I squirm against Katia’s hold, my heart still racing. “What are you doing? Let me go.”
She releases me abruptly, and I turn to my dad. He’s scrambling to his feet, blood dripping from a gash on the side of his head. There’s an acid taste in my mouth as I lead him to the armchair by the fireplace. When I can’t find anything to use, I rip off a piece of my shirt and press the fabric against his head to staunch the bleeding.
The metallic smell of blood fills my nostrils.
“How long do we have before they get in here? Can you get us out the back?”
Katia is by the window, studying the world outside. “I already checked the perimeter. There’s nothing out there.”
I press the fabric harder against my dad’s wound, and he winces. “What do you mean there’s nothing out there?”
Katia lets the curtain slide back into place and whirls to face me. “Looks like it was an old car.”
I’m on my feet. “You want to bet our lives on that?”
Katia levels me with a look. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, Barbie, so I’d watch my mouth if I were you. Since Mason doesn’t know we’re here, it would be unfortunate if you were to have an accident on the way back.”
I ignore the chill racing up my spine. “If you were going to do something, you would’ve done it already.”
Katia takes a menacing step in my direction. “Are you sure about that?”
My stomach lurches, but I steel myself. “We need to get my dad to a hospital. He needs to get checked out.”
“We need to get back to the estate in case it wasn’t a car,” Katia hisses, sparing him a quick look. “It’s just a scratch, and a hospital will attract too much attention.”
“I’m not leaving until I’m sure he’s safe.”
Katia throws her head back and spouts something in a language I don’t recognize. She lowers her head and looks at me. “He’s got ten minutes to pack, and then we’ll drop him off at the nearest friend’s house. If he’s not ready by then, I am dragging you back whether you like it or not.”
“We’ll be ready.”
Katia looks at my father and then back at me. “Clock’s ticking, Barbie.”
With one last glance at my father, she strides out of the room. For a long moment, I can’t breathe, and my mind is racing out of control. Upstairs, in the master bedroom, my father stands inthe doorway, pressing the torn piece of cloth to the side of his head.
“What are you doing?”
I throw his suitcase onto the bed and move to the closet. Blindly, I throw clothes into it. “Didn’t you hear what Katia said? We have to get you out of here because it’s not safe.”
“It’s my house,” he replies. “I’m not going anywhere. Whoever is trying to come after me, I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t, Dad. I’m not saying this to be cruel, but you’re either walking out of here, or I’ll make Katia drag you out.”
His eyes bulge. “You wouldn’t.”
“I don’t think you want to test me.”
I don’t care if it humiliates him because at least he’ll be alive to hate me.
My father presses his mouth into a thin white line. “I don’t like the person you’re becoming.”
“I know, but I’m keeping us alive.”
I spend the next few minutes throwing a few more things into the suitcase. Finally, I drag the suitcase down the stairs. My father trudges down the stairs behind me, carrying an old box with him. Wordlessly, he brushes past me and toward the front door.
Katia is waiting for us on the porch.
She yanks the bag out of my hand, and I fish out my keys. I cast one last look around the darkened house, years of memories playing out in my mind’s eye. My chest is tight with emotion as I slam the door shut and turn the lock. After giving it a firm tug, I hurry down the stairs and try not to sprint to the car.
