Page 13 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

ANATOLY

Blood sprays across the basement floor.

Grisha spits out a tooth and continues to laugh at me. The chains binding him to the chair rattles as he does so. The sound crawls under my skin like a parasite that I can't dislodge.

"Is that all you've got, Baryshev?" Blood bubbles between his lips as he speaks. "And here I thought I was just starting to feel something."

I hit him again, harder this time. Behind me, Roma shifts as he waits for his turn while Vassily watches with cold detachment. We've been at this non-stop since we came back with Amara.

And no matter how hard I hit him, Grisha won't shut his mouth.

"You know," Grisha wheezes. "When my sister gets word of this... she'll make sure your whore pays." He grins through his bloody mask. "Maybe we'll even put her in a cage."

My vision blurs red. I grab his throat, squeezing until his eyes bulge.

"My family will burn your whole world down," he gasps when I loosen my grip. "And I'll be waiting in hell for you to join me."

I know what he's doing. The rational part of my brain recognizes it perfectly. He wants me to end this quickly and kill him in rage to end his suffering.

But a quick death is too merciful for what he's done.

"You touched my wife," I say, my voice deadly calm as I release his throat. "You tried to rape her. You threatened our child."

Grisha spits blood onto my shoes. "And I'd do it again. Your bitch—"

This time the orbital bone around his eye cracks from the blow. Blood drips down from his eye.

"When my family avenges me," he pants, "everything I did will seem like kindness. Whatever you do to me... they'll repay it ten times on her. On her sister."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I bellow, my fist connecting with Grisha's jaw again.

My knuckles are raw and bleeding, but I can't stop. Every time I look at this piece of shit, I see him touching Indigo on that train. I see him threatening our unborn child. I see him putting his filthy hands on my wife.

I hit him harder. And harder. His head snaps back with each blow.

Blood sprays across my shirt as bones crack and crumble. But it's not enough. It will never be enough.

I grab him by the hair and yank his head back up to look at me through his single good eye.

"You think you're going to threaten my family? MY WIFE?"

This time, he finally learns to shut the fuck up. A bubble of blood, mixed with snot, grows and shrinks around his nose. But his eyes are unfocused. He's practically on the verge of death now.

Roma's hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me back. "Tolya, you have to ease up or else you'll kill him before Indigo gets down here."

I wrench away from him. Rage burns through my veins as I pant.

He's right. I hate that he's right.

"Give him a shot of adrenaline," I order.

Roma's eyebrows shoot up. "He's getting to the point where his body can't take much more—"

"I SAID GIVE HIM THE FUCKING ADRENALINE!" I shout, my voice echoing off the basement walls. "Wake him the fuck up."

Roma hesitates, then shakes his head. "Fine."

He walks over to the nearby table where, picks up a syringe, and jabs it into Grisha's neck.

Grisha's eyes fly open wide as the adrenaline floods his system. His body jerks against the chains, but his broken limbs can't respond properly. His chest heaves with rapid breaths and the focus returns to his eye.

"Welcome back, Grisha," I say, flexing my bloody fingers.

"That was a dirty trick, Baryshev," he snaps.

"And I've got plenty more where that came from." I lean forward and pat his face almost gently. "We're going to be here all night if we have to. Because here's something you need to understand. Your fate, Grisha? That's not up to me to decide."

Just then, the basement door opens upstairs. The hinges creak, sending a shaft of light down the concrete steps. I turn around and see Indigo standing at the top of the stairs.

My printsessa and britvochka.

She stands there like a vengeful angel, framed by the rays of light radiating from the doorway. It catches on her blue hair, and illuminating the red roots. Her face is calm, like the stillness that comes before a storm breaks.

I turn back to Grisha, who's staring at her with his one good eye. My face twists into a dark smile.

"It's up to her,"

Grisha's eye widens slightly. Fear finally registers on what's left of his face.

Maybe he's remembering all the lines he crossed with her at the gala, on the train, and with Amara.

Maybe he's realizing that there truly is no one who will come save him, and that vengeance doesn't matter when you're not alive to see how it ends.

Or maybe he's realizing just how close to death's door he is.

But whatever it is, his lips start trembling, and his feet kick out uselessly against their restraints, trying desperately and futilely to get away from Indigo as she takes one slow and deliberate step towards him.

She approaches with her shoulders squared and her chin lifted, passing by Roma and Vassily without acknowledging either them. Her eyes never once leave from Grisha as she approaches.

I can feel her fury, raw and protective, rolling from her body in waves with every step she takes.

It's beautiful and terrifying all at once.

"Do you remember all those things you said to me on the train, Grisha?" she asks. "All those disgusting promises about what you were going to do to me?"

Grisha's mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air. "I... I didn't... I wasn't..."

She leans forward until her face is inches from his. "This will be so much easier if you behave."

Sweat beads on what's left of Grisha's forehead. "I'm sorry," he stammers. "I'm sorry."

His chest rises and falls rapidly as he struggles to breathe.

"What are you sorry for?" Indigo asks, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Grisha tries to answer, but nothing comes out except a gurgling sound.

"What are you sorry for?" she repeats, her voice hardening. "For touching me? For threatening to rape me? For kidnapping my sister? For putting her on a fucking leash?" Her voice rises with each question until she's shouting. "Answer me, Grisha!"

I watch, utterly fascinated. This dark harshness is new. Indigo is transforming into something primal and fierce. It's like watching the full fury of a mama bear come to life, and all of it directed at Grisha.

I almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

"All of it," Grisha finally manages to choke out. "I'm sorry for all of it."

Indigo's lips purses into a line. "Are you aware of what happens to people who touch me without my husband's permission?"

Grisha nods frantically, tears mixing with the blood on his face.

Indigo takes a step back and turns to me. Our eyes meet and she gives me a nod to proceed.

I step forward. "Which hand did he use to touch you?"

Without hesitation, Indigo points to Grisha's right hand.

"What would you like me to do?" I ask her.

Her eyes never leave mine as she answers. "Make him hurt."

"Vasya," I call out without looking back. "Bring me the cleaver."

Grisha's panic explodes. He howls like a wounded animal, thrashing wildly against his restraints. "NO! PLEASE! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"

His howling shrieks echo off the concrete walls as Vassily places the cleaver in my hand. The weight feels right.

I raise it above my head, my eyes locked with Indigo's the entire time.

The cleaver descends.

And amidst the sound of Grisha's screams, I hear the sound of his hand falling to the floor.

I stare at Grisha's severed hand on the floor, blood pooling beneath it like spilled wine. His screams have turned to whimpers now, a pathetic sound that fills the basement. But that's not what I'm focused on.

"What else would you have me do to him?" I ask Indigo, my voice steady.

She studies Grisha with cold detachment. Those beautiful hazel eyes of hers show nothing but disgust as she watches him rock back and forth, sobbing over his missing hand.

"There's nothing else to do," she says finally. "He can die now."

I turn to her, giving her one last chance to walk away from this darkness. "You don't have to watch this, printsessa."

"I do," she insists, her voice harder than I've ever heard it. "I want to see the life go out of his eyes. I want to know for certain that he won't ever be able to hurt me or my family again."

I nod and turn back to Grisha. His eyes widen as he sees me approach with the cleaver still in hand. Blood drips from the blade, marking my path across the concrete floor.

"Please," he begs, his voice a broken whisper. "Please don't do this. I'm sorry. I'll do anything—"

But it's too late now.

He had his chances, and he fucking blew it.

I feel oddly calm as I raise the cleaver above my head. There's no rage or hatred, just the certainty that I'm protecting what's mine. My wife. My child. My family.

The cleaver comes down on Grisha's neck with a sickening thud.

Blood drips down the floor from Grisha's corpse. He convulses once, twice, and then finally goes still. His head remains attached by a thin strip of muscle and sinew, but he's dead.

The basement falls silent except for Indigo's steady breathing beside me.

I turn to Roma.

"Send the body and hand to Taras," I tell him. "Make sure he understands that this war is now going to be fought until the bitter end."

Roma nods. "I'll get it done."

"Vasya," I call out, and my youngest brother steps forward from the shadows. "Help Romochka with this."

Vassily glances at Indigo, something like respect flickering across his face before he nods. "Konechno, my pakhan."

I toss the cleaver to the floor. Blood covers my hands, my clothes. I should feel something—disgust, remorse, anything—but all I feel is a cold satisfaction that the man who threatened my wife and unborn child is dead.

I turn to Indigo and see that her face is calm. There are no tears in her eyes. Her lips aren't trembling. Even her posture remains ramrod straight. I reach for her hand, and she takes it without hesitation, unbothered by the blood still wet on my skin.

Our fingers intertwine, and together we start walking up the stairs.

Each step takes us further from death and closer to life, and to whatever future that we'll carve out of this bloody present.