the door. “This one outlived her usefulness a long time ago. Finally going to get their due and don’t try and stop me, Taras.”
“Savages,” Luba called back to us.
Taras took me by the arm. “Come.”
I pulled away. “Where?”
“You helped her escape. You must be punished.”
“I pitied the poor girl, Taras. Cooped up in one room.”
“She double-crossed you and still you support her?”
“No, Taras. I was stupid.”
“And now her sister’s gone, too. This could ruin everything.”
He dragged me toward the door to his woodshed.
I turned and reached for Max. “Give me my boy. Please, Taras.”
Taras grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me toward the shed, my hair on fire at the roots.
“Don’t let Max see this,” I said over my shoulder.
Mamka followed, Max crying in her arms. “If you hurt her, Taras—”
“What, crone?” He dragged me into the shed, slammed the door, and hooked the latch.
Mamka pounded the door. “Taras!”
He pushed me onto his bed, his scent wafting up from the linens, of sweat and gunpowder and peppermint. The iron oven sat beside the bed and cast blessed warmth, an orange glow in its belly. I scanned the tools on the wall. Would he use one on me?
“You can’t depend on your Mamka to solve every problem.”
How was he so remarkably calm? “You don’t understand—”
Taras pulled birch kindling from a basket, crouched in front of the stove and added it to the fire.
He leaned over me, pulled up the hem of my sarafan, and ran his hand up my thigh.
I swatted his hand away. “No, Taras. The arrangement…”
“I never agreed to that.” He flipped me onto my stomach and with two hands ripped the back of my sarafan in one motion, pulled the torn dress out from under me, and threw it in the corner, leaving me cold in blouse and bloomers.
I tried to crawl off the bed, but he pushed me down and pinned me by my shoulders.
“You’re sick to want this, Taras.”
He fumbled with his trouser buttons. “You started it. Showing yourself to me like a slut.”
“By taking a bath?”
With one hand he wrestled my bloomers down and pressed his hardness against me. Every part of me shook.
I screamed for my mother and right away regretted it. What could Mamka do against Taras? She would try and kill him if she saw this and he would hurt her. Maybe Max, too.
He slapped his hand over my mouth, cutting off my air. I bit down on the soft part of it with all my strength, and tasted blood. Taras reared back like a stuck bear and then removed his belt with one motion.
Mamka pounded on the door. “I’ll go for the police, Taras—”
Taras laughed to himself. Of course our one old policeman would never act. He was probably sleeping off the drink.
He cinched one end of the belt around my wrist, the other to the iron headboard, and tethered me like a dog.
“I know it was hard for you in prison, Taras—”
Taras stepped to the workbench and considered his tools, as if choosing a cabbage at the market. “Your Papa spoiled you, Inka.”
“My arm is numb, Taras, can—”
“Actions have consequences. We are going to Petrograd soon, you and me. The Committee sent word. Vladi gave my name, can you imagine? And I need to trust you there, my girl.”
He chose a small, wooden-handled tool, opened the door of the stove, and laid the metal tip of it in the flames.
“What are you doing, Taras?”
He sat next to me on the bed and the springs groaned. With two hands, he gently brought my head to his knee and held it there.
My whole body shook. “Not my face.”
“What else do you care about, vain girl?”
He pulled the tool from the fire, the tiny T brand he marked his knives with. I could barely look at it as he blew on the metal tip, causing it to turn deep red.
“Please, no, Taras.”
“You should have thought twice before you helped that girl.”
From the corner of my eye I saw the brand come closer to my left cheek, a blurry red-orange glow, and felt the warmth near my skin. “Please, Taras.”
“The more you struggle, the longer this will take.”
“I promise I won’t…”
He stroked my hair. “Hold still. It will be over quickly.”
All at once came the sting of the hot metal on the top of my cheek near my eye, the smell of burning flesh.
A great pounding came to the shed door, Mamka’s wails, and then a scream as the searing-hot metal pressed