Page 37 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

And he's so drunk I can't reason with him either.

I stalk into the kitchen picking up broken dishes and slamming them into the bin as loudly as I can, just to prove how angry I am.

The only option I have left is to go to the school and cancel all the classes I paid for, and hope they give my money back.

It won't be enough money to pay those men back but it could be enough money to buy the three of us train tickets out of town.

I don't want to do it, but I don't have a choice now.

My life here in St Petersburg is over anyway, and it's just a matter of time before Rashid returns and wants more from me than a quickie in his backseat.

Running is the only option I have.

I just have to hope the school will refund my money soon.

12

RASHID

My mother drags her suitcase up the hallway, refusing to take help from me.

After six weeks in Moscow with my brother she's still just as irritable as ever, and now she's back to remind me what a disappointment I am.

"This place is cold. You know your brother keeps his home much warmer. At least twenty-five in winter." If I had better sense I would just let her move in with Xavier in Moscow and stop this, but I don't think she would ever come back here to visit again. I'd have to go there to see her in her old age, and I can't miss business for that long.

"I can turn the heat up if you want, Mother. Do you have to do this on your own? I mean, I'm right here. I could help." I reach for her heavy bag again and she scowls, but this time she lets me take the handle. I lift it with ease and walk beside her as she shuffles toward her room.

"Twenty-five is the perfect temperature indoors, Rashid. I'm too old to fuss with sweaters and knit blankets all the time. Theyweigh down my frail body." She tugs the sweater around her body tighter and scowls at me again. "And you look sick. Do you even eat anymore? That horrible maid never feeds you."

Marta's cooking is perfect, though she's right; I don’t eat much. I have too much going on to worry about whether food suits me.

"The cooking is fine, Mother. Look here," I say, pushing her door open, "lie down and rest. You had a long trip and I have some work to finish up. At dinner you can tell me all about your visit with Xavier."

She stumbles into the room and over to her bed while I lay the suitcase on its side near her dresser.

My mind is distracted, though, thinking about the man I sent to tail Emory.

I need to know as soon as she left the child at the sitter's today.

I can't follow her to her house, but I can have them mark the sitter's apartment and tell me when Emory is off to her classes.

That is, if she makes it to class.

Those Gusev goons might have handled my wet work for me, and if so, I'm not sure how to follow the trail from Emory's father to his source.

It's a problem I might have to face, but I'm hoping not.

"When you leave, shut the door. I need quiet if I'm going to rest." Mother shrugs her sweater off and kicks off her shoes, then starts turning down the bed as I think through the problem of sound pollution in this home.

If I have my way and the boy is in this house later this afternoon as I hope, there will be no pleasing this woman. She hates anyone who disrupts her schedule, and a child would do that.

"Mother, there's something I need to ask you." I help her wrestle the thick comforter back as she climbs into bed still wearing her dress and stockings.

"Well be fast with it." Her grumpiness is getting to me now, but I bite my tongue.

I work the comforter up over her, gentling her into bed and try to decide how to put this. "I'll be having company for a while."

She rolls her eyes as she drops onto the pillow, looking exhausted. "One of your whores again?"