘encore’ or ‘one more.’
Kabir ripped off his t-shirt, downing an entire bottle of water to replace everything he’d sweated out. He grabbed another bottle and emptied it over his head, shaking his head as droplets sprayed out of his overlong, shaggy hair. This time, the noise was deafening.
“Fucker.” David chuckled. “You’re setting them up for restless nights and wet dreams.”
Kabir laughed, his heart still pounding from the exertion.
“And what are you going to do for the men?” Amay asked, running his fingers over the keys, teasing out a melody that had more noise erupting even though they were on a short break.
Kabir winked. “I don’t discriminate,” he said, grabbing David’s guitar and slinging it over his neck. “Alright then New York!” He screamed into the microphone. They screamed right back.
He rolled his neck and launched into one of their earliest hits. His band swung into action behind him with David taking a guitar one of their support staff ran out to give him. Kabir knew he’d give him grief for taking his guitar later. It was as bad as taking his woman. But David also knew that what Kabir wanted, Kabir took, and made no excuses for it.
And Kabir took everything.
Except for the one thing, the one person, he wanted from the bottom of his depraved heart. It was his only claim to virtue. Loving her so purely that he refused to soil her with his existence.
They ended the concert on a high, the last note seeming to quiver endlessly in the bated hush of the space before the crowd erupted in a final roar of sound, a tidal wave that crashed againstthe band standing on the stage, sweating, panting, trembling with exultation.
Kabir followed the others off the stage, taking a towel someone handed him and slinging it around his neck.
“Well done boys.” Varsha Vashisht, their manager smiled, her hard, assessing eyes, taking them all in behind her Prada glasses.
“Thanks VV. Feel free to thank us any which way you wish to.” David winked.
Varsha gave him a frosty stare, one that Kabir was sure would have frozen David’s dick off if he hadn’t been impervious to it. David’s campaign to win Varsha’s heart was as hopeless as it was endless.
Kabir ignored the chatter and went hunting for the bottle of Macallan his assistant always kept handy for him. He found it along with the glass placed beside it, on the table in the corner.
“Take it easy with the celebrating, Kashyap,” Varsha snapped, her judgy tone making his hackles rise.
“You manage my career,” Kabir reminded her, his tone bordering on insolence. “Not me, Vashisht.”
Her lips thinned with disapproval but she kept her thoughts to herself.
Kabir had just gotten the cap off, and taken a swig straight from the bottle, ignoring the glass placed beside it, when his assistant, Rahul Sethi, rushed into the room, Kabir’s phone in his hand.
