Page 37 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

My jaw tightened. This was exactly why I hated kids. Especially at this age. Loud, destructive little shits who only knew how to pick on the weak.

"Knock it off, you little bastards!" I shouted and moved fast.

Too late. The boy lost his footing and hit the water.

"Help!" He thrashed, arms flailing.

The other kids scattered like roaches. The director, wheezing behind me, grabbed them before they could run far.

I yanked off my jacket and dove in. My clothes soaked through instantly. But I didn't have a choice. I hated kids, sure, but I couldn't let something happen at an event I was funding. I reached the boy and pulled him to shore.

"Mr. Petrov, are you all right?" The director hovered, concerned.

"I'm fine. The kid's probably shaken up." I looked at the coughing boy.

"I already called his guardian. She'll be here soon. I'm so sorry about this. I never thought those kids would—" She glanced at the line of guilty heads in the distance. "I'll make sure they're disciplined."

The director left. I could hear her tearing into the little shits.

"Thanks for saving me." The boy's eyes were bright. "You're cool. Tall and strong."

I raised an eyebrow. He wasn't flattering me. Just stating facts.

"How old are you? They pick on you a lot?"

"Eight. They waste their time." He shrugged, unconcerned.

"You almost drowned."

"So I learned something." He wrung out his shirt. "Next time, I'll stay away from the water first."

"Not 'don't get in fights'?"

"That's not realistic." He wrinkled his nose.

I stared at him for two seconds. This kid was skinny as hell but had a spine. First time I'd met an eight-year-old I didn't want to throttle.

"You want to be like me, eat more."

He batted my hand away and smoothed his hair back down.

"As long as whoever's cooking isn't trying to poison me, I'm happy to cooperate." He wiped his face and grinned, teeth showing.

His short hair stuck to his forehead, brown eyes squeezed into crescents. Something about that face felt familiar.

We didn't wait long. A familiar figure came running from the distance.

Briony. What the hell was she doing here?

"Rory!" She rushed over, face flushed, bent over with her hands on her knees, gasping. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She checked him over head to toe. Only when she confirmed he was fine did her shoulders relax. Then the director said "thanks to Mr. Petrov," and she froze. Slowly, she looked up. When her eyes met mine, they went wide.

My shirt was soaked through. Her gaze lingered longer than polite, and my body instantly remembered the feeling of her fingers trailing across my chest.

Fuck. She didn't even need to touch me.

"What are you doing here?" She tried to sound calm. "You saved—"