Page 12 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

INDIGO

I know that I'm supposed to stay in the panic room like Anatoly instructed, but I can't.

Not when I have no idea whether Anatoly or Amara is coming home.

The sound of car engines outside makes my heart leap into my throat. I rush to the window and watch as several black SUVs pull into the circular driveway. When I see the front door swing open, I nearly collapse with relief.

Anatoly enters first, his face grim but determined. Roma and Vassily follow behind him. And then—

"Amara!" I cry out, rushing forward.

My sister stands there, shivering despite the warm evening.

She's barefoot, her toes curling against the marble floor.

Underneath Anatoly's jacket around her shoulders, she's wearing nothing but a skimpy neon lingerie that barely covers anything.

Gaudy makeup is smeared across her face, and her eyes hold a vacant stare I've never seen before.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, throwing my arms around her. "I'm so, so sorry this happened to you."

Amara doesn't respond at first, her body stiff against mine. Then slowly, her arms come up to return my embrace. A small, broken sob escapes her.

"Let's get you upstairs," I murmur, pulling back to look at her face. "And change you into some real clothes."

I wrap Anatoly's jacket tighter around her shoulders and guide her toward the staircase. I catch Anatoly's eye as we pass, a silent question passing between us. He gives me a small nod that says we'll talk later.

Upstairs, I lead Amara to her room. The familiar space seems to bring her back to herself a little.

"I'll wait out here while you change," I tell her, squeezing her hand. "Take your time. Whatever you need."

When the door closes, I lean against the wall, tears burning my eyes. Behind the door, I can hear a shower coming on. And with it, the unmistakable sound of sobbing.

The sound of Amara crying breaks my heart.

This is my fault. All of it. If I hadn't gotten involved with Anatoly, if I hadn't angered Lola...

Heavy footsteps approach, and I look up to see Anatoly climbing the stairs. His knuckles are bruised, and there's blood on his shirt that I pray isn't his.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "What did they do to her?"

Anatoly runs a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. "After Grisha took you to the train station, Lola took Amara. She always intended to offer your sister as a gift to Killian O'Shea."

My stomach lurches.

"And after you escaped from Grisha, Lola went ahead and set up the meeting."

I wrap my arms around myself, fighting the nausea rising in my throat. "What did she do to my sister?"

"From what Amara told me, Lola kept her in a cage." Anatoly's words fall like stones between us. "Told her all the terrible things that were going to happen to her once she was in Killian's hands."

The world tilts beneath my feet. I lean against the wall for support, my fingernails digging into my palms.

"A cage?" My voice breaks. "She put my baby sister in a cage?"

Anatoly nods once, his expression grim.

I think of Amara—brilliant, kind Amara with her dreams and her gentle heart—locked up like an animal, terrified and alone. Forced to listen to that bitch gloating about a fate worse than death.

The monster that always rises to the surface whenever I'm around Anatoly now stirs to life in my chest, and it growls to see Lola's blood paint these walls.

"She swore..." My words come out as a whisper. "Lola swore that Amara wouldn't be harmed if I did what she wanted."

Anatoly steps closer, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "Lola was never going to hold to that promise, britvochka. She was always going to hurt you both from the beginning."

The truth of his words settles over me. Of course she was never going to keep her word. I was a fool to believe otherwise, even for a moment.

"When she was in Lola's cage. Did Lola or Grisha…" I can't finish the question, can't bear to put those words into the universe.

"I don't know," Anatoly says, his eyes softening with sorrow. "Amara had a hard enough time telling me the details of what happened after you were taken away. I didn't want to make her say anything she didn't want to say."

"Thank you." I nod slowly, biting back the rage burning hotter and hotter inside me like a wildfire. "For telling me what you could find out. And thank you... for bringing my sister back to me."

Anatoly's eyes soften slightly. "I'll give you time with her. You both survived something terrible in such a short time." He reaches out, his fingers grazing my arm. "When you're ready, you can find me in the basement."

My pulse quickens. "The basement? What's in the—"

"Grisha." He spits the name like poison.

And in an instant, the anger that's been smoldering in me burns into a full-fledged inferno. The man who told me he was going to rape me on the train. The man one who helped Lola cage my sister. The one who was going to sell her to Killian O'Shea.

My nails dig into my palms, and I can feel crescent indentations forming in their wake.

"I'll make sure Amara is okay first," I say. "And when I'm done with that, I'll come find you in the basement."

Anatoly nods, his jaw tight. "I'll work him until you do. Try to see what else he might be willing to divulge. But I don't expect honesty. He knows he's about to die, and he'd rather die twisting the knife than offer up the truth."

"I agree. Make him hurt. Make him suffer. All I ask is that he's still alive when I come down... so that I can watch him die."

Once upon a time, those words would've shocked me. They certainly would've shocked Amelia Taylor. But not Indigo Baryshev. To Indigo Baryshev, these words feel perfect. They feel right. They sound like justice and not just blind vengeance.

Anatoly studies my face for a moment, then leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead. "As you wish, britvochka."

I watch Anatoly walk back down the stairs, his shoulders squared with purpose. Roma follows right behind him, and then Vassily.

Just as he's about to disappear from view, Vassily turns back, and his eyes find mine.

I can still feel his hand clamped around my wrist as he dragged me into that dusty room at Valentina's command. I can still remember the way he looked at me then, like I was nothing more than prey.

But there's something different in his eyes now. A sheepishness that wasn't there before. He holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, and lets something unspoken pass between us, before he turns and follows his brothers to the basement where Grisha is.

I turn and lean against the wall outside Amara's room, listening to the sound of the shower running. My mind keeps circling back to the worst possibilities of what might have happened to her. Did they hurt her? Did they touch her? What else did they do to her?

The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

Don't think about that, I tell myself. Don't make this worse than it already is without knowing what happened.

I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. Amara needs me to be strong right now. She doesn't need to see me fall apart when she's the one who's been through hell.

The shower shuts off suddenly. A moment later, I hear her bathroom door creak open.

I wait a few more heartbeats, giving her time and space to get dressed. Only when I hear the sound of drawers closing do I raise a hand to gently knock on the bedroom door.

"Amara?" I call softly. "It's me. Can I come in?"

There's a painfully long silence after my knock, and I wonder if Amara's going to shut me out.

After what she's been through, I wouldn't blame her.

But then I hear soft footsteps padding across the floor, and the door cracks open.

"Come in," she says, her voice smaller than I've ever heard it.

I step inside, and the sight of her hits me like a punch to the chest. She's washed off all that garish makeup they put on her.

Her eyes are red-rimmed. The awful lingerie is crumpled in the corner of the room like something toxic she can't bear to touch anymore.

She's bundled herself into gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that seems to swallow her whole.

"Are you..." I start, then realize how ridiculous the question is. "Are you alright?"

Amara hugs her arms around herself and sighs.

"I think I will be." She sits on the edge of the bed, pulling her knees to her chest.

I perch beside her, keeping a careful distance. I don't know if she wants to be touched right now. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to start.

And suddenly I realize. This must be exactly how Amara felt two years ago, after I stumbled home from Bennet's office and walked straight into the shower with my clothes on. She must've felt that uncertainty. She must've known my fear.

And worst of all, she must've become all too familiar with the feeling of not knowing how to help.

God, how much more does my family have to suffer because of me?

I take a deep breath and force myself to speak. "Anatoly told me some of what happened after he found you. And that you told him a bit about what took place before he found you." I hesitate, my heart pounding. "But did anything else happen? Did they—"

The words stick in my throat, and I'm ashamed to say that I can't force them to materialize. It's almost as if I know that if I say them out loud, it'll make them real to me.

Amara shakes her head firmly. "No. They didn't touch me. Not like that, if that's what you're asking."

I nod, relief washing through me like a physical force. I can't find the right words, so I just reach for her hand.

"For all the horrible shit Lola did," Amara continues. "She actually gave explicit orders about that. Not because she cared about me. She said a virgin would make a better gift."

The relief inside me transforms back into white-hot rage. That fucking monster. Talking about my sister like she was merchandise.

"I'm so sorry, Amara," I whisper. "This is all my fault."

"No it isn't," Amara says firmly. "How could you have known Lola would ambush us that morning? You brought me here because someone was already following me, remember? You were trying to protect me. You've always been trying to protect me."

Her words don't ease my guilt. I should have been more careful. I should have anticipated this. I should have—

Amara squeezes my hand. "As scary as it was, it's over now. I'm here again."

I nod, feeling tears well up in my eyes.

Then Amara tilts her head and asks with a hint of her old spark. "Do you think this makes for a good essay topic for Columbia? 'How I Survived Being Kidnapped by a Psycho Bratva Bitch?'"

A surprised laugh escapes me. Leave it to Amara to find humor even now.

"Maybe tone down the details a little," I suggest, wiping at my eyes. "Make it semi-believable at least."

"Yeah, probably should leave out the part where I was in a cage," she agrees, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"I'm so glad you're back. That you're alright. That you're safe. And I'm glad that you can still laugh." I hold Amara's hand between both of mine. "You're stronger than I am."

Amara looks at me, and her expression slowly turns serious. "I learned to be strong by watching you, Miels."

I shake my head, feeling a hollow laugh escape. "I'm not strong, Amara."

"Bullshit," she says immediately.

The ferocity in her voice makes me look up.

"You keep saying that, but it's not true." Amara's eyes harden with conviction. "Ever since Mom and Dad died, you've carried everything. You dropped out of Columbia to work so I could stay in school. You put food on the table. You paid the rent."

I look away, unable to hold her gaze. "That's just... that's what anyone would do."

"No, it's not." She grips my hand tighter. "You put yourself back together after what Grant Bennet did to you. You kept going. You even found time to live life again when you had every reason to keep hiding from the world. If that's not strength, then what the hell is?"

My throat tightens. I want to argue, but I can't find the words.

"Don't ever sell yourself short to me, Miels." Amara squeezes my hand tighter. "Don't ever tell me you're not strong. Because you are. You're the fucking strongest person I know." Her eyes drift to my stomach. "And you're going to be a great mom."

The tears I've been holding back finally spill over. I pull Amara into my arms, holding her tight against me. She hugs me back just as fiercely, and for a moment, we cling to each other in a world that's tried its damnedest to rip us apart.

When we finally break apart, I wipe my eyes and take a deep breath.

"I need to go downstairs for a minute," I say quietly.

Amara nods, understanding immediately what I'm not saying. Her eyes darken. "Don't let that monster have any mercy."

"I won't," I whisper.

I leave her room and walk down the staircase, my steps steady and purposeful. When I reach the basement door, I pause for just a moment before pulling it open.

The sound reaches me first. Dull thuds of fists meeting flesh, followed by muffled groans. Next comes the smell, metallic and sharp. It's the unmistakable scent of blood rising from the darkness below.

As I descend into the shadows, I remember the last time I walked down a set of basement steps with Anatoly, to witness him kill the men who murdered my parents.

I felt then like I was descending into hell itself, and Anatoly is the avenging devil of my dreams.

But this time is different.

This time, I am the devil.