Page 50 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

ANATOLY

We arrive at the mayor's office shortly after sunset.

Rage pulses through my veins, but where it burned hot and reckless earlier, now it's focused and cold.

The kind of rage that sharpens rather than blinds.

I glare up at the building and tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I look.

"Here?" Vassily grabs my arm. "There are cameras, guards, and witnesses! We should wait until he's alone somewhere."

Ordinarily, I would agree with him. The publicity of the location makes it risky.

But this is where it must be done.

Bennet dies in his office.

So, I shake Vassily's hand off me. "I made my fucking decision, Vasya. Are you in, or are you out?"

"I'm in, but I just think that—"

"You're not here to fucking think," I snap. "You're here to create a distraction."

He sighs. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't care how. All I need is ten minutes with him alone on my word. No interruptions."

He looks at the building and rubs his chin. "Ten's not going to be easy, Tolya. Best I can do is five."

"Ten minutes, Vasya," I say. "Eto moi prikaz."

"Fuck, I knew you were going to say that." He gives his head a hard shake. "Fine. Ten fucking minutes. I'll figure something out."

Then, he opens the door and steps out, muttering curses under his breath as he does so.

I get out after him, straighten my suit jacket, and walk through the main entrance. The security guard glances up from his phone with a raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" he asks boredly.

"Need to use the bathroom," I say, gesturing vaguely. "It's an emergency."

He rolls his eyes, points down the hall. "To the left. Make it quick, okay? I'm trying to get home and catch the Yankees game."

"You'll get home on time, I promise you that."

I can't say the same for Bennet, though.

The guard cocks an eyebrow, shrugs, and goes back to scrolling on his phone.

I nod and start walking, and count each camera I pass. Seven so far. Each one documenting my path. But I don't care. I can always find a way to erase the footage later.

With every step I take closer and closer to Bennet's office, I can see the words from the NDA describing what happened to her two years ago flash through my mind. My hand opens and closes.

Soon, britvochka, I promise her silently.

When I reach just outside of the office, I pull out my phone and send a single text to Vassily.

Do it.

A few seconds later, fire alarms shriek through the building. Red emergency lights flash and bathe the hallway in crimson to match the red that I'm still seeing.

I push open the door without knocking.

Bennet is halfway up from his chair behind his desk. His jacket is in his hand. Surprise crosses his face when he sees me and his mouth opens but no sound comes out in the pandemonium.

"What are you doing here, Baryshev?" Bennet asks, his voice is strained, and it sounds almost mousy against the blaring klaxon of the fire alarm ringing out all around us.

I answer by closing the door behind me. It does nothing to muffle the sound. But that's exactly what I need. It pulses and drills into my head at a steady rhythm, matching the angry heartbeat pounding furiously in my chest and head.

To make sure we're not interrupted, I lock the door.

Bennet's eyes widen slightly. He swallows hard and slowly lowers himself back into his chair. He knows that there's no way out.

As I approach his desk, my gaze sweeps the room.

That's when I see a pair of stiletto heels peeking out from behind a large potted plant in the corner of the office. There's not a single speck of dirt on them. Nothing that suggests that they've seen anything other than the insides of this fucking office.

My blood begins to boil.

How many others? The question burns in my mind as clearly as if I'd shouted it. How many girls like Indigo? How many interns has he cornered in this very office? How many lives has he destroyed while sitting behind that polished mahogany desk?

"I asked you a question, Baryshev," Bennet says, a quiver creeping into his voice. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

I place both hands on his desk and lean forward until our faces are inches apart. The fire alarm's wail seems to fade into the background as I focus entirely on this monster who hurt what's mine.

"Is this where you did it?" I ask.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bennet stammers, his eyes darting toward the door like a cornered animal.

You fucking liar!

Something snaps inside me.

In a single fluid motion, I reach across the desk, grab him by his expensive suit lapels, and yank him forward. His body slides across the polished surface, sending papers scattering across the office.

I slam him down hard against his own desk and my hand closes around his throat.

I bend down until my face is inches from his, close enough to smell the stale coffee on his breath.

"IS THIS WHERE YOU DID IT?" With every word, my fingers tighten around his windpipe.

Not enough to kill. He doesn't deserve that mercy yet.

"I don't—I don't know what—" Bennet's face reddens as he claws at my hand. "What you're talking about."

His pathetic denials only feed my rage. This piece of shit thinks he can continue to lie his way out of this after what I've read?

After what he did to her?

"STOP LYING TO ME!" I roar, slamming his head back against the desk for emphasis. The impact makes a dull thud that gives me a sick satisfaction.

The fire alarm continues its relentless wail around us, but I barely hear it now over the sound of the blood pounding in my ears.

Spittle forms at the corners of his mouth as he struggles to speak. "I'm not lying! I'm not! I don’t know what you’re talking about!"

I lean in closer, bare my teeth, and unleash the name that will strip away all his pretense.

"AMELIA TAYLOR!"

Bennet's eyes widen at the name. The blood drains from his face. His lips move, but no words make it out.

Then, the sobbing starts. Pathetic little hiccupping noises that make me want to crush his windpipe completely.

"Please... please don't..." Tears streak down his face, mingling with the sweat beading on his forehead. "I have a family..."

"SO DID SHE!" I slam him against the desk again.

His sobbing intensifies, snot running from his nose as he breaks. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"Is. This. Where. You. Did. It?" I slam his head down on the surface with every word. Over and over and over again.

Blood begins to leak from his ear. His hand jerks every time his skull impacts the hard unfeeling surface of the desk.

"Yes," he finally admits, whimpering pathetically. "Yes… this is where I did it."

Something inside me shatters at his admission. The image of Indigo flashes through my mind. The scars on her thighs. The terror in her eyes at the gala. The tremble in her lips in that basement when I killed the two cops who murdered her parents.

All her pain. All her suffering. Everything that had been taken away from her started right here. In this fucking office by this fucking animal howling pathetically in my hand.

Tears start burning at the corners of my eyes.

"Why?" The word comes out raw, scraped from somewhere deep inside me. "TELL ME WHY"

Bennet continues sobbing, his chest heaving. "Because I'm weak... I'm just a weak man. I didn't—I didn't mean to hurt her. I just—"

"LIAR!" I roar, cutting through his pathetic excuses. "You didn't do it because you were weak. You knew exactly what you were doing! You did it because you knew you could get away with it! All of it!"

"HELP!" Bennet screams, blood bubbling between his lips. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

I lean down, close enough that my lips brush his ear. "No one is coming to fucking help you," I whisper. "You die here. You die now."

That's when all hope fades from Bennet's eyes. It happens in an instant. I know that moment all too well. It's the moment when a man realizes death is coming and there's nothing that he can do to stop it.

"Please..." he sobs, snot and tears mixing with the blood already leaking from his nose. "I'll do anything..."

His words are just noise now. Meaningless vibrations in the air.

I release his throat and he gasps, probably thinking I'm showing mercy.

I'm not.

My fist connects with his jaw with a satisfying crack. Then another to his cheek. And another.

Blood sprays across my knuckles, warm and slick. It spatters my shirt, my face. I don't care.

The rage inside me is a living thing now, clawing its way out through my fists. Every impact feels righteous. Every broken bone beneath my hands feels like justice.

I think of her scars. The ones she carved into her own flesh because of what this monster did. Because of what he made her do.

Not just in this office, but at the hospital weeks later.

When he forced her to erase the evidence of his crime.

When he slid that NDA in front of her and made her sign away her voice so that he might keep himself safe.

My vision blurs as I keep hitting him. Bone crunches beneath my knuckles. Sirens continue to wail. I don't stop. I can't stop. I won't stop.

Fists fall like a rain of hammers. His nose collapses under my knuckles. Teeth scatter across the desk. The coppery scent of blood fills the air. Slowly, the sound shifts from punching something hard to a sickening squelching noise as I pulverize his bone against my fist.

He's not screaming anymore.

But I'm not done.

"YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM HER," I bellow, even though he can't hear me anymore

"HER DIGNITY."

"HER FAMILY."

"HER FUCKING NAME."

I keep going until there's nothing recognizable left to Grant Bennet.

Just a red, bloody ruin where a face used to be.