Page 36 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

I shudder as they turn to walk out, and stand there for a second trying to process what just happened and make my brain work.

They’ve left, but the damage is done.

The apartment is nothing more than broken, destroyed furniture, no longer safe for Lex to play, and I'm a nervous wreck.

It almost makes me wish I'd accepted a ride from Rashid.

Though if he finds out about Lex he's not likely to have much better of a reaction.

I strip Lex out of his snowsuit and carry him to my room, where I lay him in his crib and tuck his blanket around him.

He has fussed so hysterically for so long he's cried himself to sleep, and his chest shudders with a shaky breath.

I hate that he had to endure this, and I'm angry with my father for letting something like this happen.

I stalk back out to the living room and survey the mess. I can't even find a safe place to walk, let alone sit and process what just happened.

I'm picking up broken dishes when Batya crashes in, wild-eyed and soaked through with water dripping from his beard.

He sees the destruction and leans hard on the doorjamb like he's shocked, but I know he's just wasted again.

"Emory?" he asks at barely a whisper. "Are you hurt? Where's the boy?" His eyes are wild, pupils dilated. He might be on something else too, not just booze.

"They were here, Batya." I drop the broken ceramic into the bin and turn to face him. "Gusev's men grabbed me outside Irina's building and put a gun to my back in front of my son." I'm so angry, mostly because being scared has passed, and someone has to answer for how dangerous my life has gotten. "Why did they come after us? How do they know where we live!" I shouldn't raise my voice at him when I know I've made mistakes too, but so far my mistakes haven't brought death and destruction to our front door.

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

"They took the bag, Batya. The cash and the new passports are gone. Do you understand?"

"No." He pushes off the doorframe and stumbles toward the hallway. "No, no, no—" He disappears into his bedroom and I hear him tearing through things, throwing things around.

A drawer slams, then another.

He comes back with his hands grabbing his head and tears in his eyes.

"It's gone," I tell him. "They said you have one week to give back what you stole or they kill all three of us."

He sinks into the chair and covers his face with both hands, letting out a groan from deep in his chest. It's the posture of a defeated man. "I was trying to protect us, Em. I was trying to get us out?—"

"By stealing from the Gusevs?" I slam my palm on the table. The bottle jumps and so does Batya. I'm defending my son now, and all my fear is coming out as rage. "My son had a gun pointed at him tonight. He's two and a half years old, Batya."

He drops his hands and looks at me with red-rimmed eyes; they're so bloodshot the whites have gone yellow from the drinking. "I don't have it, Emory. The money is gone."

I sink to the couch, shaking my head. This can't be happening. Those men will come back and they aren't going to be patient with us. "What do you mean you don't have it? You said you were saving it for our escape. Where did it go?"

He reaches for the bottle and takes a swig, as if that's going to help him. "I was trying to double it so we'd have enough for all three of us, but the games went bad."

"Gambling?" I hiss angrily. "You gambled the money away?"

"Most of it," he says as his shoulders sag. "There might be a little left with a friend, but it's not enough to keep them off our backs."

"What you stole, you mean!" I catch myself as he wilts a little more and press my palms over my eyes. Regardless of how we got into this mess, he is the only way out. We have to get that money back and give it to those men. "Then give back what you can. Call that number and tell them?—"

"Giving back scraps will just insult them, Emory. They want all of it."

"Then borrow it. Beg for it. I don't care how you get it." I shoot off the seat and spin around, tripping on some boxes that were in the cupboard and now lay strewn on the floor.

Batya sets the bottle down and leans back on the couch, looking defeated. "I'm going to fix this," he says. But he has no way to fix this at all. If the money is gone there's no way to keep those men off our backs. The only thing we can do is run now, and hope they don't find us.