Page 9 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

ANATOLY

The door to my office opens, and I look up to see Indigo standing in the doorway.

She's changed into a loose sweater and leggings since coming home, and her hair—a mix of blue at the tip and red at the roots—hangs loosely around her shoulders.

"Anything?" she asks, her voice quiet but steady.

"Roma is working every contact we have," I reply. "The Volkovs are keeping their lips sealed, but I have an idea for where we might start."

She approaches, one hand unconsciously resting on her stomach, and she hesitates for a moment before she sinks into the chair across from me.

"Tell me." She sinks into the chair across from me.

"Our best lead is Grisha," I tell her. "He's recently been released from police custody, and he's trackable.

Taras might want to avoid provoking an escalation he can't afford by hurting Amara, but Lola won't. And if I know Lola, then she'll have her brother do the dirty work her father will forbid her from doing. "

Indigo nods. One look, and I know that she agrees with my assessment, but there's no mistaking the fear in her eyes. She's scared of what Grisha might do. And it's not altogether an unfounded fear either.

Grisha has always been a loose fucking cannon. In fact, half of the problems the Volkovs keep running into over the years are directly caused by his recklessness and his propensity to shoot first and ask questions later.

And every time Taras or his brigadiers tried to rein Grisha in, Lola always manages to go around their back and send him out as her personal attack dog. And whenever Grisha gets in trouble, Lola plays the overprotective sister, and promises to her father that it won't happen again.

Except it almost always does.

How Taras keeps letting his two idiot children get away with shit like this, I'll never understand. Those two were why I didn't want to get tied down in any way, shape, or form to that fucking family.

And now they have a member of mine.

"I don't like the idea that Grisha might have Amara." Her voice wavers. "I barely got away from him, and Amara is just a kid. And after what he tried to do to me…"

Anger boils—hot and furious—at Indigo's unfinished sentence.

"What did he try to do?" My voice turns dangerously quiet.

Indigo looks away, her fingers tugging with the hem of her sweater. "It doesn't matter now. I got away."

"It matters to me." I lean forward, my hands clenching into fists on the desk. "Tell me what he tried to do."

She hesitates, and for a moment I kick myself at my own need to hear the details. The last thing I want is to force her to relive whatever trauma Grisha inflicted.

But I need to know.

I need to understand exactly what I'm going to make him pay for.

I need to know exactly how I can make him hurt.

Finally, Indigo meets my eyes.

"On the train... he kept touching my thigh. He said we were going to 'get acquainted.'" She pauses to take a breath, and her voice grows steadier as she continues. "I pretended to be sick, asked to use the bathroom. But he insisted on following me."

My jaw clenches so hard I can feel my teeth grinding together.

"I knew what he wanted to do," she continues, her words coming faster now. "That's when I fought back. I smashed my head into his nose when the train lurched around a curve."

I'm barely containing my rage as I listen. The thought of his hands on her, threatening her, terrifying her while she carries my child.

That monster knew she's pregnant, and it didn't stop him.

"That's why I don't like the idea that he might have my sister," she says plainly, her voice suddenly steady despite the tears welling in her eyes. "If he's willing to do those awful things to me, what will he do to her?"

"I'll have Roma and his men step up their search," I tell her, my voice deceptively calm despite the rage thundering through me. "We'll find her, printsessa."

Indigo watches me carefully, her fingers still unconsciously touching her stomach. Then, she nods. But I can see that she's not sure if she can believe my words yet.

"I won't make promises I can't keep," I continue, "but I will get your sister back. And then I'll make Grisha pay for putting his hands on you."

A flicker of resistance crosses her face. And at once, I realize that I've done it again: decided someone's fate without asking her if that's what she wants.

Just like I did with Bennet.

"If that's what you want," I add quickly.

The tension in her shoulders visibly eases. Her eyes meet mine, and a darkness that I've glimpsed every now and then passes through their soft hazel depths. I saw it the first time when I had those two cops killed in that basement for her.

And I saw it the second time after I killed Bennet.

"I do want him to pay," she says. "I want him to hurt. I want you to put fear in his eyes, Tolya." She takes a deep breath. "I want him to die, and I want him to see me when he does."

Pride wells up in me, mixed with something darker and infinitely more possessive as I take in this beautiful, fierce, and vengeful creature carrying my child.

"You're starting to sound like a proper pakhan's wife," I tell her, allowing myself a small smile.

She looks down then, staring at her left hand. I follow her gaze and notice her ring finger is bare. Her wedding ring is gone.

Fucking Lola, I think angrily. That bitch must've taken it like a trophy when she thought she would be rid of Indigo.

I reach across the desk and take her hand in mine.

"It doesn't matter if you're not wearing the ring," I tell her firmly. "What matters is that you're here. That you came back."

Indigo nods, her fingers intertwining with mine. The warmth of her hand feels right in my grip, ring or no ring.

Before we can take a moment to indulge in the moment, my phone rings.

It's Roma.

Without letting Indigo's hand go, I hit the speaker button.

"Roma. What do you have?"

"We've seen her," Roma says, his voice tense but controlled. "Hell's Kitchen. She's being transported with Grisha right now."

Indigo's hand tightens around mine, her knuckles white, and she take a sharp breath.

"Where are they going?" I demand.

"The Devil's Shamrock."

"Fuck," I mutter.

Killian O'Shea.

That Irish bastard has managed to play the game better than anyone else I've known for decades.

He's managed to stay neutral while still carving out territory in both Hell's Kitchen and Hoboken across the river. And all of it runs from the office he’s set up in his premier strip club: the Devil’s Shamrock.

Smart, calculating, and ruthless in his own way, he's not a lunatic like Grisha.

But that doesn't mean he's not dangerous.

For all these years, Killian has rejected every attempt from every other criminal family at courting him. He'd laugh, he'd joke, and he'd even take whatever fresh gifts these families brought him.

But at the end of the day, he never enters into any agreement.

And for what it's worth, he's always kept the Volkovs at an arm's length from himself.

Clever old bastard like himself knows better than to get entangled with that shit-show of a family.

But if he's entertaining Grisha today, then that means something has shifted. The Irish have stayed out of our conflicts, and I have a sneaking suspicion that this was mostly driven by the stability Bennet's unprecedented three terms as mayor have brought.

And now that Bennet's gone…

Maybe the Irish are finally picking a side. And they're not planning on choosing me, that's for sure.

And then there's the other thing.

While Killian might've kept his business clean on the surface, but all of us know that his strip clubs double as brothels for both the right bidders and for cops to keep them looking the other way.

And he's always looking for fresh faces.

If Grisha is bringing Amara there…

Fuck!

"How many men can you get assembled in the next two hours?" I ask.

Roma pauses before answering. "Ten men. Not much more than that on such short notice. Not in Hell's Kitchen, at least."

I glance at Indigo, whose eyes haven't left my face. Her expression is determined, fierce despite her fear.

"Ten will have to do," I tell Roma. "Get them ready. I'll meet you in two hours."

"What are you going to do?" Indigo asks as soon as I hang up, her voice barely above a whisper. "And who's Killian?"

"Killian O'Shea runs the Irish mob out of Hell’s Kitchen.

" I don't sugar-coat it. Not with her. Not anymore.

"He owns strip clubs and brothels on both sides of the Hudson.

He's been neutral in our conflicts for decades, but I suspect that he's about to change that today. I'm going to get Amara back from him."

"How? What could you even offer him?" Indigo asks. "What would make him choose you over the Volkovs?"

"I don't know yet," I admit, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. "But I will not allow Amara to become part of his operation."

She nods. "I know you won't."

I stand up, walk around the desk, and pull her into my arms. She feels small against me, fragile yet somehow unbreakable. I press my face into her hair, and inhale her scent as if to memorize it forever.

"I'll come back with Amara," I promise. "No matter what it takes."

Indigo presses her face closer into my chest. I don't want to let her go. After everything—after nearly losing her and our child so soon—the thought of walking away from her, no matter how short, feels impossible.

But I have to.

Reluctantly, I pull back, and reach into my pocket for a keycard.

"There's a panic room in the west wing." I press the card into her palm. "Stay there until I return. The door is reinforced steel. No windows. The only way in is with this keycard. You'll be safe there."

Indigo looks down at the keycard, then back up at me. Slowly, her eyes start filling with determination.

"Bring my sister back to me. And if you can, bring Grisha as well."

The command is unmistakable in her voice. All that is missing are those three familiar words.

Eto moi prikaz.

"I will," I promise before I bend down and kiss her.

This kiss is nothing like the ones in the past. Gone is the hunger and desperation that urge us to tear at each other's clothes. And neither is this the slow, languid ones where I map every corner of her mouth with my tongue.

This one is quick and urgent.

There's too much at stake for anything else.

But even in its brevity, a spark passes between us. A soft gentle thing that promises and reminds us of what we've become to each other.

Of what we should be to each other.

Even if neither of us have said it out loud.

When I pull away, I see the unmistakable fire of determination burning in her eyes. It's that same fire that I felt when she pressed that razor against my throat all those weeks ago.

It's that same fire I tasted and stoked during that marathon of lovemaking that created the life growing inside of her right now.

It's the fire that I fell in love with.

The determined blaze that tells me she's more than some fragile thing I need to shelter.

That she's a force to be reckoned with.

My britvochka who isn't afraid to draw blood.

"Come back to me," she whispers against my lips. "Both of you."

I nod once, sharply. "Lock yourself in that panic room. No matter what you hear. I will come get you when I return."

She squeezes my hand one last time before letting go. I don't look back as I stride from the room.

I can't.

If I do, the pull to stay with her might be too strong.

And we've already delayed for too long.

Roma picks up the moment I dial him again.

"The men are assembling right now on 44th and 10th," he says. "They'll be ready by the time you get out here."

"Good." I tell him. "Call Vasya. I want him there too."

Roma raises an eyebrow. "Vasya? You sure? After everything?"

"I am," I nod. "We need to present a united front to Killian for this, all three of us."

"Understood, my pakhan." Roma replies. "Anything else?"

I check my gun and feel the familiar weight in my hand. This is something I understand instinctively. There's a brutal simplicity to what I'm setting out to do.

To fight. To protect what's mine. To kill for them if I have to.

And Amara is mine now too, not by blood but by choice.

By the fact that she matters to Indigo.

"Nothing else for now," I tell him as I step out the door and get in my car. "We have a sister to bring home."