Then she turns away from us.
The car is parked by the far side of the yard, half-hidden near the loading ramp. My whole body goes cold when I see where she’s going.
The children.
I try to get up and nearly black out from the pain.
“No,” I say, though it comes out broken and weak and nowhere near loud enough. “No, Vika?—”
She opens the rear door.
Nikolai is inside.
I see his face through the glass. Pale, too still, trying not to show fear because he thinks that makes him useful. Sofia is beside him, eyes wide, mouth already opening to scream.
Vika lifts the gun.
Everything in me tears at once.
I drag myself forward with my hands, my bad leg trailing behind me, a raw animal sound ripping out of my throat. Mikhail is still down. The yard feels miles wide. The children are too far away. The gun in Vika’s hand looks absurdly small for the amount of horror it holds.
“Vika!”
She doesn’t look at me. She points the gun at Sofia.
Then blood splashes across the front of Vika’s blouse.
For one impossible second, she just stands there, blinking as if she doesn’t understand what has happened.
Then another red bloom opens across her stomach.
The gun slips from her hand.
She turns halfway, unsteady, surprise wiping everything else off her face, and crumples to the ground beside the car.
Behind her stands a man in a dark coat, gun still raised.
Andrei Morozov.
35
ROMAN
I waketo pain and motion.
For a few seconds, that’s all I know. My head feels split open. My stomach turns every time the car hits a rut or broken patch of road. There is blood dried down the side of my neck and stiff in my collar. When I try to move, something hot and sharp goes through the back of my skull and settles behind my eyes.
I open them anyway.
The interior of the car swims into focus slowly. Dark leather. Tinted windows. The smell of gun oil and expensive cologne and old smoke worked into the seats.
Then I turn my head and see him.
My father is sitting across from me as if we are on our way to dinner.
He looks perfectly calm. Coat buttoned. One hand resting on his knee. Gun nowhere visible, which means it’s close.
For one second, I just stare at him and let the hatred settle properly back into my body.
