Page 102 of Her Darkest Possession
"Behind you!" I shout uselessly at the screen, knowing he can't hear me.
He turns, but it's too late.
One bullet after another rip into his body, and send him jerking backwards. Blood blooms across his shirt like crimson flowers. Yet somehow, he stays on his feet.
He staggers, steadies himself, and then raise his rifle again to fire off a few more shots.
More bullets impact him, punching holes through his chest and shoulders. But he refuses to fall. Refuses to stop fighting.
"Vasya..." Svetlana whispers, her voice cracking with grief.
Her fingers reach out toward the screen as if she could somehow pull him to safety.
Finally, Vassily's legs give out. He collapses to his knees, then falls forward onto the marble floor.
That's when Lola walks into the frame. She kicks his rifle away from his outstretched hand and says something to him.
Even in his dying moments, Vassily doesn't surrender. He spits up a mouthful of blood at Lola's feet and tries to lunge at her.
But his hand barely brushes her ankles when several Volkov men step forward and kick him back, their boots connecting with his already bullet-riddled body.
Lola extends her hand, and someone passes her a gun. She aims it at Vassily's head, her face twisted in a cruel smile.
My stomach turns to ice as I realize what's about to happen.
Amara cries out and I pull her tighter into my arms, turning her face away from the screen.
"Don't look," I whisper into her hair.
Amara obeys, turning her face into my chest as her tears soak into my shirt.
Then, I see Lola pulling the trigger, and Vassily's head snaps back.
I can't tear my eyes away from the screen as Vassily's body slumps to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder that I'm still alive while he's gone.
He died protecting us.
Lola kicks Vassily's lifeless body. Her face twists in a satisfied smile. She starts shouting orders at her men, her hands gesturing wildly.
"What are they doing now?" Amara whispers, still pressed against me.
"I don't know," I answer, my voice barely audible.
But then I see more Volkov men start streaming into the house, carrying large red containers. My breath catches as I realize what they are.
Gas cans.
"Oh my God," I gasp, watching in horror as they begin splashing the liquid throughout the mansion. The fluid soaks into furniture, drips down walls, and puddles on the marble floors.
"They're going to burn this place down," Svetlana says. "And us with it."
I watch as they douse every room, every hallway. The dining room where we shared meals and confessions. The nursery we were painting just this morning.
There's no way out.
On the main screen, a man approaches Lola with what looks like a makeshift torch—a piece of fabric wrapped around a wooden handle—already burning at the end.
He says something to her, and she gestures at him.
