Page 12 of The Bratva's Nanny

But the warning signs weren’t enough to deter me. I was determined not to lose sight of the van or let them escape. I refused to back down, my eyes fixed on the fleeing vehicle. Soon, the bullets came in trickles, and I suspected they had run out of ammo.

I pushed my car to its limit and watched as the speedometer climbed higher. The van’s taillights loomed closer, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples. I was gaining on them. But maybe it was too early for a victory dance.

Suddenly, the van swerved hard to the left, screeching and building a cloud of thick gray smoke behind it as it cut off a truck and sent it honking and veering to avoid a collision. I followed suit, my tires screeching in protest.

The tension in the air was palpable. My heart was in my throat as I pulled up alongside the van, our vehicles mere inches apart.

For a split second, our eyes met—mine and the driver’s—and I saw a flash of concern before he clenched his jaw and hardened his gaze. He had probably not expected to be chased by a seemingly defenseless young woman. Before he floored the van again, I’d already predicted his cause of action.

I kissed my steering wheel, feeling my heart squeeze painfully as I sideswiped—pushing my car forward and blocking the driver’s path. We crashed into each other, bumper to bumper, and smoke clouds rose in the air. For their sakes, I silently prayed not much damage was not done.

The driver climbed out of the intercepted vehicle with a deep scowl etched on his face, clearly not happy with my intrusion. He had his gun out and up in the air, shouting and cursing as loudly as he could to make sure every syllable word hit my ears.

Swiftly, I observed our surroundings. There were hardly any living souls around, just closed shops, deserted roads, and a few street boys who scurried out of sight the minute they saw guns.

“I am going to end you,” he said, his croaky voice regaining my attention. The anger in his tone should have made anyone hightail out of there without looking back.

I considered it—because I was no Wonder Woman with superhuman strength and speed, after all—and drew a quick conclusion: I could be many things, but I was no coward. And that was exactly how this story would end: Someone was certainly going down, but it wasn’t going to be me.

I stepped forward, and we were close enough now for me to rate him physically. Dark, crazed eyes that didn’t hold back his evil intentions, short dark hair, and long animal and figure tattoos stretched across his neck and around his ringed fingers.

Super unimpressive, by the way.

His tattoo artist had to be a kindergarten student. They just had to be.

Focus, Maria.

It was important to note an opponent’s physical strengths and weaknesses in a brawl, and after the assessment, I felt more confident.

The brute standing before me was hardly brawn or brain. He was tall, much taller than me, in fact, and had really broad shoulders, but his lean stature and poor posture gave him away.

I suppressed a grin.

This was going to be an easy one.

“You’ve got it all twisted, pretty boy,” I announced, flashed a sickly-sweet smile, folded my fingers into fists, and took a stance. “The only person that’s going to end today will be you.”

“Delusional little girl,” he spat and pointed the gun. “Foolish—”

The gun flew out of his hand and fell a considerable distance away from where we stood.

Stunned, he looked at it and dragged his gaze back to me.

I allowed my leg to linger in the air for a proud moment before slowly dropping it. His jaw dropped for the briefest second, and I rolled my eyes.

“Taekwondo? It’s called a dollyo chagi, fool. Come on now, what are you waiting for?”

That provoked him, and he came rushing in.

I ducked beneath his wild swing, my eyes locked on his momentarily exposed neck. In a flash, I struck, my fist connecting with a precise jab. He stumbled back, gasping, and I seized the opening—delivered a straightforward kick to the nuts between his legs and, with another kick, sent him crashing to the ground.

“Fuck!” He cursed loud enough for the birds in the air to hear, his face contorting with pain. “Son of a bitch—I’m going to fucking end you.”

He was stronger than I gave him credit for, but I was willing to bet that he didn’t know karate.

He recovered rather quickly and charged at me with an ugly snarl. I sidestepped his clumsy attack, using his momentum against him. He stumbled forward, and I met him with a flurry of punches, each one landing with more precision and speed. He swaggered backward, and I seized the opportunity to deliver a devastating roundhouse kick.

I watched him crash to the ground, defeated, and pointed out, “And that’s a mawashi geri. Felt fucking good, didn’t it?” I beamed at the unconscious man on the ground.

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