He looks at me with raised brows.
“I need to talk to you. I—” But I don’t get to finish because something crashes in the living room, followed immediately by shouting.
Alexei’s eyes widen and he turns off the music and grabs my wrists before I can react. I flinch so hard the room tilts. My concussion makes everything blur for a second. The taste of metal floods my mouth from biting my tongue.
He freezes, his grip loosening. His eyes flick down to where he’s holding me, and he drops his hand like it burned him. Takes a step back.
“Sorry,zaychik. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice softens, panicked now. “But you need to hide.”
The roaring in my ears makes it hard to think. Something is wrong.
I nod, starting to scan the room desperately for anywhere I could disappear. I spot a built-in wardrobe and move toward it, but I don’t even make it two steps before he catches my wrists again, gentler this time, and pulls me against his chest.
I look at him, and his expression knocks the air out of me. All that violence, coldness I’ve gotten used to, completely gone. Just raw terror mixed with guilt and something that looks like goodbye.
He frames my jaw, tilting my face, then kisses me—just a press of lips that barely lasts a second.
Footsteps pound closer down the hallway, and the shouting grows louder, more urgent.
“I think my father found out what we did. I can’t hide you anymore. Stay behind me. Don’t say anything. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
He positions himself like a wall between me and the door.
I want to ask what he means, what’s happening, but I don’t get the chance before men crowd the doorway. Five of them in dark suits, standing shoulder to shoulder.
Another man steps into view. Tall, early sixties, wearing a sharp black suit. Dark hair streaked with gray, neat beard, tinted glasses. Something about him makes my skin numb.
He adjusts his cuffs. Then shouts in Russian.
Alexei answers, but the tension in his shoulders tells me everything I need to know. They’re fighting. About me.
The old man’s eyes snap directly to me. He lifts his hand and gestures toward me like I’m something he wants removed. Then he pulls out a gun and points it at Alexei.
I take a step back, heart hammering against my ribs.
Alexei doesn’t hesitate. Three fast steps and he’s on the man. Grabs the gun, twists it out of his grip, and shoves him hard against the wall. The gun is now pressed to the man’s temple.
All the guards pull their weapons and point them at Alexei.
No, no, no, no?—
My lungs seize. The air in the room turns to concrete. That’s his father. Has to be. The one who would put a bullet in his own son’s head for liking men. And Alexei just pressed a gun to his temple without hesitating.
His father tries to shove him off, but Alexei doesn’t budge. So, his father brandishes a knife and presses it against Alexei’s throat. Blood wells up and drips down his neck.
Alexei doesn’t react. Just keeps the gun pressed to his father’s head while blood runs down his bare chest.
They’re both shouting at each other in Russian. My brain tries to grab onto something, anything, but it’s all noise. White noise. Static. I’m trapped in my own head, standing here with my hands useless at my sides while Alexeibleeds.
A woman around the same age as his father steps into view, black hair braided back. She shouts at them and runs up to Alexei, grabbing his arm, trying to pull him off.
He doesn’t move. His father presses the blade deeper, blood running faster down his neck. She screams louder at them. The realization hits me like ice water. This is Alexei’s mother trying to pry her son off his own father while he holds a knife to Alexei’s throat.
The older man’s eyes flick to me. He nods in my direction with a cold smile and says something cold. The guards point the guns at me.
The world tilts sideways. My hands fly up, palms out, like that’s going to do anything against guns. My legs almost give out.
They’re actually going to shoot me. Right here. Alexei’s going to watch it happen with a blade pressed to his throat, and he can’t do anything. I can’t do anything. We’re both just?—
