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Mom ducks her head lower.
Yevgeniy’s eyebrows crawl like worms, wrenching together like he’s in pain. All the cold, calculating air around him has evaporated. In its place comes something more fragile, something … vulnerable. He looks away, and for a second, he seems almost sympathetic.
I don’t like it one bit.
“Moya dorogaya doch,” he whispers. “There is so much that Arsen hasn’t told you. So much that he’s left out.”
“He told me enough,” I retort quickly.
“Enough for you to hate me,” Yevgeniy whispers. “Enough to make him the hero of the story.”
As much as I want to throw it back in his face, my own curiosity stops me from doing so. I lean closer. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll learn more in due time.”
“When?” I urge, my curiosity growing by the second.
“Once we’re safe.” His eyes crinkle from his sad smile. “From Arsen.”
I’m taken aback by this. He’s swiveled the conversation in a direction I never predicted. He’s playing games with me; that’s all this is. Arsen is not a danger to me, only to him. But a tiny part of my mind is frazzled by the implication of Yevgeniy’s words. Arsen told me that Yevgeniy murdered Kristina. Mila confirmed the grisly details of what that monster did before killing her. Yet the look of pain that crossed Yevgeniy’s face is real.
And that’s enough to make me believe that Arsen left something out.
I still believe that Arsen is the good guy in this sordid story. But I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me that wants to know what happened on the other side. What could he mean when he said that Arsen told me enough to make him the hero of this story?
“Since you’re not hungry,” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin, “you’re free to go. Why don’t you go entertain Ruslan? Get to know your little brother.”
The words hit me like a slap to the face. It’s like he delights in reminding me that I’m not Stepan’s daughter but his. He’s speaking in the same way that Arsen does: it sounds like a suggestion, but it’s an order.
I fight the urge to wrap my arms protectively around my stomach.
I know better than to defy an order right now.
Slowly, I push my chair back. My mother starts to copy me, but that’s when Yevgeniy holds up a hand to stop her.
“No. Katyusha,” he says, “you stay. It’s been years since I’ve seen you up close. And there are years of intimate conversations I missed having with you. We have so much to talk about. So much missing time to get to know each other once again.” His grin tilts higher, at an angle, and he runs his tongue across his worm-like lips as he rapes her with his eyes. “Just like old times.”
Mom shoots a terrified look my way, begging me for a way to save her from this. But both she and I know that it’s an impossibility. Her lips press together into a bloodless line. Wordlessly, we communicate our shared fear. I fight the urge to grab her hand and drag her from the room. I start to reach for her hand, but she sits down heavily in her chair, settling the matter.
Yevgeniy rises from his seat and walks over until he stands behind her. His thick fingers gently caress her face before he grips her chin roughly and forces her mouth open.
“Oh,” he tuts as he seizes a handful of her hair. “You have aged like fine wine, Katyusha. And I intend to drink you dry.”
She closes her eyes, trembling, as a single tear rolls down her cheek.
She knows what’s going to happen ... And she knows we can’t fight it.
“Run along, now, Galina,” Yevgeniy whispers as he yanks her forcibly to her feet. “Unless you want to stay and reenact the shame of that cuck who imagined himself your father.”
I look at my mother, and through her tears, she forms a single word silently on her lips. Go.
Furious at how powerless we are, I turn away, rushing through the door to the basement where Ruslan is. I shut the door quickly behind me, wanting to shield myself from the hell that my mother is about to suffer. Anger courses through me, and I wish desperately that I had something—anything—that I could use to hurt Yevgeniy.
“Galina!” Ruslan shouts excitedly when he sees me. He’s sitting on the floor in front of a TV as big as a picture window. In his small hands is a PS5 controller. “Are you here to play with me?”
Settling on my knees next to him, I return his eager smile with the best one I can manage, even as my heart shatters. My insides are still twisting, my brain still focused on what that monster is about to do to my mother. Ruslan has no clue what is going on above us.
And for his sake, I want to keep it that way.
