Not happening, Vedma. I’m already on my way.
Delivered
My head is down as I type, my feet moving on autopilot. I slam right into someone’s shoulder, nearly dropping my phone. "Sorry, I'm an idiot, I didn't see…" I stop mid-sentence, my heart doing a slow, heavy thud in my chest. "Stanislav?"Please don’t. I don’t want people seeing me get picked up in a …
He blinks, his eyes traveling over my face as if he’s trying to make sure I’m real. "Zoya? What…"
One of his friends leans over his shoulder, looking between us with a smirk. "Well, look at this. Since when do you know a girl like this, Stan?"
Stanislav glances back at them. “Can you guys excuse us for a little bit?”
They exchange indecipherable looks but wander off a few feet away, and we stand there in awkward silence for a moment.
“I go here,” Stanislav finally says. “I’m in my third year.”
“Oh! That’s cool,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual even though my heart is pounding. “I’m a first-year journalism major. Hope to see you around.”
I’m about to walk away when Stanislav reaches out and grabs my hand, stopping me.
“Zoya,” he says, his voice turning serious and a little pleading. “I hope you’re not upset with me about what happened.”
One of his friends, who apparently didn’t go very far, turns back and calls out. “Wait, what happened? Did you guys fuck or something? Oh my God, so you’ve actually lost your virginity, and you’re not pining over Pyrene anymore?”
I pull my hand away from Stanislav’s grip, my face burning with embarrassment. “I’m not… Excuse me.”
I’m gone before he can say another word. I fast-walk to the exit, my skin crawling with the feeling that he’s still watching me. Once I’m out the doors, I don't stop. I run. I put as much pavement as I can between me and that building.
When I see Alexei’s car coming down the street, I wave both arms to get his attention. He pulls over to the curb, and I yank the door open, throwing myself into the seat. “Drive. Drive. Drive. Drive,” I say, my chest heaving from the run.
He gives me a confused look, raising an eyebrow. “What? You don’t want people to know you have a handsome husband with a nice car coming to pick you up? Are you planning to date some stupid frat boy in this school? Maybe I should enroll for four months in this school to watch you.”
“If you do that,” I say, glaring at him, “Your kissing privileges are off, your boob-grabbing privileges are off, and your ass-smacking privileges will also be gone.”
He groans and puts his head back against the seat. “Fuck. You really know how to get me by the balls, don’t you,Vedma?”
He leans over and kisses my cheek, then he pulls back to look at me. “How was school?”
“Fine,” I say, but my voice comes out a little shaky.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes searching my face. “You look a little shaken up.”
“Yeah, because I was running so that you wouldn’t come here and embarrass me,” I say.
He laughs, amused. “What’s so embarrassing about a nice car? You know this was the same attitude you had when we first went out on our date. You saw a great car, and you walked away from it. What is it? Do you have a beef with nice cars? Should I come here next time in a rust bucket? I wouldn’t even do that to you.”
I don’t answer. I can’t stop thinking about how weird it’s going to be seeing my kidnapper’s brother in the same school as me, how Stanislav looked at me with those apologetic eyes like he wanted me to forgive him for something that wasn’t entirely his fault.
But it doesn’t matter. It’s a big school. What are the chances that we’re going to meet again and again?
Chapter 30
Alexei
Forty minutes later, I’m walking into the warehouse interrogation room where the stagnant air clings to the back of my throat, smelling of damp concrete and oxidized rust. Salome is tied to a metal chair in the dead center of the room, her hands secured behind her with biting zip-ties while one side of her face already blooms into a deep purple bruise - Nadia’s unmistakable handiwork. In the far corner, Davit sits with his knees pulled tightly to his chest, his seven-year-old eyes wide and staring into the middle distance as if he’s trying to disappear into the shadows.
Oksana stands guard near the door and offers a sharp nod when she catches my eye. “Pakhan. She’s been difficult.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Makharadze,” I say, keeping my voice light against the gloom of the warehouse.