The Khan by Saima Mir (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📗

face was unblemished, his eyes were tired. Standing in their father’s house they would both have given anything to turn back the clock and be children again. But there was no way back. Life had shown them its disfigured face. ‘Jia, we’re not like white society. They look after their own and that’s what Baba does. The day you see the world for what it really is, you’ll realise the lines drawn between right and wrong are not black and white, and they are not drawn for or by people like us. That day, you will see our father for what he really is, and you won’t be able to forgive yourself.’ There was nothing more to say. Jia knew that words could not change who they were and what had happened. They stood in silence, looking at each other, each one helpless in their own way.

A sudden crash interrupted the quiet, then Akbar Khan’s voice, angrier than either had ever heard it before. ‘Get out of my house,’ he said. Suddenly Elyas was standing in the hallway, his face red with rage, and Jia knew he would never speak to her father again. He moved at speed, making his way out of the house, letting the solid oak door smash against the frame as he left.

Jia followed him into the driveway, hoping to stop him, bring him back, to calm the situation, but she found herself standing alone in the darkness. A gale was blowing; its bitterly cold fingers wrapped itself around her face and permeated her bones. The wind swept through the branches of the trees that lined the long driveway, bending and twisting them to its will, their boughs refusing to give up control. The night made them menacing, like the monsters of childhood nightmares. She heard a loud crack above her head and she dodged as a chunk of the apple tree fell to the ground. Through the sound of the raging storm came the angry revving of an engine and headlights appeared. It was Elyas. She ran to him, climbing into the car, hoping to make him change his mind, but he was reversing before she could even close the passenger door. From the other side of the darkness came Zan, rain pouring down his face, dripping off his jaw, shaking his head at Jia, mouthing the words: ‘Don’t go. Please.’ He could see he was failing. He had to bring them back. If they left now, things would never be the same again. He moved swiftly towards the driver’s door but Elyas was faster. He put the car into gear and hit the accelerator, tearing down the driveway.

Jia turned to see her brother climbing into a BMW, the speed they were travelling and the rain making him almost invisible at once. At the end of the driveway, Elyas jammed on his brakes, stopping inches away from the wrought-iron gates. The impact threw Jia back in her seat. ‘Slow down,’ she said. ‘You’ll get us both killed.’ She was angry at her father, at Elyas, at Zan, and at herself. The blood pulsed through her temples making it hard for her to think.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. She softened, letting go of her pride and taking his hand in hers. They sat in silence, watching as the iron gates swung slowly open. Maybe when they got home, they could talk things through properly and figure out a way through this mess. She pulled down the visor in front of her, wiping her face clean of tears, rain and make-up. As she looked in the mirror, Zan’s car came into view. The rain was easing and she could see his face looking back at her.

Elyas turned into the main road and Jia lost sight of her brother. In that moment, she realised that no man, no matter how beloved, would ever take the place of her family. She reached down into her handbag and took out her phone, dialling his number.

Lying in her old bed years later, her face washed clean of the make-up she’d worn for Maria’s wedding earlier that day, Jia could still feel the cold sting of that stormy night against her cheeks. The smell of the wet gravel and the sound of it crunching as the car tyres spun out of control was still fresh in her mind. And then the flash of silver from the opposite side of the road, the shrieking of brakes on the rain-soaked tarmac, followed by glass smashing and the sharp screech of metal cutting through itself: it would never fade from her memory. The smell of burning rubber would never leave her.

The crash had been loud; it must have echoed for miles. Zan’s car turning into the road, the boy racer coming the other way, jumping to the wrong side of the road to overtake a driver who was navigating the precarious driving conditions.

She remembered running and losing her shoes somewhere along the way. She reached the site of the crash before Elyas had even made it out of his car. She saw the BMW Zan had been driving in front of her. It had crumpled like a tin can, the Subaru sandwiched through its centre. Frantically, she’d searched for her brother, screaming his name until her throat was ripped to shreds. The driver of the Subaru was dead; the air bag had failed to open, his crushed head resting against the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, his girlfriend was pressed against the side of the car, whimpering for help, but Jia was not there for her, she was there for Zan. And then she saw him, lying lifeless on the other side of the road.

Through the heavy rain and darkness, Elyas watched Jia cradling Zan in her arms, her face up to the heavens, twisted in agony.

Family trickled out of the gates of Pukhtun House. Stumbling over each other, they washed on to the street.

Sanam Khan was the first to see them, a hand reaching