Page 82 of Sexting the Pakhan

Anton stares at the screen. The blood leaves his face. “That’s not mine,” he says again, quieter now.

I look at him.

“That’s not mine,” he repeats. “Ruslan, listen to me. I have never seen that.”

Stepan comes around the desk and looks at the files. His jaw tightens. “This is enough to burn the east side.”

Anton starts pulling against the ties. “No. No, someone put that there.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.”

“I don’t know!” he shouts.

The warehouse floor below goes quieter.

Anton hears it too. He lowers his voice, but panic has him now. “Think. Why would I keep that in my car where anyone could find it?”

No one answers.

He looks at me. “Ruslan. Listen to me.”

I don’t move.

“That is not mine,” he says. “I swear on my mother’s grave, that is not mine.”

Stepan says, “Your mother is alive.”

Anton’s face twists. “Fuck you.” He turns to me. “I moved money, yes. I stole, yes. Fine. Put a bullet in me for that if you want. But I never betrayed you.”

Dima steps closer behind him. “Then sit still and answer.”

Anton turns his head, eyes wild. “Easy for you to say.”

“It is.”

The words do something to Anton. I see it happen. A man can sit with fear only so long before he chooses something stupid because stupid feels better than helpless. Anton looks at the laptop, then at Pavel, then at the office door.

Then at Dima’s gun.

“Anton,” I say.

His eyes snap back to mine.

“Don’t.”

For one second, I think he hears me.

Then he moves.

He throws his whole weight sideways, chair and all. The metal legs shriek against the floor. Dima reaches for him, but Anton has already twisted one wrist loose enough to rip free. He hits the ground hard, rolls into Dima’s legs, and grabs for the gun at Dima’s hip.

Dima curses.

Pavel shouts something.