Page 11 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

Worst walk of shame in my life.

I'm such an idiot.

I curse myself the entire trek to my car, which starts on the first try, rather than three times like it has been lately.

Batya says it's the starter going out, but it doesn't matter what's wrong with it if I can't afford to fix it.

But it gets me where I need to go, which right now is home.

It's early, so I hope by being quiet and slipping in without turning on any lights I can manage to get away with my overnighter without much fuss.

But Batya is already seated at the kitchen table with his laptop open and a cup of coffee next to him.

His eyes drift up to take me in as I turn around.

I can tell by the expression on his face of stolid anger that he's not happy with me.

"Where were you?" he asks, picking up his coffee mug to have a sip. There's probably vodka in it, not coffee, or maybe he's mixed it into his coffee this morning. That's not entirely unheard of.

"Out," I mumble, dropping my clutch and keys on the sidebar. "I had Irina's party last night, remember?" I try to avoid eye contact with him as I kick off my heels.

Wearing no panties under this dress makes me feel exposed, though I know my father can't read my mind or know that.

And the overly moist sensation between my legs would be mortifying if he did know.

"Out?" he quips, but I know he's not asking for an explanation. He's upset, like I knew he would be. He thinks he can still coddle me and give me curfews. I’m twenty-three years old, not a child. I don’t need a babysitter or guardian. "Not calling home is disrespectful, Emory. I've taught you better than that."

"Batya, please?—"

"That girl is a bad influence on you." His tone is sharp, but I bite back my response. At least he still thinks I was with Irina anddoesn't know or even suspect the truth. "You used to be such a good girl, Emory. What's gotten into you?"

I hate when he pulls that line out. I am a good girl. Iam.

And I resent the sentiment that enjoying my life makes me somehow bad.

I've done nothing but help him and serve him since I turned eighteen. Technically, I could be on my own.

But then every time I think about it, I worry about him.

Rebecca is gone, so is Mamochka.

Without me he has no one, and his life isn't exactly easy on him.

It softens my heart, and I walk over to rest my hand on his shoulder and kiss the top of his head.

"I’m sorry, Batya. You're right. I should've called." I linger there, waiting for him to press his hand to mine and pat it.

Then he says, "You stink like booze. Go shower,dochka."

I grit my teeth and press my eyes shut for a second, again refusing to bite back.

Then I pull away, heading straight to our shared bathroom.

He's right, I smell like booze and sex, and I hate the stench of Rashid Krasnov—a man who needs no more reason to hurt my family than the fact that we exist.

My father works for some really bad men, and even they don't scare me as much as the name Krasnov.

I was so foolish going along with him, up to his little love nest. I should’ve known better.