Page 129 of Sexting the Pakhan

Miss Elena’s lips tremble. “I don’t know.”

Karina says, “I can check.”

“No,” I say immediately.

Ruslan says, “No.”

For one uncomfortable second, we agree.

Karina looks between us. “Lovely. United front. Hate it.”

Ruslan shifts his weight and nearly goes down.

I grip his waist with my free arm. “Okay. Enough. We move now.”

Karina takes both girls’ hands. “Mila, Nadia, eyes on me.”

Mila says, “But Mama?—”

Karina’s voice goes firm in a way I have only heard twice before. “Eyes on me.”

Mila obeys. Nadia too.

We move through the kitchen, slow and awkward. Ruslan tries to take as little support as possible, which only makes it harder because stubbornness is apparently his preferred blood-loss strategy. I keep one arm around him, my shoulder under his, while Karina leads the girls ahead with Miss Elena following long enough to unlock the side door.

The cold air outside hits like a slap.

The side lot is darker than the front, half-hidden by the kindergarten building and a row of overgrown shrubs. A few carsare parked there, staff vehicles mostly. Beyond the fence, I hear sirens in the distance.

Karina gestures us to her car. She turns to Ruslan and says, “I just had my car detailed last week, but I suppose you can’t help the blood.”

Ruslan just gives her a look, not saying anything else.

Karina opens the back door, and the girls climb in, wide-eyed and silent now that the cold and sirens have made everything feel too real again. I help Ruslan into the passenger seat because getting him into the back would require physics none of us have time for.

He grips the doorframe, face gray with pain. “Hospital.”

I freeze.

Karina says from the driver’s side, “You want a hospital?”

“For them,” Ruslan says, nodding toward the girls. “They need to be checked.”

“They’re not hit,” I say.

“Shock.”

The word is blunt and correct.

I hate him for being correct.

Karina looks at me over the roof of the car. “We can take them to urgent care.”

Ruslan says, “No hospitals with police yet.”

“Of course,” I murmur. For one second, I had forgotten that the man in front of me was a murderer, and a possible sociopath. Then why is my heart racing like this at his proximity?

I look at the girls in the back. Mila’s lip is trembling. Nadia is holding her sister’s hand so tightly their knuckles are pale.