Page 130 of Sexting the Pakhan

My apartment is fifteen minutes away. Safe enough. Familiar enough. A place to breathe, check them over, call someone I trust, figure out the next step.

“My apartment,” I say.

Ruslan turns his head toward me. “No.”

“My apartment,” I repeat.

His eyes search my face. He wants to argue. I can see it. Then pain cuts through him, and he presses his hand harder against his thigh.

Karina gets behind the wheel. “Apartment it is.”

I climb into the back between the girls because I can’t bear not to touch them. Mila crawls into my lap immediately, too big for it and still small enough that I make room. Nadia leans into my side, silent.

Ruslan sits in front, breathing carefully.

Karina pulls out of the side lot with the headlights off until we reach the road, then turns them on and drives too fast.

For several minutes, nobody speaks. The girls’ breathing slowly steadies against me. My hands move over their hair, their shoulders, their arms, checking and rechecking what I already know. My girls are safe. That’s the only thing that matters. Not the other thing… where Ruslan brought death to my door again.

In the front seat, Ruslan’s head rests back against the seat, eyes closed, one hand locked around his wounded thigh.

Karina glances at him every few seconds in the rearview mirror. Finally, she says, “You look like hell.”

Ruslan’s eyes open slightly. “You always talk this much?”

Karina says, “Only when I’m transporting bleeding criminals with my goddaughters in the back.”

I say, “Karina.”

She says, “What? We’re all thinking it.”

Ruslan says nothing.

Mila lifts her head from my chest. “Mama, is he a criminal?”

The car goes very quiet. I close my eyes.

Karina whispers, “Fantastic.”

Ruslan turns his head slightly but doesn’t look back.

I answer carefully. “He has done dangerous things.”

Mila thinks about that. “But he said we should be checked for shock.”

“Yes,” I say.

Nadia says, “Bad people can know first aid.”

Karina makes a choked sound.

Ruslan’s mouth moves faintly, though his eyes remain closed.

I look out the window because laughing, crying, and screaming all feel equally possible.

When we reach my apartment building, Karina parks in the back where the security light flickers and only one neighbor’s cat judges us from a wall.

Getting Ruslan upstairs is a nightmare. He refuses to let me call anyone. Karina refuses to let him bleed on her upholstery any more than he already has. Nadia insists we should make a “blood plan,” and Mila starts crying again because she thinks Ruslan will die in the elevator.