Page 42 of Her Darkest Possession
But it's too late now.
He had his chances, and he fucking blew it.
I feel oddly calm as I raise the cleaver above my head. There's no rage or hatred, just the certainty that I'm protecting what's mine. My wife. My child. My family.
The cleaver comes down on Grisha's neck with a sickening thud.
Blood drips down the floor from Grisha's corpse. He convulses once, twice, and then finally goes still. His head remains attached by a thin strip of muscle and sinew, but he's dead.
The basement falls silent except for Indigo's steady breathing beside me.
I turn to Roma.
"Send the body and hand to Taras," I tell him. "Make sure he understands that this war is now going to be fought until the bitter end."
Roma nods. "I'll get it done."
"Vasya," I call out, and my youngest brother steps forward from the shadows. "Help Romochka with this."
Vassily glances at Indigo, something like respect flickering across his face before he nods. "Konechno,my pakhan."
I toss the cleaver to the floor. Blood covers my hands, my clothes. I should feel something—disgust, remorse, anything—but all I feel is a cold satisfaction that the man who threatened my wife and unborn child is dead.
I turn to Indigo and see that her face is calm. There are no tears in her eyes. Her lips aren't trembling. Even her posture remains ramrod straight. I reach for her hand, and she takes it without hesitation, unbothered by the blood still wet on my skin.
Our fingers intertwine, and together we start walking up the stairs.
Each step takes us further from death and closer to life, and to whatever future that we'll carve out of this bloody present.
12
INDIGO
When we reach our bedroom,the steel in my spine begins to soften. The calm that carried me down in the basement finally starts to crack.
I don't speak as Anatoly leads me to our bathroom. My thoughts are a storm I can't navigate. Part of me feels justified. Grisha would have raped me on that train if I hadn't fought back. He put my sister on a leash and was ready to give her up to monsters.
He deserved to die screaming.
Anatoly turns on the faucet and fills the silence with the sound of running water. His strong fingers wrap around my cold ones and he guides our hands under the warm stream. Pink ribbons swirl down the drain, and I can't help remember the last time I saw something like this.
And I start wondering.
How many more times will I see this?
More importantly. How many more times can I see this before it no longer horrifies me?
Because there's a dark truth that I'm not willing to voice.
My horror isn't at what I ordered my dangerous husband to do to Grisha.
My horror is that Ienjoyedit.
I liked watching Grisha suffer. I liked the sound of his screams. I liked the moment when understanding dawned in his eyes. I liked the moment when he realized I held his life in my hands.
Above all, I liked it when Anatoly brought that cleaver up into the air atmycommand.
And I liked it hearing the sound of it—wet and heavy—slamming down into Grisha's neck to end his worthless life.
