Page 82 of His Darkest Obsession

Anatoly’s eyes flash towards mine for a moment, but I don’t meet them. Instead, I focus my anger and my rage to Dylan Green, to that hateful face of his, and to the sneer that still clings to his battered lips.

“And after I tell you, what happens next?” he asks and turns his eyes towards Anatoly. “Ishegoing to kill me?”

“Yes.” Both of us say at the same time.

“But I’ll let you die with some fucking dignity.” Anatoly adds.

“Dignity.” Parker scoffs behind Green, and I snap my eyes towards the back of his head. “There’s nothing dignified about any of this. About what we did. Or about what the two of you are about to do.”

I walk away from Green and round the face Parker. “Do you really have no regrets about what you’ve done? What you’ve helped cover up?”

Parker coughs up another mouthful of blood. “You want to hear his fucking name?”

“I do.”

“Fine.” He nods. “It was Grant Bennet who told us to go pick up your piece-of-shit father.”

“My father was a good man.” Hot tears well up in my eyes as I snarl at him through gritted teeth. “An innocent man!”

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” Parker shakes his head. “He squealed like a bitch in the end.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and feel the hot tears running down my cheeks. But Parker keeps talking, his raspy voice scraping like sandpaper against my ears in the enclosed hell that we’re all trapped in.

“And your mother didn’t do much better.”

My eyes fly open and the floor starts spinning under me at his words. “What?”

“We took turns.” He smiles nastily. “Before I put a bullet through that bitch’s head.”

My legs give out and I collapse to the floor sticky with blood. I try to breathe, but it’s like some invisible monster has its hand wrapped tightly around my neck and squeezing it shut. Black dots start forming in my vision and the world spins out from under me.

Mom… Dad… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.

"What's the matter, you little Bratva whore?” Parker’s voice rattles. “Can't stomach what you asked for?"

I close my eyes and let the insult washes over me as hot tears fall from my eyes.

It’s strange how the words that should sting just feel... empty right now. After everything I've survived, from the crashing cycles of the events that led to the death of my parents to this awful revelation that I never knew about, this crude label from a man at the door of death means nothing.

But not to Anatoly. "What the fuck did you call my wife?"

"You heard me, you Russian prick." Parker’s bravado doesn’t fade. “I called her a fucking whore.”

Anatoly leans in and the knife digs just a hair deeper to draw more blood.

“Nobody calls mywifea whore.” His voice is cold and even.

The knife rises, and then it descends. Again and again and again. Blood splatters. Parker screams. And then his voice goes silent.But the knife keeps rising and descending. Keeps plunging down with that squelching wet noise.

“NOBODY!” He stabs with each word. “CALLS! MY! WIFE! A! WHORE!”

Metal scrapes against bone, and I look on with fascination as face of the man who murdered both my parents turn into a bloody red ruin. Slowly, I get up onto rubbery knees. Blood sprays across Anatoly’s shirt, up his sleeves, and stains it from the pristine white into dark scarlet.

He doesn't seem to notice or care as he loses himself in his implacable fury.

"Tolya," I whisper, but he doesn't stop.

Not until I reach out and reach up to touch his shoulder. The knife freezes in mid-air and he turns around to face me. Blood covers his face. Anger and anguish war for control in his eyes. And when they find me, I can see tears shimmering in their blue depths.