Page 137 of His Darkest Obsession
"Ten minutes, Vasya," I say. "Eto moi prikaz."
"Fuck, I knew you were going to say that." He gives his head a hard shake. "Fine. Ten fucking minutes. I'll figure something out."
Then, he opens the door and steps out, muttering curses under his breath as he does so.
I get out after him, straighten my suit jacket, and walk through the main entrance. The security guard glances up from his phone with a raised eyebrow.
"Can I help you?" he asks boredly.
"Need to use the bathroom," I say, gesturing vaguely. "It's an emergency."
He rolls his eyes, points down the hall. "To the left. Make it quick, okay? I'm trying to get home and catch the Yankees game."
"You'll get home on time, I promise you that."
I can't say the same for Bennet, though.
The guard cocks an eyebrow, shrugs, and goes back to scrolling on his phone.
I nod and start walking, and count each camera I pass. Seven so far. Each one documenting my path. But I don't care. I can always find a way to erase the footage later.
With every step I take closer and closer to Bennet's office, I can see the words from the NDA describing what happened to her two years ago flash through my mind. My hand opens and closes.
Soon, britvochka,I promise her silently.
When I reach just outside of the office, I pull out my phone and send a single text to Vassily.
Do it.
A few seconds later, fire alarms shriek through the building. Red emergency lights flash and bathe the hallway in crimson to match the red that I'm still seeing.
I push open the door without knocking.
Bennet is halfway up from his chair behind his desk. His jacket is in his hand. Surprise crosses his face when he sees me and his mouth opens but no sound comes out in the pandemonium.
"What are you doing here, Baryshev?" Bennet asks, his voice is strained, and it sounds almost mousy against the blaring klaxon of the fire alarm ringing out all around us.
I answer by closing the door behind me. It does nothing to muffle the sound. But that's exactly what I need. It pulses and drills into my head at a steady rhythm, matching the angry heartbeat pounding furiously in my chest and head.
To make sure we're not interrupted, I lock the door.
Bennet's eyes widen slightly. He swallows hard and slowly lowers himself back into his chair. He knows that there's no way out.
As I approach his desk, my gaze sweeps the room.
That's when I see a pair of stiletto heels peeking out from behind a large potted plant in the corner of the office. There's not a single speck of dirt on them. Nothing that suggests that they've seen anything other than the insides of this fucking office.
My blood begins to boil.
How many others? The question burns in my mind as clearly as if I'd shouted it. How many girls like Indigo? How many interns has he cornered in this very office? How many lives has he destroyed while sitting behind that polished mahogany desk?
"I asked you a question, Baryshev," Bennet says, a quiver creeping into his voice. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
I place both hands on his desk and lean forward until our faces are inches apart. The fire alarm's wail seems to fade into the background as I focus entirely on this monster who hurt what's mine.
"Is this where you did it?" I ask.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Bennet stammers, his eyes darting toward the door like a cornered animal.
