Chapter 18 Danger #2
I clumsily scooted my butt (the bottom of my coat had frozen onto the hood) over and crawled up against him.
There was no warmth to be found anywhere, but feeling him so near was nice.
He hadn’t exactly invited me to cuddle before, but maybe with a meter of coat between us it would be okay.
“So you haven’t seen her in a while, then? ”
“Not since she was a baby.” He took a deep breath, and it would have been disguised if I hadn’t been lying with my head against his chest. “It wasn’t until three years ago that I got Sergei’s connection to get me an address.
I wrote to her adopted parents, saying I was a reporter writing a piece on ‘rescued’ kids.
Americans love that—they love to be the heroes.
They spoke to me on the phone shortly after.
Even asked if there would be an interview on TV.
They let me talk to her, but she couldn’t speak Russian, and my English is good enough to speak to adults, not kids. ”
“Oh Vitali…”
“It’s alright, Kotik. Such is life. She is far better off there than she could be here.”
“What happened then?”
“I asked her if she remembered anything about Russia, and she said no.” He cleared his throat. “But there was a second of hesitation—and I knew she was just a kid, but I took that second, and I still think about it. Because maybe she wasn’t sure. Maybe she still somehow remembered me.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, but human pain that heavy cannot be disguised. I shifted, almost slid off, then gave myself enough of a boost to kiss him on the cheek. God, it was so cold. The corner of his mouth twitched. He didn’t look at me, but he didn’t jerk away either. Progress.
“Do you think you’ll ever visit her?” I asked.
“No. She has no connection to this life, and I think it would be painful for her if I forced my way into it. I told her parents there is a new government program,” he let out a huff of a laugh at the idea, “that issues grants to Russian-born kids abroad. I send them money every month. Enough that I know she won’t ever live the way she would here.
They are good people. There are no good people here. ”
“You don’t think I’m good?”
“I think you’re perfect.”
I laughed and tightened my arm around him.
“Is that why… is that why you do this?”
“It’s why everybody does this.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, and in hindsight, I had no idea what I was talking about, but I’d seen the bodies shrouded with white sheets behind the reporter on TV.
I remembered the flying glass and the vacant face of the dead man in the red jacket.
Those people didn’t care about human life; they just shot.
Vitali just shot.
I pushed the thought away before it could form into something terrible and real.
“Everyone you met has a family,” he said. “Except Misha. He has his babushka, but I don’t think he’ll ever marry… unless he marries Ana, or one of the girls. I like to believe he’s too smart for that, but I don’t know him as well as I should.”
“Wait—even Sergei has a family?” The idea of a woman wanting to be with him was unsettling.
“He has two.”
“Oh.” The man just kept getting lovelier. “Wait, did you say you don’t know Misha well?”
Misha certainly knew him well.
“I trust him. He trusts me. But it’s not easy to make friends in a place that boasts of being a brotherhood. Too many people are eagerly awaiting to climb the ladder of your corpse.”
“That’s awful.”
“It is. Which is why you’re learning to handle a gun.”
“Full circle.” I laughed bitterly.
He turned and looked down at me. “Do you think you could fire at a person if they were threatening you?”
I happily shook my head. “No. You can hand it to me all you want. But I’m not about to aim a gun at someone, and I’m definitely not going to risk doing it when everything is up in the air, and my nerves are on edge. It’s dangerous.”
“That is the point, yes.”
“I’m not going to be responsible for someone dying, Vitali.”
“Is that so.”
I didn’t appreciate his tone, and a familiar panic shot through me—like that of a rabbit realizing it needed to bolt. But it was too late.
“See that gun there? Why don’t you grab it, Kotik.”
I glanced at the pistol left beside the thermos and shook my head. Something was happening, and I hated it already.
“Take it.”
Without looking away from him, I slowly reached, because arguing would just prolong my being in the cold. The criminal look in his eyes could have been a schoolyard prank or a complete worldwide catastrophe.
“Show me the magazine.”
“What?”
He took it from me and pulled back the slide. “You want to know what it’s like to have control over something dangerous when your blood is hot? I can prove to you that you can do it. Check the chamber.”
I could plainly see the loaded round. He pressed the pistol into my cold hands.
This wasn’t happening… my fingers were too numb, and he didn’t mean for me to hold a loaded gun—
He was on top of me with his knee between my legs in the span of a heartbeat, rendering me powerless to slide down—powerless to wiggle free.
He leaned in, propping himself up on a forearm. “Do it.”
“Vitali—”
—is actually, and indisputably, insane.
He pulled his glove off with his teeth and spat it to the side, his hand quickly working under my coat to unbutton my jeans.
My hair stuck to the frost, I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t feel the metal in my hands.
All I understood was his bare touch on my skin—and that I should scream—but knew I wouldn’t.
The high-pitched cold cut through me, and at its heel came explicit heat as he slipped his hand below the band of my panties.
“Take the gun, and hold it up to me,” he whispered into my ear, his sweltering breath amplifying the command. “This is how you treat something dangerous at your fingertips.”