Chapter 7 #2
Igor does what he’s told, and I hunt for what I hope is a diaper bag, or even better, something to tell me where the fuck Geliy is.
Instead, I find a crumpled-up piece of paper.
I scan the contents—all thirteen fucking words he’s managed to scribble to me: Leon’s mom should be here tomorrow. If not, call Child Protective Services.
Wow, he’s definitely not going to be getting a father of the year award. What a complete fucking moron. How could anyone be okay with dumping their kid and Child Protective Services being called?
I shake my head and head downstairs. The men crowd around the long kitchen table, getting their normal breakfast or coffee. The wailing lungs of Leon continue. The men grumble. Some glare. Some cover their ears. And I nurse my coffee as far away as I can, next to the fridge.
“Fuck!” Igor says.
“What’s that smell?” Yuri asks.
“God, it’s awful!” another says in response.
A few men gag. Igor, who’s holding the baby, makes a face and turns a shade of green. “He smells, Viktor.” And they all look to me like I have some baby fucking manual on me.
My eyes narrow. “So, change him.”
“But it stinks!” Igor responds.
“You deal with blood, gore, and worse things on a daily basis. Man the hell up and change his diaper!”
“Aww, but why me?” he whines.
“Because you’re holding him,” I say, stating the fucking obvious.
“But—”
“Do it—that’s a goddamn order!”
But silently, I agree. It stinks to high heaven, and how such a tiny boy can scream bloody murder for so long is beyond me.
It’s only been fifteen minutes since I was rudely awoken, and I’m already at a nine.
I’m not sure how much more of it I can take before I’ll have to leave.
Already it’s too much. The noise. The chaos.
The unpredictability of everything is pushing down on my chest like a heavy brick.
I hate it. I hate the way that one simple little human being has thrown me into a spiral.
This is my worst nightmare. And it’s just another reason why relationships and babies can never be part of my life.
Exes who randomly leave or show up and kids who cause a commotion when you least expect it sound like a personal hell for me.
Yeah, the thing with partners, babies, and kids is that they’re really unpredictable.
And my autism means I hate unpredictable things in my life.
A life with chaos like this is an impossibility for me.
I push from the counter I’m leaning on, coffee cup clutched in my hand tightly.
“Boss?” Igor asks.
I glare down at Leon, who’s bright red in the face and thrashing his tiny fists like a drunk boxer. My head feels like it’s been split in two by an axe. “Enough,” I tell him firmly. “You are nine months old, not a warlord. Stop with the—”
He lets out an ear-splitting screech that rattles my teeth.
I’ve faced ambushes, explosions, and men twice my size armed with machetes. None of that prepared me for this baby.
“Look after him,” I tell Igor. “I’m going to find someone to help.
We can’t look after a baby by ourselves.
” And in a moment of pure desperation, I grab Igor’s phone from him and look up Agency in his contacts.
Igor gets in tradesmen and extra staff when we need people, and this agency is known for being super discreet.
I see the men heave out a collective sigh of relief as I hit the call button as fast as my fingers will let me.
“Angels Agency,” a voice trills down the line.
“I need someone!” I bark into the phone, pure panic racing through my veins now.
“Of course, sir. Any specific requirements?”
“Just someone with a brain who knows what she’s doing!” Because none of my men seem to have a single brain cell between them, judging by the last five minutes.
“Of course, sir. All our ladies are superbly qualified and experienced. Do you have any preferences? Required physical attributes?”
“I don’t care what she goddamn looks like,” I snarl.
“Noted, sir. And what skills do you require?”
“Skills?” I don’t know. Because I never had to hire a nanny before.
“You know,” she replies. “Like deep throating, anal, double or triple penetration—”
“What the fuck, Igor?!” I roar, slamming down the phone as I end the call with a stab of my finger.
Igor looks over my shoulder. “Boss, that’s the agency I get whores from. The next one in my contacts list is the one you need.”
I glare at him as I hit the contact called Agency 2.
Holding my breath, I hear someone answer. “Helping Hands Agency! How can I help?”
“Um, hello? In what way, er, do your hands help people…?” I can’t help the suspicion lacing my voice. What if she means they do hand jobs, erotic massages, and that sort of stuff?
“We have gardeners, electricians, maids—”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “You’re what I need. Send a woman. Right now!”
“What sort of employee are you looking for?”
“A woman. Just for today and some of tomorrow. She should, er, have a hat. And an umbrella thing…”
“A hat and an umbrella, sir?” Her voice hitches with confusion.
I sigh in exasperation. “Yes, an umbrella so that she can fly.”
“Ahhh,” she hums. “You’re a man in need of a nanny. Someone like Mary Poppins, right?”
“Yes, that’s what I just said,” I snarl. “Just send three candidates for me to interview. They must be competent. And not, er, incompetent.”
“Yes, we’ll send three candidates immediately.” Thank the fucking Lord.
I end the call, grimacing as I watch Igor clutching Leon under one arm like a squirming football.
Forty-five minutes, the first candidate arrives.
She sweeps into the room in a red crop top and flesh-colored shorts that could be mistaken for bikini bottoms. She looks barely adult.
My eyes narrow. “Where is the rest of your shirt?”
She looks at me like I’m ancient and a complete moron. “This is fashion.”
“You are supposed to care for an infant, not dress like Winnie the Pooh,” I snap.
Her face scrunches. “Winnie the—?”
“Half naked and oddly proud of it,” I clip.
She gives me a blank look.
“Get out,” I say flatly, knowing that if she’s not decently dressed, then she’s not the right person to trust with this baby.
The second candidate is shown in. She’s obviously Russian and even dresses a little like Babulya. Oh God, how I wish Babulya was here right now because she’d know exactly how to care for this baby.
Candidate two is maybe around seventy or even eighty. But I frown as I notice that she smells strongly of…boiled cabbage.
“I believe in a strict Russian diet,” she says, thumping her chest with conviction.
“Er, good,” I reply. “The boy will need strong meals. His father told me that he’s eating soft foods now.”
“Babies must eat my stew. Borscht, borscht, and more borscht! If they don’t like it, they wait until the next meal!”
I stare at her. “You mean…you starve them?”
“Not starve. Just demand mandatory obedience!”
Leon lets out a small wail in Igor’s arms, looking horrified even though he probably doesn’t understand any words yet.
“No,” I snap. “This is a baby, not a recruit for Spetsnaz. Leave please. And close the door on your way out.”
The final candidate arrives a few minutes later. Please, God, let her be the one...
The woman doesn’t even glance at Leon when she comes in. She sits, pulls out her cell phone, and starts scrolling.
“My only question,” she says without looking up, “is do I get paid extra per diaper change? And double if the baby shits?”
“That’s what you want to ask?” I croak.
“Diapers are gross.” She shudders dramatically.
I rise slowly, towering over her. “You know what else is gross? The sight of you still sitting there. Leave!”
She flees after a roll of her eyes.
And by the time the door slams, my patience is completely gone. Leon has stopped crying only because he’s fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, his tiny fingers gripping Igor’s shirt.
I look down at his scrunched-up face and sigh. Turning to my men, I snap, “You two, figure out a schedule. Diapers, bottles, meals, and naps.”
“What…?” Yuri stutters.
“Watch the baby until the mother arrives!” I order Igor and Yuri.
They stare at me, stunned.
I scowl. “What? You think I’d trust a stranger with him? Over my dead body.”
“Hold on! Where are you—” But Yuri’s voice peters out when I level a glare at him.
I need to get myself together. To find something to bring me back to a calmer level. “Guard that baby with your life, understand?” I growl.
“But—”
“No buts,” I snarl. “You guard him, or we’ll be cleaning up your goddamn body from the floor.” What? Did I really just say that? Me?
“Okay. And if she doesn’t show, we’re calling Child Protective Services, right?” Igor adds. “Because you said that’s what the note said.”
“‘No, we’re not goddamn calling them!” I roar.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” It’s like I’m possessed or something.
I don’t understand why I’m saying these things—why I even care about what happens to this little baby.
He has nothing to do with me. And I can’t fucking stand babies or kids or the noise and chaos they create.
“If she doesn’t show, you’re not calling Child Protective Services under any circumstances, understand? ”
Igor and Yuri both nod, and I take that as my cue to escape.
And the further from the kitchen I get, the more I rationalize it’s just that I’m feeling sorry for the kid.
He didn’t pick his idiot dad or his flighty mom who Geliy told us cares more about going on vacation than looking after her kid.
He’s just a baby who happens to be in the crossfire of a shitty situation.
Yeah, that’s it. That’s all that was back there. I’m just feeling sorry for the baby. Because I know that I’m not capable of anything else.