My hand rested on my belly as I thought of Makari. I had a piece of him with me. The scan picture was long gone in the accident but I had the soil—the small folded tissue in the inside pocket of my bag, the damp earth from beside his headstone, the only thing left of him I could carry. It would have to be enough. I would make it enough.
It wasn’t long before I saw my brother waiting at the bus stop I had told him to meet me at.
“Oh god. You really did it,” he said, running toward me.
I climbed out of the car and he rushed me, picking me up and swinging me around. I laughed and hugged him back. We were not an affectionate family. Everything was so stiff and proper—my mother’s particular brand of love delivered through management rather than touch, my father’s through obligation rather than warmth. So this was unusual for my little brother. It was unusual for me. I let it be unusual. I let myself hold on.
He released me and pulled back. His smile faded.
I handed him the envelope.
“Look out on your Avito message board,” I said.“It might take me a few months to settle somewhere but I will send word, and you can come and join me.”
He held the brown envelope and nodded. His jaw worked the way it did when he was holding something back—I had watched that jaw my entire life and knew every variation of it.
“Sestra,” he began, but I placed my hand on his cold cheek.
“Hide the money and always keep watching and planning. Always,” I said sternly.
He nodded.
It was just as well that he didn’t know I had blown up the Pakhan’s house, or this pit stop would have been considerably longer.
I gave him one quick tight hug before I let him go.
“Be safe, Ruslan,” I murmured and returned to my car.
For now, our journey was one of opposites, but that would change. I refused to let my brother rot inside Chernograd’s Bratva. He had joined to protect me—the irony of that wasn’t lost on either of us. He would leave when I had somewhere safe to bring him to.
I waved as I pulled away.
In the rearview mirror he stood at the kerb getting smaller, one hand raised, the brown envelope tucked under his arm. I watched him until the road curved and took him from view.
My mind buzzed from one aspect of my itinerary to the next. I hadn’t left a digital footprint but I had ordered an in-depth travel guide book. Paper left no trail that mattered. Paper could be burned.
It wasn’t until I left Chernograd in the rearview mirror that hope bloomed in my chest. Away from contracts and his insane clauses. Away from a dangerous man that I had cut before I ran.
Yet somehow, knowing him and his reputation, no matter how hard I had tried I was unable to stop myself—I had to ruin something of his.
The same way he ruined me.
Marked my soul.
Gave me a child.
Took it away from me through petty rivalry and his establishment.
Used other women when I refused to lay with him.
My fingers tapped on the leather wheel.
It didn’t matter what I said because he had his way with me in the end.
Twice.
I swallowed and nervously checked my mirrors. The road behind me was empty. It wouldn’t stay that way—I knew that with the same certainty I knew everything else about him. He would come. He always came. The only variable was time, and time was the one thing I was using every mile to buy.
If he ever found out there was a child, then all hell would break loose. Wherever I settled, I had to make sure I was well hidden and far away.
