Page 159 of His Darkest Obsession
I stare at her for a long moment. "No. I won't kill you."
I release my hold on her throat, step back, and extend the gun toward her, handle first.
"You can do that yourself."
Mother stares at the gun, and her hand refuses to move.
"Do you remember whatIsaid to you that day?" I ask.
"I do." She nods. "That if I dared to touch you like that again, or touch your wife like that again, or call her a whore one more time, that you'll kill me."
"Exactly." I nod. "Now take the gun.Eto moi prikaz."
Mother's eyes finally close and a single tear slides down her cheek. "I remember when you were still a little boy, Tolya. You used to hide from your father behind my skirt anytime whenever he was in a mood to hurt something."
"I know. But that boy is gone now."
"He is," she whispers. "And I see now what you have chosen. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe it's good that this is where I leave you."
"Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Valentina Ivanovna."
"Of course not, my pakhan." She takes the gun from my hand, flips the safety off, and presses the barrel against her head. "But there's something that you should know."
"What's that?"
"Your whore's pregnant," she says. "Her life is in danger. And I’m the only one who might be able to help you find her."
50
INDIGO
The weightof yesterday sits heavy in my chest as Svetlana drives in silence.
Amara fidgets with her phone in the passenger seat, pretending to text someone when I know she's just trying to look busy.
And me? I'm drowning in my own thoughts.
Last night in the shower...
Anatoly looked at me like I was everything. And right before he came, his lips parted, and Iknewwhat he was about to say.
I kissed him right then and there to stop him from saying a word.
Hard and desperate.
Anything to stop those three words from reaching the air between us.
Why did I do that?
Maybe because once those words exist, they can't be taken back. Maybe because if he loves me, I'd be responsible for theconsequences of that love. Or maybe—and this thought makes my chest tighten—because I'm terrified of what happens that I would've admitted that I love him back.
But somehow, none of those reasons feel like the answer. Or maybe all of them are the answer and I'm not ready to accept them.
Outside, Long Island blurs away into the concrete jungle of New York as we cross into Queens.
I stare out as trees are slowly replaced by buildings, lost in my own spiraling thoughts.
Red and blue lights suddenly flash behind us, followed by the unmistakable chirp of a police siren.
