Page 34 of Sexting the Pakhan

I put the book down.

Zoya notices immediately. “Ruslan?”

“Come here.”

She frowns. “What?”

“Now.”

The first shot hits the shelf behind her.

For half a second, she doesn’t react. The sound is too loud, too wrong for the room. Wood splinters from the shelf. A row of hardcovers drops to the carpet around her feet.

Then the library erupts. Someone screams near the front desk. A chair crashes over. People drop behind tables.

Zoya is still frozen. I grab her by the waist and pull her into me, turning so my back is between her and the aisle.

“Get down,” I say.

She looks up at me, white-faced. “Was that a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Why—”

“Down, Zoya.” I push her lower as the second shot takes out the glass panel at the end of the row. She folds into me then, shaking hard, her hands clutching my coat.

“Why is someone shooting?” she whispers.

“At me.”

Her eyes lift to mine, and I see a flash of fear there instead of a demure flirt. Good. She should be afraid of me.

I look past her toward the staff corridor behind the reference desk. Rear exit. Alley. My car is two minutes away if my driver is where he’s supposed to be.

“Can you run?” I ask.

She stares at me like she doesn’t understand the words.

I take her face in my hand, not gently, not roughly either. Just enough to make her focus. “Zoya. Can you run?”

She nods once.

“When I move, you stay with me. Don’t stop for your bag. Don’t look back. Don’t try to help anyone unless I tell you to.”

Her eyes flash despite the fear. “People are hurt.”

“I know.”

“We can’t just leave them,” she says.

“Yes,” I admit. “That’s why we’ll call the police as soon as we’re out. But if you stay here, you die.”

She hates it. I can see that. But she understands.

I take her hand and pull her out of the aisle. We move low past the endcap. Another shot hits somewhere behind us, and she jerks so hard I nearly lose my grip. I tighten my hand around hers and keep going.

“Eyes forward,” I say.