Page 13 of The Bratva's Nanny

I might have done a celebratory dance but was barely given adequate time to catch my breath before the side door swung open and revealed the second man with Polly in his tight grasp, a knife held to her throat.

“Get the fuck back,” the man barked, and my feet moved accordingly.

This was not time for sharp retorts or tricks. Silver glinted under sunlight, and the blade’s sharpness mirrored the clear fear in her eyes. Her lips quivered, and her eyes wide with terror when he dragged her toward the driver’s side.

My mind raced with a mix of fear and adrenaline as I took in the scene. The bastard was trying to flee again. His meaty hand was clamped around her tiny wrist, his fingers digging into her fragile skin.

I felt a searing pain in my chest, like a knife twisting deep into my heart. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare at her terrified face.

“I’m moving. Just...please, don’t hurt her,” I muttered, my heart thrumming in my ears.

He glanced at the unmoving body of his colleague slumped on the ground and yelled, “Stay the fuck away! Else I’m going to slice her like chicken bits.”

“I don’t want to be like chicken bits!” Polly cried.

“You shut the fuck up!” He hoisted her into the van and climbed in after her, still pointing the blade at her.

The man’s sneer was like a slap in the face, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. He was enjoying this, enjoying her fear and pain. I felt a wave of rage wash over me, a primal urge to rip him apart and save her coursing through my veins and burning beneath my skin.

But I was paralyzed, frozen in place. All I could do was watch as he tried to start the vehicle. Polly met my gaze, and a figurative bulb lit up over my head.

I looked at her intensely.

Polina was one of the smartest little girls I knew. She could pick up on the faintest signals and know exactly what to do. Back at the Academy, I’d taught her a few personal tricks, and all of them started with one important ingredient I needed her to remember now: confidence.

I sucked in a deep breath and silently prayed that this crazy idea of mine would work.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Pull the breaks, Polly!”

She acted even faster than I would have. Her hands went down on the brakes, and she shoved him hard enough to loosen his grasp on the knife. The second it fell out, she threw it out the window and jumped out of the passenger’s side, running to me with open arms.

But the fight wasn’t over yet.

I grabbed the knife from the floor and positioned Polly behind when the man gingerly hopped out and grabbed a rod close by.

Where the fuck did that even come from?

He dragged the rod on the asphalt, taking menacing steps closer. “Hand over the girl.”

Polly moved back, and I mirrored her steps.

If he thought I would simply comply, he had another thing coming.

I scoffed. “Only in your dreams, mister.”

“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

I lifted a shoulder and swished the knife in the air. “Blame my father.”

Apparently, the man was done with our chit-chat. He rushed toward us, the rod raised high in the air, and my heartbeat doubled when, from the periphery, I saw a fleet of black cars suddenly appear from every corner, surrounding us.

Shit.

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