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I study the girl closely as she squirms, visibly uncomfortable with the question. Pyotr seems to note it as well, and after a moment of silence, he skips to the next one.
“How old are you, Melody?”
“Eighteen.”
“Do you have somewhere safe to go?” he asks.
Melody pauses, her lips opening, but no sound comes out. Then her gaze drops to the floor as her elegant prows press together. She shakes her head.
“No friends? No relatives who might take you in?” Pyotr presses.
“No one,” she says bitterly, her eyes flashing as she meets his eyes again.
Gleb shifts next to me, a rare show of discomfort, and when I glance in his direction, I find tension tightening his angular, almost feline face.
“Well then, how would you feel about staying with me until we figure out what to do with you?” Pyotr proposes.
“I’m no one’s prostitute,” Melody snaps, her arms wrapping defensively around her waist as her face clouds.
A bark of surprised laughter escapes mypakhan, which only seems to anger her further. And while I don’t condone hurting girls, I wonder if I might not have to step in to protect Pyotr. Because if looks could kill, he might already be lying dead at the feet of the young woman.
“Sorry.” Pyotr takes a half step back as he collects himself. “What I meant was you’re welcome to stay as my guest, under the protection of my men, along with my wife and daughter. I assure you, no one will use you in any fashion so long as you’re in my care.”
Melody’s tension ebbs slightly, and her expression softens. Her eyes flick toward Gleb once again, and I suspect that she’s put some modicum of trust in Pyotr’s captain. Because she almost appears to look to him for reassurance.
She must find it there because, when she looks at Pyotr once more, her suspicion seems to have lessened considerably. “I would appreciate that. Just until I get my bearings.”
“Of course.” Pyotr gives her a subtle nod. Then he moves on to the next girl.
By far the youngest of the lot, the tiny blonde that sits with her knees curled to her chest looks utterly terrified. Wide green eyes peer up at us, and Pyotr crouches to speak with her.
Not wanting to frighten the girl any more than she already is, Val, Gleb, and I stay several paces back, just close enough that we can hear the conversation.
“What’s your name?” Pyotr asks gently, using the same soothing tone he often has when speaking with Isla.
“Jenny,” the girl whispers, her breathing fast and shallow, much like a cornered rabbit’s.
“You’re safe now, Jenny. No one’s going to hurt you. Okay?”
The young girl nods, her wide eyes trusting yet still full of fear.
“How old are you, Jenny?” mypakhanasks.
And I brace myself for an answer I know is going to haunt me.
“Thirteen.”
Pyotr’s jaw works, the tendons popping as he grinds his teeth, his anger rising visibly. He glances over his shoulder at me, the sickening information twisting his face. She’s a child. Barely old enough to have hit puberty. Clearly working to get his emotions under control, Pyotr waits to face her until his expression is smooth and impassive once more.
“Who do you live with?” he rasps before clearing the emotion from his throat.
“My mom and dad and younger brother.”
“Would you like to go home, Jenny?”
She nods forcefully, her whole body rocking with its intensity.
“Do you know your address?”
