Page 67 of Desperate People

“You fucking son of a bitch! What the fuck did you do?!” Marat’s voice is a snarl, feral and unrelenting. “She’s my daughter! My goddamn daughter!”

He’s shouting, fists clenched, eyes wild—and for a second, I don’t breathe.

I don’t move. I let him rage. I let him scream.

Because yeah, he’s her father. And I know how much that job weighs.

But I also know something else.

I’m not letting him put that fear on her. Not in my house.

And when he does turn that fury toward her, his face twisted in rage and pain, I admit, I am slow to react.

“The goddamn paparazzi are all over your place, Lucy! One of those assholes followed this prick’s security team straight to Sigma. They’re saying the face of Volkov Industries is an easy fucking target now!” he bellows.

My blood runs hot.

“Fuck,” I grind out. My hands are already fists.

Marat glares at me then spins back to her, like I’m not even there. “What the fuck is this I’m hearing about someone breaking into your apartment?! You have a stalker?! And you didn’t call us? You didn’t call me?!”

Lucy looks wrecked. Her face goes pale, eyes filling with tears she tries to blink away.

And I can’t take that.

I step forward, still naked but way past giving a shit.

“Enough,” I bite out, voice low and cold.

Marat freezes.

“I know you're pissed,” I go on, “and you’ve got every right. But don’t talk to her like she did something wrong.”

“She did do something wrong. I’m her father! She didn’t call me.”

“She was terrified,” I snap, stepping closer, placing myself directly between him and the bed. “You want to yell at someone? Yell at me. I’m the one she called.”

That quiets him.

I watch as realization filters into those sharp, brutal eyes of his.

Not just rage now. Pain. Fear.

The same thing I’ve been carrying for hours.

“She came to me,” I say again, softer now. “And I’ll never let anything happen to her. Not again.”

Silence stretches.

Lucy’s fingers graze my lower back.

She’s reaching for me. Holding on.

And I swear, I feel it in my chest. Like she’s stitching me back together from the inside out.

Marat looks between us, the air heavy as hell with too much emotion.

And I brace myself.

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