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He’s on the phone! “Ruslan!” I roar, hitting until my fist goes numb. “Hang up the phone!”
I hear him rattling off his address. “He has a gun! Please hurry!”
Backing up, I prepare to try and kick the door down. Sirens wail in the distance, rising in pitch as they scream toward the house. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Heaving air into my lungs in a panic, I spin and sprint down the stairs. My wounded leg is killing me, but I push past the agony. I dart through the front door, still hanging open from my break in, and slip into the darkness surrounding the house. My boots go out from under me on the slick porch. With a grunt, I come down hard on my hip.
In the distance, the dog is barking again, joining its noise to the cacophony heading my way.
Multiple police cars zoom down the street, their lights dancing over the hedges. I roll off the porch, cutting forward on my hands and knees through the snow. I duck lower, inching through the sharp leaves and twigs showering my hair with fragments of ice.
It feels like I’ve gone miles before I enter another backyard of a house further away. Sweat drenches me down my shoulder blades. But the cool night air gives no relief.
I scoot across the dirt on my belly. It’s wet from snow that turns to slush under my body. The icy chill penetrates my jacket. My limbs feel heavy, as if they’re waterlogged. Mud seems to glue me in place. Gruff voices with flashlights prowl not far from me.
I hold still, waiting, not daring to breathe.
Someone shouts, and they move back toward the house. I wait until the beams of light are gone, then I wait even longer. Seconds feel like hours, but slowly, I urge myself to move.
I don’t relax until I make it to my parked car. Even then, the tightness in my limbs doesn’t smooth out. I keep expecting a police blockade. I can visualize the red and blue lights in my rearview mirror. But nothing happens.
Yet I remain on high alert the entire drive back to the mansion.
Narrowly escaping the cops leaves my heart thundering, but it’s only temporary.
The entire drive, all I can think about is what Ruslan mentioned. My hands cling to the steering wheel. His voice. Those eyes.
I know why he seems familiar now.
Someone was coming to help find my sister!
His sister.
Galina.
26
GALINA
Headlights glow like a pair of wolf eyes as they pass through the gate. They skirt along the ground, predicting the path of the car seconds before its tires roll along, where it halts in front of the house. It’s been over an hour since Arsen left to save my mother, and I haven’t breathed easily since.
What happened? Did he rescue my mom? Did he kill Yevgeniy?
Did he kill Ruslan?
I need to know the answer to that final question as much as I need oxygen to keep my lungs working. I need to know just how far Arsen is willing to go.
I can’t build a future with a child murderer. I just can’t.
The driver’s door opens in a wide swing. Arsen steps out, his movements stiff and slow. With his hand gripping the car roof, he cranes his neck until he’s looking at my bedroom window. My light is on, so he can see my silhouette. His posture doesn’t ease up. If anything, he looks more distressed. From this distance, there’s no mistaking the hollowness in his eyes.
Mom isn’t with him.
He failed in one task, but what about the rest? I’m relieved at the fact he’s alive, but I can’t calm down. Wrapping my robe tightly around my pale blue nightgown, I sweep my bare feet over the floor, halfway running down the hall. I slow at the top of the stairs, but only because my need to know isn’t as strong as my deep-seated fear of falling.
The front door cracks open as I reach the last step. He enters and I cry out.
“What happened? Are you all right? Did you see my mother?”
