Page 95 of His Darkest Obsession

"I thought I was strong enough," she whispers. "After watching you kill those two men who murdered my parents... I felt powerful. I thought I could face him."

Her eyes finally lift to mine and there's no mistaking the fear and vulnerability swimming in their hazel depths.

"But when I saw Bennet in person again, it was like—" Her breath hitches. "Like I stepped back in time. Back to that summer two years ago."

Despite my own curiosity goading at me to ask, I remain silent, and let her words flow uninterrupted.

"And as soon as that happened." Her fingers tighten around mine. "It was like I couldn't breathe. I had to get out of there."

She swallows hard, and drops her gaze to our joined hands. "I shouldn't have run off alone. This is my fault."

"No." I shake my head and plant a soft kiss on her fingers. "You were the only one who did the right thing tonight. You stopped me from killing those two in public. From creating a mess that would've brought unwanted attention."

A tear slides down her cheek. "What good is doing the right thing when all it does is put people in danger? My parents did the right thing. And look what happened to them."

A single hot tear falls from her eyes, staining the front of her dress. I want to pull my hand away to wipe it away, but I don't want to let her go. Not right now.

Maybe not ever.

Her hands start to shake in mine.

Looking up, I catch the first tremor wracking through her body before it grows stronger with each shuddering breath she takes. Tears stream down her face, but there's something else there. Something deeper and darker that reminds me of a wounded animal trapped in a corner.

Her fingers flex against mine, opening and closing like she's trying to dig her nails into her own flesh but can't because I'm holding her back.

My chest tightens.

Fuck. Without knowing it, I forced her to face the demons that haunted her. I'm a fucking idiot! I should've known that it's one thing to watch me kill the men responsible for her parents' death, but another thing entirely to stand in the same room as the monster who ordered it.

"I won't let what happened to your parents happen to you," I tell her. "I promise you that."

A bitter laugh escapes her lips. "You can't guarantee that."

"I'm the fucking pakhan of the Baryshev Bratva. My word is?—"

"It's not just about me." She cuts me off, her voice steadying despite her trembling body. "Bad things can happen to me. I've accepted that. I can take that."

You don't mean that, britvochka.I want to tell her.No-one should accept that.

But I keep my mouth shut as she continues to talk.

"I'm worried about my sister. About what could happen to her if I don't let the bad things happen to me."

Then, she looks directly into my eyes.

"And what could happen to you."

Of all things that she can say, the confession that she's worried about me is the last thing on earth I expected. Even now, when she's the one who had been attacked by those psychopath Volkovs. When she's the one who was made to stand before that bastard Bennet.

She's still worried aboutme.

God, this woman…

She's perfect. Her perfection extends far beyond her impossible beauty but all the way down into her soul. I realize now thatthisis why I kept watching her when I walked into that barbershop two weeks ago under the delusion that I was going to kill her.

This is why I let her draw my blood. Not once, not twice, but three times.

This is why I continue to let her defy me at every turn. Why I'm sticking to my own word that I don't want to fuck her until she begs me.