Page 67 of Her Darkest Possession

I nod reflexively. But I can't help tensing as we drive. There are so many memories—some beautiful, and others horrific.

Buildings continue to grow denser and taller. The streets start looking all too familiar. And when we finally come to a stop, I know exactly where we are.

The barbershop.

Nostalgia washes over me as Anatoly parks the car. Even from here, I can see Marcus inside the barbershop, sweeping up the floor. The shop looks different somehow. The chairs visible through the window look new.

The cold smell of early winter tastes familiar on my tongue as we step out of the car. I look down the street an see several black SUVs parking around the corner, and men stepping out of them a moment later. One of the men looks over at Anatoly, nods once, and then turns away to start scanning the streets.

"What is this all about?" I ask, turning to Anatoly with confusion.

He walks me toward the door, eyes softer than usual.

"You'll see," is all he says.

The tiny bell rings at the top of the door when we open it, and I immediately smell the familiar scent of aftershave. Marcus looks up from where he's sweeping hair clippings, and his face breaks into a wide smile when he sees me.

"Indie!" he calls out, propping his broom against the counter.

Without thinking, I rush over and throw my arms around his neck in a tight hug.

"I'm glad to see you finally up and about," Marcus says when we part.

I smile at him. "And it's all thanks to you."

When I step back, I notice that Marcus's expression shifts slightly as he looks over my shoulder at Anatoly. The smile is still on his face, but there's a hint of wariness in his eyes.

"Mr. Baryshev," Marcus says with a respectful nod.

"Mr. Jackson," Anatoly returns evenly.

I glance around the shop to take in all the upgrades that now fill it. Not only have the chairs been replaced with new ones, but it seems that even the equipment has been upgraded. New scissors, new buzzers, and even an automatic soap foamer. Small things that all add up.

"The place looks amazing," I say, running my hand along the back of one of the chairs. "Are these new?"

Marcus nods, looking a little embarrassed. "Yep. Your husband's doing."

I turn to Anatoly with surprise. "Really?"

"Mr. Jackson didn't want money," Anatoly explains, his voice matter-of-fact. "But I felt that I owed himsomethingfor helping make sure you were safe. And he was very insistent that everything be above the board. This is the least I can do."

Marcus chuckles, shaking his head. "Man doesn't take no for an answer. And thanks to these upgrades, business has been good. Happier customers. Better tips. This place misses you, Indie."

I look around the shop, feeling a pang of nostalgia for the long shifts and familiar faces. "I miss this place too," I admit, running my fingers along the edge of the counter. "But I don't think I'll ever be able to come back here. Not really."

My eyes drift to the spot on the floor where I first saw Anatoly, where he covered me with his body while bullets shattered the windows and he protected me with his body. So much has happened since then.

Marcus nods thoughtfully, leaning against his broom. "Maybe that's for the best."

His eyes flick between me and Anatoly, taking in the way we stand together, the protectiveness in Anatoly's stance beside me.

"You were always destined for bigger and better things, Indie," Marcus continues, his voice gentle. "Not rubbing elbows with guys like me."

"I came from these same streets, Marcus," I remind him. "There's always a part of me that'll want to rub elbows with guys like you in places like this."

I glance back at my husband and smile.

"Even if I am married to him."