𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-43

Mahashivratri = A festival to honor lord Shiva.

Mahadev/Shankar ji = Lord shiva others names.

-*-*-*-

"Anthony!" Rudraksh called out, his head heavy against the cold counter, eyes shut as he shifted uneasily on the high chair. "A strong one." His good hand dragged across the surface, two fingers lifting like a crooked hook.

The background music pounded through the bar's walls, beating against his heartbeat in an uneven rhythm.

Anthony, the same bartender Rudraksh had wandered in to months ago, leaned forward. "Rudraksh." He flashed a tight-lipped smile. "Try to learn to live a life, man."

Rudraksh lifted his head sluggishly, strands of black hair veiling his narrowed eyes. "Oh, Anthony Gonsalves." His dry tone dripped with sarcasm. "You're a bartender. Behave like one. Don't try to sound like my father." With a final look, he let his face fall back onto the polished top, his cheek flattening against the chilled surface.

Anthony propped one elbow on the counter, palm cupping his jaw as he studied Rudraksh's slumped figure. "It's the ninth time you're drinking here," he said, eyebrows lifting.

Rudraksh's lips parted, tongue clicking against his cheek as he raised his head again. "It's not the ninth time only from this bar." His jaw tightened. "It's the ninth time in my entire life."

"Then are you planning to make this a lifetime achievement?" Anthony cut in, blinking slowly.

A frustrated sigh hissed through Rudraksh's teeth. He stuck out his tongue briefly, running it over his reddened lips. Straightening his spine, his eyes swept across the smoky, neon-lit space like an owl unsettled in daylight.

"Will you take my order or not?" He slapped his good hand on the counter, the chair screeching forward in protest.

"No," Anthony replied nonchalantly, pivoting away to attend another customer.

"What the hell, Anthony?!" Rudraksh's voice shot up, though the heavy bass and surrounding chatter smothered its sharp edge. His fingers flexed restlessly against his thighs.

"What happened, baby boy?"

A feminine voice, dipped in seduction and invitation, slipped into his ears. His head snapped toward the stranger, his face twisting as if someone had shoved him an omelet made of rotten eggs.

A woman, likely in her late thirties – wrapped in a dress that looked like it either belonged to her or her little daughter, if she had one – leaned closer, flashing the curves of her mammary glands. Her hand hovered near Rudraksh's trimmed jaw, long nails gliding just an inch above, poised to claim it.

Instinctively, Rudraksh jerked back in his chair, the wooden legs squealing as they dragged. His narrowed eyes threw poisonous daggers at the woman making her advance. "Stay away." The clipped firmness in his voice left no room for play.

A husky chuckle, forced and hollow, escaped her throat. She drew her hand back, raking her fingers through her slack, dyed-red strands that barely held their curl. "Shy one," she whispered, her breath reeking of cigarettes and cheap liquor. Biting her lower lip, she let her wild gaze roam over Rudraksh's figure, drinking in every inch of his clothed body like a shameless, hungry wolf.