Page 157 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

The voices get louder, but I drown them out.

“Come on, come on, you fucker…” I growl. “I’ve almost got you…”

The window shoves open several more inches.

Hell yes.

I have to resist the urge to scream out in celebration.

That’ll do the trick.

I slip out of the window and land with a thump onto the tiny little balcony. My heartbeat is so loud I can hear it thundering in my ears as I survey the drop.

The series of balconies that make up the building’s back façade allows me the perfect irregular ladder to climb down.

I take a step forward as the cold metal of the balcony grills prick at my soles, and only then do I realize that I’m barefoot.

There were shoes in the cupboard next to my jeans, but in my panic, I hadn’t put them on.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But there’s no going back now.

I start my descent.

43

Artem

“I’m not fucking leaving her, Cillian,” I growl into the phone.

Cillian just sighs from his end of the call. He’s been doing a lot of that lately.

I remind myself that he’s only trying to help. I can’t afford to be distracted.

Not with a threat this big looming.

But the anger that’s been boiling in my veins since the moment the first shot was fired at my father’s funeral refuses to go away.

It simmers just under the surface. Ready to explode at any moment.

“I understand you’re worried about Esme, brother,” Cillian says. “But this is important, too. I would argue it’smoreimportant.”

I bite back my retort. “Where are you now?” I ask instead.

“The warehouse down Weston,” he replies. “It’s only ten minutes or so from the clinic. It shouldn’t take that long.”

“Fine. I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up.

It takes everything I have to resist my urge to turn back into Esme’s room. To stare at her body again, the way I’ve done for hours and hours since we arrived here. Since I found her haunted and slumping into blackout.

Was that a bump in her belly? I couldn’t be sure.

But the doctor said a baby was in there. He has no reason to lie. I have no reason to doubt him.

Which prompts another question: is it mine?

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