Page 73 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

Reaching the bathroom, I glance back at Daniil, who looks the same as ever with those glasses. The heat of his gaze warms my skin, so I give him a little wave and head inside. Using the fire extinguisher from the wall, I prop open the door and hurry into a stall to do my business.

Peeing while tense is a challenge, and the more I try to relax, the harder it is to pee. The longer I sit on the toilet, the more I fear Daniil will send a guard to kick down the door which makes peeing even more impossible.

“Fuck,” I mutter, eyeing the No Smoking poster on the back of the stall door. “Breathe, Naomi. Just breathe. And pee. Just…pee.”

I thought of everything from rainbows to oceans before my body finally relaxed enough for me to relieve myself. A tiny victory on an otherwise horrific day. Washing my hands, I stare at myself in the mirror, almost unable to recognize myself. My hair is a rat's nest, my make up is streaked from tears and the shadows under my eyes hang heavy and dark.

“Fuck.”

Heading outside, I make it past the bathroom door and the presence of someone walking past makes me halt.

Fyodor.

He stops an inch away, staring at me with eyes so dark it’s like his soul has up and vacated his body. With a thin mouth and his skin pale, grief clings to him like a second skin and my heart breaks for him.

“Fyodor…” I have no idea what to say. No idea what to do. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing I can do to help him feel better.

He stares at me, and the nerve in his jaw ticks, just like it did the last time I saw him angry. Angry is good, I think. It means he’s still functioning.

“How … how is Dariya?”

The million-dollar question catches in my throat. Fyodor’s thick brows pull together, shadowing his eyes.

“In surgery.” His only response is that, and his words are so tight that they sound thin.

With little thought, I reach out and grasp his wrist. “I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, the anger fades and immense hurt bleeds onto Fyodor’s face. He looks ready to crumble and sob. As quickly as it appears, it vanishes and the stoic fury returns.

“Where is Daniil?”

I nod toward the waiting room. “Everyone is in there.”

Together, we head down to the waiting room and Daniil’s gaze watches us every step of the way. As soon as we reach the doorway, every guard inside leaps to attention. No one says a word, and from the few uncertain glances I see, no one knows what to expect.

Fyodor doesn’t speak, but as soon as he stops, Daniil does.

“We found the burnt-out shell of the car,” Daniil says tightly. “One body inside is being examined to see if we managed to kill him or if he died from the fire. What’s left of the car is useless but we’re using CCTV from the surrounding area to track who left the scene. We’re also walking it back from the restaurant to see where the car came from.”

Fyodor nods, and a single curl escapes his tightly packed hair. With a grunt, he turns away but as he takes a step, Daniil follows.

“Fyodor.”

Slowly he turns back.

“How is she?”

Fyodor stares at Daniil without a word, and I get the strange feeling that a wordless conversation is happening right in front of me. After a few seconds, Daniil nods slowly and returns to the doorway. When Fyodor turns back up the hall, I move to step back into the waiting room, but Fyodor’s hand darts out and grasps my wrist.

“What—”

He drags me, mostly willing, down the corridor and into the supply closet a few feet away from the waiting room. Darkness closes around us. He shoves me up against some shelving that cuts into my back; then his mouth collides with mine in a kiss so biting that I’m not sure if I’m enjoying it or in pain and just thankful to feel something.

His hands are just as rough. He tears at my clothes, pulling my bra straps taut over my shoulders and my panties sharply against my hip as he fights to get at my body.

I let him. Something is better than nothing. When we kiss, his teeth sink deep into my lip. His tongue dominates my mouth, his hands fist into my hair and pull so hard that my scalp hurts. I gasp and whimper, seeking to touch him but the moment I do, he pulls away. Flipping me around, he shoves me back against the shelves. Bottles and unseen items clatter against one another.

Then Fyodor is against me, pressing his heated body against my back. He pulls down my pants, shoves my panties down as far as he can and then he’s inside with a thrust so powerful it punches all air out of my lungs.

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