Page 177 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Artem,” she says, her lips curling derisively around my name.

I growl low, furious and frustrated in equal measure. I understand she’s processing a lot right now, but I don’t have the luxury of being patient.

“You don’t have a choice,” I tell her. “There’s a hit out on my head. Yours, too, most likely. My uncle has taken over the Bratva, which means we have only a limited amount of time before his men find us.”

Panic darkens her features for a moment, and she looks at me with something close to concern. She drops her head.

But when she looks back up again, the concern is gone, replaced by an emotion she wants me to see.

Scorn.

“I told you before,” Esme says, her tone soft. “There is no ‘us.’”

“You’re wrong about that,” I say in a low voice. “The moment I claimed you as my own on that altar, you became mine. It became ‘us.’”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, no, no—”

“We have to get out of this city, Esme,” I interrupt. “I swore on that altar to keep you safe. Let me do that.”

“I plan on getting out of this city,” she says. “But not with you.”

“You won’t get far without me.”

“Why?” she snaps. “Because I’m helpless without you? I’ve got news for you, motherfucker. I don’tneedyou. I don’t need anyone.”

“You’re delusional if you believe that,” I say. “The only way you’re going to live is if you come with me.”

“Why would I go anywhere with someone I don’t trust?” she asks. “Why would I go anywhere with someone I hate?”

I look her dead in the eye and laugh. Her anger turns confused for a moment before it snaps back again.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“You don’t hate me.”

Her eyes go wide with rage. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know,” I tell her. “The person you really hate right now isyourself.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps, screwing her nose up with indignation as she tries to writhe out of the trap that I’m laying for her.

“You know it, too,” I reply, backing her into a corner. “Which is why you’re not looking me in the eye right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” she says, taking the bait and meeting my gaze to prove how wrong I am. “And why the hell would I hate myself?”

I wonder if she expects me to falter, to hesitate. To hit her with another lie.

But I know I have the upper hand here.

Because this time, I’m the one bearing the truth.

“Because,” I say, as my hand darts out and grabs her by the throat, pinning her back against the wall, “you know I killed your brother. But you want me anyway.”

Shock flares up in her hazel-gold irises. I see only an iota of denial before it’s overpowered by self-awareness.

And that is all the confirmation I need before I slam my lips down on hers.

Her body freezes in shock, taken aback by the sudden assault. A gasp escapes from between her lips, sharp and sudden.

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