Page 167 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I don’t look back.

I just run.

I turn the corner, sprint down an alleyway, and find myself on a broader street with grotesque-looking signs outside its shops.

A left turn leads me into another alleyway, this one narrower than the last. I run down it, realizing that I’ve made a huge mistake by veering away from the crowds of the busier L.A. roads.

Another turn.

Dead-end.

I stare in disbelief at the brick wall at the end of the trash-filled alley. I can barely breathe. Panic squeezes my lungs, but I don’t have the option of stopping here.

I turn, stumble…

And that’s when I run right into Artem’s broad chest.

I bounce off, but he grabs me before I fall to the concrete. His hand locks around my wrist so tight that it nearly cuts off my circulation, but I still struggle to get free, as useless as that effort is.

“Let me go,” I spit, trying to summon up every last lick of bravery I still possess.

Artem tows me towards him until my face is only inches away from his. His eyes burn with an urgency I don’t quite understand.

He doesn’t look angry so much as… determined.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands. “It’s me.”

“You?” I hiss. “You are nothing but a murderer. A liar and a murderer.”

He looks down at me with something like confusion. “You know what my world requires of me,” he says softly. “I never lied to you about that.”

I shake my head, all the while trying to pull my hand out of his grasp. He shakes his head in frustration as his eyes flash dangerously.

“Fucking hell, Esme!” he yells, pulling me back behind a dumpster so that we’re out of sight of passing cars and foot traffic. “Calm the fuck down. You’re disoriented and confused, but I don’t have time to explain anything to you now. We have to get out of the city.”

“Oh, I plan to,” I scowl. “But not with you.”

“Goddammit,” Artem says, “you don’t understand what’s happening. You’re not safe here. You’re not safe alone. You need me.”

I laugh at that. Right in his smug fucking face.

Does he really think that line is going to flip a switch and persuade me to run into his arms?

I need him?

No. Hell no. I absolutely do not.

“Get your fucking hands off of me.”

His eyes narrow viciously. That familiar burst of anger that has come to be so familiar to me burns in his eyes.

He’s about to say something, but I’m done talking and I don’t want his explanations clouding my already clouded brain.

So I do what Cesar told me to do an eternity ago—back when I was still naïve enough to believe there was such a thing as heroes.

I swing my knee up hard, straight into Artem’s crotch. He could have avoided the hit easily if he had been prepared for it.

But for once, I succeed in taking him off guard.

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