Page 93 of His Darkest Obsession

"This doesn't concern you, bastard," Grisha snarls.

"The safety of my pakhan's wife concerns me greatly." Svetlana advances with dangerous grace. "Step away from her or I'll have to make you move."

Lola's eyes narrow to slits in disbelief. "Pakhan's wife?"

"What else would you dare call her?" Anatoly's voice sends an electric current down my spine.

He seems to materialize behind Svetlana like an apparition, his face a perfect mask of control. Only his eyes betray the rage building beneath the surface. Twin chips of blue ice that burns as much as they freeze.

He shoulders past Grisha towards me, shrugs off his jacket, and drapes it over my shoulders, to cover the torn fabric of my dress.

And then he sees my face.

His eyes lock on the bloodied scratches. Then, he pulls out his gun and levels it at Lola's face.

"Anatoly! No!" I grab his arm. "We're in public. You can't do this here."

He doesn't look at me, doesn't even acknowledge that I've spoken. His finger hovers near the trigger.

"There are hundreds of people just down the hall," I say urgently. "Think about what happens after."

"Listen to your little whore, Tolya," Lola hisses. "She seems to understand?—"

Whatever I seem to understand is never said, because that’s the exact moment Anatoly grabs Lola by the neck, pushes her against the wall, and shoves the gun into her mouth.

“DON’T!” I cry out.

Lola’s eyes open wide with fear as Anatoly cocks the hammer on the pistol back. Her legs start shaking and her face turns ash white.

Then I feel something cold and hard press against my temple.

“Let my sister go, Baryshev,” Grisha growls. “Or I’ll paint these walls red with your whore’s brains.”

“Anatoly, please.” I beg. “Please don’t do this! Not here!”

“You should listen to her, Baryshev,” Grisha hisses. “She seems to be the only person who knows the meaning of consequences.”

Anatoly’s eyes dart towards Grisha and then back at Lola. I can see the calculation spinning in his head. I wonder if he’s trying to figure out just how quickly he can pull the gun out of Lola’s mouth and shoot Grisha dead.

Or if it’s too risky.

Tension stretches like a rubber band about to snap. And then Anatoly gives a small nod as he releases Lola from his grip and pulls the gun out of her mouth. She whimpers as she slides down to the ground.

Grisha, satisfied that his terms were met, lowers his gun as well.

Then everything happens at once.

Anatoly's arm moves in a blur. The butt of his gun connects with Grisha's face with a sickening crack. Blood spurts from Grisha's nose as he crumples to his knees, hands clutching his face. The gun in his hand clatters to the ground, and before he can reach for it, Anatoly kicks it towards Svetlana.

"You should thank my wife," Anatoly says, his voice dangerously quiet. "If it weren’t for her, I would’ve ended both your worthless lives just now."

Lola rushes over to her brother, her hand shaking even as rage seeps back onto her expression.

"Get the fuck out of here." Anatoly's command slices through the air. "Now."

Blood drips between Grisha's fingers as he glares up at Anatoly. "We had an agreement. Protocol dictates?—"

"Protocol? My wife just gave you a second chance at life. And you want to waste it talking about fucking protocol?”