Page 41 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

INDIGO

I wake up slowly, feeling like I've been run over by a train. Every muscle in my body aches in the most delicious way. The sheets are tangled around my legs, and when I stretch, there's a soreness between my thighs that makes me wince and smile at the same time.

Anatoly is gone. His side of the bed is empty but still warm.

God... last night.

After I begged—actually begged—him to take me, it was like something broke open between us. We couldn't stop. In the bed, on the floor, under the hot water of the shower. His hands had been everywhere, and his mouth was demanding yet gentle all at once.

I close my eyes and remember the ghost of his weight as he moved inside me. But most importantly, I remember how easily I lost control.

I should be terrified by it. For two years, control has been the only thing keeping me sane. It was the only thing keeping me and my sister alive.

But with Anatoly... it felt like letting go of a weight I've been carrying. Like I could finally breathe.

I roll over and bury my face in the pillow.

It smells like him, everything from the scent of his cologne to the taste of his cum—sticky and masculine.

A slow whimper escapes my lips and I bite down on the gentle fabric, wishing that he’s back here with me so that we might repeat what we did last night until the sun sets.

Is this what safety feels like? Not having to look over my shoulder every second? Not having to hide behind blue hair and a fake name?

It's strange to think that I feel safest with a man who can kill.

A man who came to kill me just days ago.

But he did more than that, didn't he? He helped me avenge my parents. He shielded me with his body and his power. He also looks at me like he sees all of me—the broken parts, the angry parts, and the parts I try to hide—and he wants them anyway.

I roll out of bed. My thighs tremble as I stand, muscles weak and watery from hours of Anatoly between them. I have to steady myself against the nightstand for a moment, catching my breath.

I glance down at the small wet stain on the sheets—evidence of where he came inside me. The thought should terrify me, but it doesn't. Not like it would have a week ago.

We're married, after all. This is real.

Well... it started as a forced arrangement. But now? Now I'm not so sure what it is.

There are still complications, obviously. Mayor Bennet. The Volkovs. My past.

Everything I haven't told Anatoly yet about that summer.

But that can come later. Right now, in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, I just want to exist in this moment.

I wrap myself in the sheet and pad over to the window. The sun is just starting to rise over the distant water, painting everything in pinks and golds. It's beautiful in a way I haven't allowed myself to notice in years.

Just then, a shrill sound hits my ears. I recognize the familiar ringtone coming somewhere within the room.

It’s my phone.

I follow the sound to a nearby dresser, pull the drawer open, and find my phone—fully charged—ringing inside.

And my heart jumps to my throat when I see the name on the screen.

"Amara?" I answer immediately, clutching the sheet tighter around my body.

"Indigo?"

Warmth from moments earlier evaporate like morning dew. Something's wrong. I can hear it immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"I... I think someone's following me." Her voice drops to a whisper. "There's been this car parked across from school for three days now. Same guys. They watch me when I come out."

My blood runs cold. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm not stupid. I know when I'm being watched." There's a tremor in her voice that scares me more than her words. "And yesterday they followed me all the way to the library. Stayed outside until I left."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It might be cops on Bennet's orders. Or Volkov men. Or even people sent by Valentina to dig up more information on my own past. My mind races through the possibilities with every passing second, and each one sounds worse than the last.

"Where are you right now? Are you safe?"

"I'm still at Demaris's place, but…" She pauses. "I'm scared that they'll start following me here. And if they do, I don't know where else I can go."

The guilt rushes through me. Amara is scared, and here I am, falling into bed with Anatoly.

"I think." I rake a hand through my tangled hair. "I think there's a place you can go. Somewhere you'll be safe."

"What are you talking about?"

I take a deep breath. Things have changed now, haven't they? Anatoly and I... we're different than before. This marriage is real. He's certainly proven that. And if I trust him with my body, with even the glimpses of my past, then maybe I can also trust him with keeping my sister safe.

Maybe I can trust him to make sure that we don't have to keep hiding anymore.

"I'm going to send someone to pick you up," I tell her. "And bring you to me."

"Pick me up?" Amara asks, her voice small and uncertain. "What are you talking about? Where are you?"

"Things have changed," I promise. "Trust me."

"But what if it's dangerous?" Amara asks, her voice catching. "What if whoever's following me follows me there too?"

"They won't," I say with more confidence than I feel. "The person I'm sending... she knows how to handle situations like this."

There's a long pause on the other end. I can practically see Amara biting her lip, weighing her options.

"I'm scared," she finally admits, her voice small.

"I know. That's why I'm bringing you here to me." I clutch the phone tighter. "Look for a woman named Svetlana. Tall, black hair, blue eyes. Hard to miss her, if I'm being honest."

"Svetlana?" Amara repeats. "That's kind of a weird name."

Despite everything, I almost laugh. "Yeah, well, things have gotten a little weird lately."

Amara doesn't sound fully convinced, but she finally agrees. "Okay. I'll wait for her."

"Pack light. Just essentials. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Promise?"

"I promise," I say, meaning it more than anything I've said in days.

I hang up, my heart pounding. I throw on the first things I can find. Nothing but a simple robe from the bathroom. I don't even bother with my hair, just running my fingers through the tangled blue mess.

When I step into the hallway, I spot Svetlana standing at the end of the corridor. Her back is straight as always, and her eyes immediately find me like she's been waiting for me.

"I need you to go get my sister," I blurt out before she can say anything. "She's being followed. She's at her friend's house in the Bronx. You know which one."

"Demaris Lewis?" is all she asks.

I expect some other questions, or even some resistance. But all Svetlana does is look at me with those knowing eyes of hers. After what happened at the gala last night, maybe she understands better than most why I'm suddenly desperate to have Amara here.

I nod.

"I'll bring her safely," she says. "You have my word."

An hour later, I hear voices in the foyer. My heart leaps into my throat as I rush toward the sound, practically flying down the grand staircase.

And there she is.

"Miels!" Amara cries, dropping her backpack and rushing toward me.

We collide in the middle of the marble entryway, and I wrap my arms around her so tightly that I'm afraid that I might be hurting her. But I don't care. Relief washes over me, threatening to drown me completely.

This is the first time I've held my sister since being taken to this mansion, and it feels like coming up for air after days underwater.

"God, I was so worried when you called," I whisper against her hair.

When we finally part, Amara looks me up and down, her eyes narrowing. "What the hell is going on? You disappear for days, all I get was a cryptic text, and now I'm being picked up by—" She glances back at Svetlana. "—some Russian woman who refuses to answer any of my questions."

The familiar sarcastically amused expression on Svetlana's face grows by an inch. Then she nods and slips away to give us privacy.

"Come on," I say, taking Amara's hand. "Let's sit down somewhere. There's... a lot to explain."

I lead her to a small sitting room off the main hall, and Amara immediately drops onto a plush sofa, her eyes darting around the luxurious room before returning to me.

And at the ring on my finger.

"Care to start with that?" Amara points.

I look down at the ring and turn it slightly so the light might dim a little while weighing my options.

For a moment, I'm not sure what to tell her.

How do you explain to your baby sister that you've been forcibly married to a man who was originally sent to kill you? How do you explain that he only changed his mind when he realized that you were more useful to him alive than dead?

And how do you explain that in just two short weeks, you've not only started to catch real feelings for him, but started to feel like you might belong in his world?

If I tell Amara any of these things, she'll immediately point out just how insane all of this sounds. And truthfully, now that I'm thinking about it, they do sound insane.

But I can't just not tell her anything. Amara deserves the truth, and as she's so fond of reminding me these days: she's not a kid anymore.

"I got married," I say, my voice quieter than I intended.

Amara's eyes widen to the size of saucers. "You what?" She leans forward and grabs my hands. "Miels, what the hell? To who? And when?"

I take a deep breath. "To Anatoly Baryshev. Two weeks ago. Remember when I texted you not to come home?"

"Yeah?" Amara's brow furrows.

I swallow hard. "That was right before my wedding."

"Excuse me?" She jumps to her feet. "Miels, have you completely lost your mind? Why the hell did you even agree to this?"

I smile sadly at Amara's question. "Did I have a choice? Not really."

Amara's face falls and she leans toward me with growing concern in her eyes. "Miels, are you being kept here against your will? Is he hurting you?"

"It's complicated, but... it's not all bad." The words sound ridiculous even as they leave my mouth, but they're true in a way I never expected.

Heat rushes to my face as flashes from last night suddenly cross my mind—Anatoly's hands pinning mine above my head, his mouth trailing down my body, the way he held me in his powerful arms in the shower while impaling me with his cock.

"You didn’t answer my question." Amara's voice cuts through my thoughts, her expression increasingly anxious. “Are you being kept here against your will?”

I clear my throat. "No, I'm not being kept here against my will. And no, he's not hurting me."

Amara narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced. "If you're not being held here against your will, then why haven't you come home? Why couldn't I go back to our apartment after you disappeared?"

"It's for your protection—"

"Protection from what?" Amara throws her hands up. "I've been worried sick! I even went down to—"

"The barbershop, I know," I interrupt, completing her thought. "I know you've been looking for me."

Guilt claws at my insides. I've forsaken my sister right when she needs me most. I did the very thing I swore I'd never do after our parents died.

Amara goes silent, her face paling slightly. "How do you know about that?"

I hesitate, then decide there's no point hiding it anymore. "Svetlana has been watching over you for the past week."

"Watching over me?" Amara's voice rises. "What are you talking about?"

I take a deep breath, knowing I can't keep the truth from her any longer. She deserves to know what kind of world she's just stepped into.

But just how much should I tell her? The whole truth would be terrifying. Not only about Anatoly, but about me as well. I can't tell her the fact that I watched Anatoly beat a man to death and then shoot another on my orders.

Or that I enjoyed watching him do it.

No. Some things are better left unsaid.

But then again, I can't just not tell her exactly what kind of man I married. Complete lies is an insult her intelligence. And even if I could lie to her, she deserves to know some truths.

And maybe that's what I'll tell her.

Some truths. Not all.

This way, I'm not lying.

Not technically.

The truth sits heavy in my chest as I search for the right words. Amara's eyes are wide, waiting. I need to give her something real, even if it's not everything.

"Anatoly is... he's part of the Russian mafia," I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Well, more than just a part. He's the pakhan. The boss."

Amara's jaw drops. "Russian mafia? Like actual criminals?"

"Yes." I take her hands in mine. "And he married me to keep me safe."

"Safe," she repeats, testing the word. She leans forward, lowering her voice even though we're alone. "Safe from what? From who?"

I look at her pointedly. "You know who."

"Jesus, Miels." Her eyes search mine. "Why? I thought…" She looks around and then drops her voice to a whisper. "I thought that after Mom and Dad died, he wouldn't come after you anymore. What changed?"

"Election's coming up," I say bitterly. "And he doesn't want to lose. Wants to tie up all the loose ends. Me included."

"That bastard." Amara shakes her head. "And you're sure that Anatoly is keeping you safe from him? I mean, I've never heard of mafia guys doing something out of the goodness of their hearts. What does he want out of it?"

"In exchange for keeping me safe," I say. "He's using me to blackmail the mayor."

"Does he know everything that happened that summer?" Amara squeezes my hands.

I shake my head quickly. "Not everything. He only knows that I interned at Bennet's office. He knows about Mom and Dad. About those cops who killed them."

Another flash of memory floats to the forefront of my mind. Anatoly's fist connecting with flesh. The spray of blood. The sound of a gunshot. The way my body responded to the violence with a sick kind of satisfaction. How I'd thanked him afterward.

Amara can never know about that. Never know what I've become capable of.

"Does he know about the NDA? And does he—"

Suddenly, she stops talking and sits up straight. Her eyes stare past me towards something standing in the doorway.

No. Not something.

Someone.

I turn around, and that's when I see Anatoly standing in the doorway.

How long has he been there?

And what has he heard?