Page 71 of 10 Days to Ruin

“You can’t leave him here!” his mother is screaming. “He’s a child! He’ll freeze to death!”

“He won’t if he’s my heir.”

“You’re insane.” She spits those words out like venom, like a scorpion desperately trying to sting for the first time in its life. But her target’s too far, and the arms of the men holding her back are too strong.

Strength, weakness, who has it, who does not—it always comes down to that, doesn’t it?

“Don’t you have a heart? Don’t you care about your son?”

“I care about the nextpakhan.” He slowly turns to the child, paying no heed to his small breaths misting the air. The woods, the wilderness—it’s all just a test. And Yakov Ozerov will not accept failure. “If he can’t even do this, then he wasn’t fit to begin with.”

“He’ll die, you asshole!”

“Then I’ll just make another one.”

More screaming. His father’s men are struggling to hold her in place now. She’s a wisp of a woman, Nataliya is, but a force of nature when it comes to protecting what’s hers.

“You’re delusional,” she snarls. “I will never give you another child. Never.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he orders his men to drag Nataliya away.

“Sasha!” she howls as they cart her off into the shadows. “SASHA!”

“Stop calling him that,” the man barks after her. “His name’s Aleksandr. Like the conqueror.”

For a second, a deranged light shines in the pits of his cruel eyes as he stares down at the shuddering, terrified boy. Something that could almost be called pride.

Then he, too, turns and leaves.

That night, the boy named Sasha curls up at the foot of a tree. There’s no fire—he doesn’t know how to make one. Nobody taught him.

The leaves rustle behind him. The boy holds still, holds his breath, holds his fears right at the center of his chest. At this time of night, anything could be coming for him: a wolf, a bear, a monster.

Then, suddenly, warmth seeps into his back, a familiar smell hitting his nostrils like cookies on Christmas morning. “Mom?”

“I’m here, Sasha. I’m here.”

The child turns. It’s her—it’s really her. “Mommy!” He hugs her fiercely. “How did you get away?”

His mother smiles. It’s a little sad, a little broken, but a smile nonetheless. In the dark, her bruises look like shadows. “Mommy has her ways.”

Only the next morning will the boy find out that she knocked out a guard, stole a car, and drove right back here in the night. Without a break, without rest.

But he doesn’t know that yet.

“Mommy, I’m tired.”

“I know. Let’s get some sleep, shall we?” She cuddles her son close to her chest, a bubble of warmth against the cold, dark world around them.

The last thing he remembers is looking up at the sky: big, bright, beautiful, a quilt of stars overhead.

At that moment, he was happy.

In the morning, his father comes to get them.

He doesn’t say anything. His mother doesn’t, either.

But when the boy climbs into the car, right before his parents follow, he swears he hears his father hiss, close to his mother’s ear, “You went too far.”

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