Page 26 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

I have to get out of here.

I have to get away and … and …

Fuck!

Why can’t I remember?

Giving in to the sensation, instinct takes over. With one swift move, I rip all the wires from my body and scarcely feel the flaring pain that prickles from each needlepoint, ripping free. Warmth follows as blood beads at each wound and runs down my body, but I don’t give it a second thought.

With a grunt, I force myself up and out of the bed, only to immediately crash down onto the floor with a cry as weakness steals across my thighs.

How did I get here? What happened to my arm?

There are too many questions and not enough time to focus. My only goal is to get the hell out of here, and then…who knows?

It takes my body a few minutes to wake up properly and listen to me, but eventually, I’m back on my feet. The door is simple, but it opens out into an ornate hallway with a thick beige carpet and light blue walls. Large windows showing an expansive green garden outside line the wall, with various vases and statues in between. Whoever lives here clearly has money to spare.

Naked, except for a pair of loose cotton pants, I stumble down the unfamiliar hallway using the wall for support. The longer I’m awake, the more sensations I can decipher from the mess that is my mind. My back and chest ache with each movement. Blood trickles down my body, tickling my skin, and each ragged breath I draw in scrapes painfully against my dry throat.

I need water.

When I reach the stairs, my head spins, and the edges of my vision fog up. By some miracle, I manage to grab the banister and hobble down as fast as my body will let me. Not a soul seems to be around, and no noise reaches me either. It’s as if this entire place is deserted.

Am I dead?

Is this some twisted joke in the afterlife?

The ground floor isn’t any more stable than the stairs but as I walk, hugging the wall becomes less of a requirement. Each passing minute that I’m awake returns strength and sensation to my limbs, and while my mind still jars with pain each time I try to recall how I got here, the dizziness is fading.

My limping path takes me straight into a kitchen. I make a beeline for the sink and turn the tap on full without much thought. Then I clutch the edge of the steel, dip my head under and drink like I’ve just spent eternity in the desert. Cold water washes down my throat, soothing the dryness, and the chill eases the painful pull of muscles in my throat each time I swallow. I drink hastily and greedily—until a glass shatters behind me and nerves jump in alarm up my spine.

Water drips down my chin, landing on my chest like the kiss of icicles as I turn. The familiar click of the safety on a gun reaches my ears and I lock eyes with the culprit.

A man dressed in a black suit with a thin tie aims a handgun right at me, his face twisted in angry surprise.

I don’t think.

I just react.

The faucet gives away easily under my grasp and I rip it free from the sink, sending an explosion of water upward. I launch myself at the newcomer. He gets off one shot then I slam the faucet into his gut and punch him hard in the face with my cast. As pain explodes up to my elbow, we crash into the nearest counter and a grunt of pain escapes the man. Water rains down all around us as it sprays unhindered from the sink. Another swift punch and the stranger crumples, unconscious at my feet.

Glass crunches behind me. I swiftly duck, snatch up the discarded gun and turn ready to fire at the next stranger.

Only when I see her, I can’t pull the trigger.

She’s beautiful.

Her striking green eyes are wide with shock, her ruby mouth hanging open, and her shoulder-length curly hair frizzes slightly with the water. Her shoulders rise as she takes a breath, and instinct takes over again.

I tackle her to the ground, landing in the puddles forming on the floor and slam my cast-encased hand over her mouth. Her scream smothers instantly. The barrel of the gun presses to her jaw and as I straddle her gorgeous, curvy body, pulling the trigger feels easy. I don’t need her screaming and bringing God knows what hell down on me.

And then, suddenly, it’s impossible.

I … know her.

I’ve never met her and yet, as she stares up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. I know her.

Pain sears through my mind and then I see her.

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