Page 174 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

It’s not Tamara at all.

49

Artem

Esme tries to slam the door on me, but I move fast, blocking the door with my foot.

She yelps in fright as I shove my way inside the apartment.

The door swings shut and clicks behind me. Esme backs away like a cornered animal, her eyes twisted with fury and fear.

It’s unsettling for me to see her look at me this way.

It’s like she’s not seeing me at all, but a monster with two heads that’s hellbent on devouring her whole.

I’d been hoping our alleyway encounter was nothing more than a half-delusional reaction to waking up in an unfamiliar clinic after a traumatic experience.

But I can see now that it wasn’t a reaction at all.

Something has changed since the funeral.

“Esme,” I say as gently as I can manage.

She doesn’t answer.

Every time I move forward, she takes a step back, as though she has to maintain a five-foot distance between us at all times.

I start to say her name again, but she cuts me off. “Don’t,” she hisses.

I hold my hands up. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Well, I’m done talking to you,” she snarls at me, her eyes flashing like a viper’s. “Everything you’ve ever said to me was a lie.”

I frown. “You’re confused,” I tell her. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Don’t do that,” she says, her tone is as steady as mine. “Don’t make me out to be crazy or irrational. Don’t you dare belittle my feelings because it’s more convenient for you to pretend thatI’mthe problem.”

“I didn’t think therewasa fucking problem.”

My voice comes out harsher than I intended. Esme flinches, but she stands her ground.

I take stock of her. I have to admit—she looks a lot better now than she did on the streets a few hours ago. She’s dressed in jeans that are sinfully tight and a white blouse with thin straps that shows off her delicate shoulders and sharp shoulder blades.

Her hair is bouncy and fragrant, and her face has been wiped clean of the sweat, dust, and chaos of the streets.

As pissed as I am right now, I’m also incredibly relieved that she seems to be in one piece.

Unfortunately, I don’t think the feeling is mutual.

“Esme,” I say with frustration, “we can’t stay in the city.”

“There is no ‘we’ anymore, Artem,” she snaps. Her eyes burn softly with hurt. “I want you to leave.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Too fucking bad! Because I’m not going anywherewithyou.”

“Fuck!” I roar, resisting the urge to put my fist through the nearest wall. “Would you mind telling me why the fuck you’re acting like a madwoman right now? I’m the same man that took you to the safehouse after the funeral. So what the fuck changed?”

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