Page 26 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

ANATOLY

Anger shivers under my skin as I watch mother lead Indigo away into the study and slam the door shut.

And my idiot brother Vassily continues to grin at me as he steps in front of me.

“I have to say, Tolya, I see why you were in such a rush to wed.” He throws a gaze over his shoulder at the closed door.

The heat that had threatened to choke me earlier now transforms into white hot rage. It rushes through me, thrumming with an intensity as it pulses in my ears. Red lines the edges of my vision.

I want to break his fucking jaw.

“Watch your mouth, Vasya,” I snap. “She’s my wife.”

“Oh yes, of course.” He waves his hand lazily, the motion practically the same way like mother’s whenever she wants to dismiss an opinion. “But surely I’m allowed to express my appreciation for beautiful things.”

“No.” My fist balls in annoyance. “You’re not.”

But Vassily still doesn’t seem to catch the hint.

The baby of the family, Vassily grew up with the unfortunate combination of being too young to be subjected to father’s harsh methods and not young enough to avoid being coddled by mother’s smothering instincts.

The result?

A man-child who doesn’t understand decorum, who enjoys spending far too much time with the Volkovs—especially my former fiancée Lola’s idiotic brother Grisha—and who doesn’t know when to keep his cock in his pants or his big mouth shut.

Both of which has gotten him in more trouble than he should, and I’ve had to save his ass more times than he deserves.

And every time I tried to teach him some fucking manners afterwards, he goes crying to mother, and the whole fucking cycles just repeats.

Right now, he’s getting dangerously close to the line where I want to beat seven shades of shit out of him.

I saw the way he ogled Indigo like she’s a menu item. His stare—as subtle as an elephant—lingered on every inch of exposed skin. It’s a look that I’ve seen him give countless women, but seeing it directed at Indigo makes my blood boil.

Even if she isn’t my wife.

“You know,” he continues in his oily voice. “I knew that you always enjoyed pissing mother off with your antics, Tolya, but this is something else.”

“Vasya…” Now it’s Roma’s turn to warn him.

And for good measures, Roma puts a hand on my shoulder, as if this will somehow calm me instead of pouring gas on the fire already threatening to burn me the fuck down.

But still, my idiot little brother can’t take a fucking hint.

“Grisha and I wanted to throw you a bachelor party to remember, where you could’ve had ten girls that looks just like her.” He jerks his thumb at the door. “At once if you wanted. And unlike her, they aren’t shy about showing some skin.”

“Vasya, shut the fuck up.” Roma manages to get the words out before me.

“Oh come on, Romochka, I’m just having a little fun. And I’m sure all of you agree that Tolya’s married a sweet piece of ass.”

As out of line as he is, Vassily isn’t entirely wrong.

Indigo did have one sweet ass. In fact, it was the first thing I noticed when I walked into that barbershop, ready to kill.

And she looked fucking good when I first saw her appear atop the stairwell.

The dress she tore apart and put together was done specifically to get a rise out of me. It certainly fucking worked.

But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him slobber at what belongs to me.

Nor does that mean I’m letting him disrespect her to my fucking face.

Especially not when it’s my fucking ring on her fucking finger.

If I allowed that to happen, then pretty soon, word will start spreading that the Pakhan of the Baryshev Bratva is getting soft. That he can’t even control his own family.

And once that happens, shit starts going south real fucking fast.

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Vassily continues, still oblivious to just how pissed off I am and how much danger he’s in.

Or maybe he knows, and he’s just fishing for a reaction. To see how much I actually give a shit about Indigo.

And of course, like a good little boy, he’s going to take that information right to mother after this.

Everything’s a goddamn game when it comes to this fucking family, and there are days when I wish that blood isn’t thicker than water so that I can put two bullets in Vassily’s head and be done with his dumb antics.

He grins at Roma. “I bet you a hundred grand that mother’s probably asking that shlyukha how many times she’s spread her legs for Tolya.”

Shlyukha.

Whore.

I try to swallow back the rage, and find it impossible to do now. My jaw clenches tight again, the same way it did when I recall seeing the scars on Indigo's thighs. No words come to my lips, not that I can form a coherent sentence right now from how fucking angry I am.

Then, my hands move before I can stop myself.

BAM! BAM!

My fist collides with Vassily’s face. Hard. The first hit wipes that stupid grin off his face. The second breaks his nose with a sickening crunch. Roma tries to stop me, but I give him a hard shove and send him to the floor.

My left hand tightens around Vassily’s shirt collar and my fist draws back for another strike.

“What the fuck, Tolya!” He screams back through a mouthful of blood.

I don’t give a fuck.

Bone crunches. Blood sprays. I don't stop. I don't want to stop. There's a loud guttural sound echoing, as if an animal is roaring in rage. And only when I feel the rawness in my throat as I draw my fist back before slamming it against his face do I realize that it's coming from me.

Strong hands yank me back, and Vassily crumples to the ground, crying and whimpering pathetically as blood pours from his mouth and nose. Roma is yelling at me, but I can’t hear him over the sound of my blinding rage.

“Get the fuck up, Vasya!” I roar. “Get the fuck up and taking your beating like a fucking man.”

“TOLYA!” Roma shakes me by my shirt. “THAT’S ENOUGH!”

I try to wrench away from the hands of the guards holding me, but they refuse to let go out of the fear that I might actually kill Vassily.

And truth be told.

I fucking want to.

Nobody calls my wife a fucking whore.

“Get off me!” I roar, and when nobody budges, I let the words fall from my lips. “Eto moi prikaz!”

The guards restraining me releases me at once. And even Roma backs off. All of them still recognize the commanding words of a pakhan—words that carry the punishment of death if they dare disobey.

And in front of the door, Vassily moves his hand in the pool of slippery blood, making one pathetic noise after another.

“Get up, Vasya,” I hiss. “Don’t make me use the words.”

And for the first fucking time in his life, he actually obeys. Whimpering, he stands up on shaky legs. Blood continues to splatter down on the ground. I don’t wait for him to pick his head up to meet my gaze, and grab his neck to force him to look at me.

“The only reason you’re alive right now is because you’re my brother.” My finger squeezes his neck and turns his face purple. “But never let me hear you talk about my wife like that again. Ponimayesh?”

He nods.

I throw him down on the floor and deliver a swift and brutal kick to his ribs.

“What the fuck was that for?” He screams at me, coughing up another fresh mouthful of blood. “I told you I understood, didn’t I?”

“Your pakhan asked you a question, Vassily Stepanovich,” Roma answers on my behalf. “And you are expected to respond with the proper amount of respect.”

Vassily looks between Roma and I, expecting that one of us might say something or do something to dispute the claim. He even looks at the fucking guards standing by my side.

When he finally sees that nobody is coming to his aid, he pushes himself up on a single shaky knee and bows his head.

“I understand, Anatoly Stepanovich. You will never hear that word from my mouth about your wife again.”

“Good,” I say. “Now get the fuck out of my way.”