Page 54 of His Darkest Obsession
The silence settles between us, heavy with whatever burden she still carries. I should care only about what I can use against Bennet, but it seems so inconsequential now.
Not after the tiny confession from her that her parents are dead because of Bennet. My mind drifts to the thought of those scars on her thighs. A man didn’t put those on her. She did it to herself.
All because of Bennet. I’m sure of that.
And like clockwork, rage begins boiling beneath my surface, and I continue looking at her and waiting for her.
When she finally speaks, her voice is whisper quiet.
"A few weeks after I finished my internship at Mayor Bennet's office, a pair of police officers came to our home." Her fingers tighten around mine. "They arrested my father Malcolm on charges that made no sense. Drug possession. Grand theft auto. Conspiracy to kill a police officer."
"What happened next?" It’s getting hard to keep my voice controlled, but I do it for her.
"They beat him to death in an interrogation room." Her voice breaks slightly.
My jaw clenches.
"Two weeks later, my mother Claire was killed on her way home from work." Her eyes rise to meet mine, dry but haunted. "The police closed the case in less than a day. Said it was just a hit and run. Then they cremated her body before I ever got a chance to see her."
Her words set my blood burning with the kind of rage that usually ends with bodies in the streets. I've killed for business, for power, for respect.
But not this.
"Names." My voice comes out sharp enough to make her flinch. I loosen my grip on her hands, but I don't let go. "I want names."
"I don't know their names.” Indigo shakes her head, eyes downcast.
"Can you identify them if you see their face?” I wait until those hazel eyes meet mine.
"Yes."
“Then I’ll find them for you.”
“How?”
“There must be an arrest warrant on file for your father. I have men in the NYPD who can get those records without raising flags.”
“And my mother?”
“If what you’ve told me is the truth, and if Bennet ordered your parents’ deaths to intimidate you into silence, it’ll be the same men who covered up her death as well. Fewer hands. Fewer leaks.”
She stares at me, and I can practically see the thoughts turning her head. Her fingers continue to stroke my hand by her neck. Then, she gives me a nod.
A savage satisfaction surges through me.
But now, one final question burns on my tongue, one I need to know the answer to. Not for the blackmail plan. Not for anything practical. But for understanding the woman I've married.
"When I do find them." I hold her gaze, watching for any hesitation. “Do you want them dead, Indigo?”
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Doesn't look away.
"Yes."
One word. No tremor in her voice. No doubt in her eyes.
A dark approval uncoils inside of me. I've seen many people pretend or shy away from the angry violence inherent in themselves. But Indigo isn't pretending. This isreal. She won’t be satisfied with fantasies of revenge or threats. She wants the real thing.
Justice. The kind that’s cold and permanent.
