Page 45 of Sexting the Pakhan

“That I’m alive.”

His eyes move to the phone. “Anything else?”

I almost snap at him, but the words catch in my throat because I’m frightened enough to be careful.

“No names,” I say. “No location.”

Something in his face shifts. Approval, maybe.

I hate that I notice.

“Good,” he says.

Anger flares hot under my ribs. “Don’t say good like I passed some test.”

“You made the right choice.”

“You mean I made the choice that helps you.”

“I mean you made the choice that keeps her safer.”

I hate him for saying that because I think he may be right.

My phone buzzes again.

Karina:I’m calling the police.

Panic cuts through me.

“No,” I whisper.

Ruslan’s gaze sharpens. “What?”

“She’s calling the police.”

“Tell her not to.”

I look up at him. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes.”

“My best friend thinks I’ve been taken after a shooting, and you want me to tell her not to call the police.”

“If she calls and gives them your name, your address, your workplace, and tells them someone took you, that becomes public very quickly. Reporters will get it. My enemies will get it. Whoever sent those men may get it before the police even know what they’re looking at.”

The worst part is how calm he sounds.

The worst part is that each sentence makes sense.

I look back at the phone, nausea rolling through me.

Me:Please don’t call yet.

Karina:Are you insane?

Me:Probably. But please listen to me.

Karina:No. You listen to me. There was a SHOOTING at your library. You are “somewhere safe” with “someone” and you “can’t say where.” That is horror movie behavior.