Page 58 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

INDIGO

The weight of yesterday sits heavy in my chest as Svetlana drives in silence.

Amara fidgets with her phone in the passenger seat, pretending to text someone when I know she's just trying to look busy.

And me? I'm drowning in my own thoughts.

Last night in the shower...

Anatoly looked at me like I was everything. And right before he came, his lips parted, and I knew what he was about to say.

I kissed him right then and there to stop him from saying a word.

Hard and desperate.

Anything to stop those three words from reaching the air between us.

Why did I do that?

Maybe because once those words exist, they can't be taken back. Maybe because if he loves me, I'd be responsible for the consequences of that love. Or maybe—and this thought makes my chest tighten—because I'm terrified of what happens that I would've admitted that I love him back.

But somehow, none of those reasons feel like the answer. Or maybe all of them are the answer and I'm not ready to accept them.

Outside, Long Island blurs away into the concrete jungle of New York as we cross into Queens.

I stare out as trees are slowly replaced by buildings, lost in my own spiraling thoughts.

Red and blue lights suddenly flash behind us, followed by the unmistakable chirp of a police siren.

Svetlana looks up at the rearview mirror in annoyance and swears. "I wasn't even speeding!"

She pulls over to the shoulder and rolls down her window as the officer approaches.

Something doesn’t feel right. “Be careful, Svetlana.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I can take care of myself.”

"Step out of the vehicle, ma'am," the officer says once he reaches the car.

She makes a face as she does so, sighing exaggeratedly with every motion.

But moment Svetlana clears the door, the cop pulls his gun and fires. The sound is deafening in the morning quiet. Svetlana crumples to the pavement, a bloom of red spreading underneath her.

No!

Amara's scream pierces my ear. The cop swings his weapon toward the car and points it at her.

"Shut up!" he barks. "Both of you, or you're next!"

"Amara, do as he says!" I tell her.

This can't be happening. This can't be fucking happening!

"You." He points his gun at me. "Out. Now."

My legs are heavy as I open the door. The pavement seems to sway beneath my feet.

It feels like I'm walking into a living nightmare from my past. And there's no way to wake up.

The officer's gun remains trained on me as my mind races. I spare a glance at Svetlana on the ground. She's not moving, and there's so much blood. Is she alive? Please don't let her be dead. Please don't someone else die because of me. My stomach turns.

"Please..." I whisper, my hands raised. "My sister—"

"Get in that car." He jerks his head toward a black SUV that's pulled up behind his patrol car. "Get in or I shoot the brat too."

This feeling... I've been here before. Powerless. My body moving on autopilot while my mind screams.

The world narrows to pinpricks of sensation: the crunch of gravel under my feet, the distant sound of traffic continuing as if nothing is happening, the morning sun suddenly feeling ice-cold on my skin.

The back door of the SUV swings open when I approach, and I blink when I recognize the faces inside.

Lola's blonde hair catches the morning light. Grisha sits in the passenger seat with a dark grin playing on his lips.

I glance back at Amara. Her face is barely visible through the rear window, but I can still see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Then, the cop moves his gun from me and aims it at her, and I know that I have to do this.

I get in the SUV.

The door slams shut beside me with a finality that makes my heart drop. Lola's perfectly manicured fingers tap against her thigh as she studies me, her smile spreading slowly across her face like poison.

"Did you really think you could keep your little secret from us?" she asks, each word dripping with satisfaction.

My blood turns to ice. Secret? Which secret?

The NDA about what happened with Grant?

Or the fact that I'm pregnant with Anatoly's child?

I can't give her anything. Not a single reaction that might tell her what she wants to know.

I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice. "Please," I manage to say. "Don't hurt my sister. She has nothing to do with any of this."

I can still see the cop with his gun trained on Amara in our car. Svetlana's body remains motionless on the pavement. My stomach churns with fear and guilt.

Lola's green eyes glitter with cold amusement. "That all depends on how cooperative you're willing to be, Amelia."

For a moment, I wonder just how she might know my name. But that's when I remember how Valentina and Vassily cornered me in that musty room, and told me that every crime family has been looking into me.

They'd known everything. My name. My past. What happened with Bennet. Everything I'd tried so desperately to bury beneath blue hair dye and a new identity.

So of course Lola knows too.

I stare out the window, trying to see if Amara is still okay, but the dark tinted glass of the SUV makes it impossible.

"Eyes on me, you cheap slut," Lola snaps.

I meet her gaze, forcing myself not to look away. "What do you want from me?"

Her smile widens, red lipstick perfectly applied. "Simple. I want what belongs to me."

Then, she snaps her fingers, and the SUV pulls away from the curb, leaving Amara and Svetlana behind. I watch in horror as the bloody scene whirls past, and try to catch my sister's eyes in a silent promise that I'll come back for her.

If I come back.

"I always knew that my Tolya wanted a way out of our arrangement." Lola begins again. "But I never thought he was so desperate that he would marry common trash like you to do it."

I bite back my response. Instinct tells me to lash out and claw at her perfect face, but I force myself to remain still.

My eyes start darting around the vehicle's interior, searching for anything that I might be able to use as a weapon or a distraction.

But Lola catches my searching gaze and smiles sweetly.

"Don't even think about trying anything stupid," she warns. "Because if you do..." she glances at her brother, "Grisha won't hesitate to order that nice policeman to put a bullet right in sweet Amara's pretty little head."

My blood freezes in my veins as she mimes a gun with her fingers and pretends to shoot.

"Ponimayesh menya, shlyukha?" Lola asks, tilting her head slightly.

I don't need to know Russian to know what she's asking. So, I give her a slight nod as the walls start closing in around me.

If I fight, Amara dies. If I run, Amara dies.

The only way forward is through.

"I always have someone following Tolya," Lola says casually, examining her perfect manicure. "Discreetly, of course. From a distance so he'd never notice. Just in case he does something stupid like this."

You fucking psycho!

Her eyes flick to mine, catching my disgust before I can hide it.

"Imagine my surprise," she continues, voice dropping lower, "when he made not one, but two little excursions into the Bronx.

First to some no-name barbershop that mysteriously gets shot up right after he arrived.

" She tilts her head, studying me. "And then to an apartment building where he came out with the same blue-haired bitch who almost killed him. "

My stomach drops. She knew. She knew everything from the very beginning.

"That's when I started really looking into things." Lola's smile is predatory. "You're smart for someone not born into this life, I'll give you that. Not everyone would think to keep family away during their own kidnapping."

I try to keep my face neutral even as my heart races.

"Because of that little bit of cleverness," Lola continues, "I didn't find out about dear Amara until she started going around asking after you."

The pieces slot together with horrifying clarity. Amara's panicked call after the gala. Her telling me about the men following her.

I'd assumed it was Bennet's people or Valentina.

But it was Lola.

Amara was followed because she was looking for me.

My sister was in danger because of me.

I'm so sorry, Amara. I'm so, so sorry.

The familiar guilt floods my chest—the same crushing weight I've carried since that summer internship two years ago. I thought I was protecting Amara by keeping her at a distance from all this, but instead, I put a target on her back.

She wouldn't have been looking for me if I'd just told her the truth from the beginning. I should've warned her properly on that first phone call.

"And after I saw you at the gala," Lola continued. "I kept wondering. Just what it is about you that made my Tolya choose you over me."

Maybe it's the fact that I'm not a psycho bitch!

"So much so," she keeps talking. "That he put his fucking baby in your belly."

What?

How? How does she know that? How can she know that? The only people who might know are Svetlana and Amara, and I know neither of them would've told.

As if she can read my thoughts, Lola reaches into her purse and pulls out a crumpled receipt, holding it between two perfectly manicured fingers.

"Four pregnancy tests. Must have been desperate."

The café bathroom. The trash can. We didn't think—

Lola leans forward, her face inches from mine, and her smile grows wider.

"So here's what's going to happen, Amelia. I will get what I want: Anatoly is my husband. As he was always meant to be." Her voice drops to a whisper. "And if not."

She glances over at Grisha. “Pretty girls like Amara will always fetch a good price.”

Something snaps inside me. "You're sick!" I scream, lunging at her. "You're fucking sick!"

Lola doesn't even flinch as she closes her hand around my throat and slams me against the door of the car.

"I'm sick?" she hisses. "That's rich coming from the whore who stole my husband."

"I won't let you hurt my sister." I struggle against her grip. "I swear to God, if you touch her—"

"I thought you might say that. Which is why I'm going to make this easier for you."