Page 186 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

At the exact same time, Artem explodes forward with vengeance written on his face.

Seeing him coming, Mischa pushes me to the ground. The man’s gun hits the floor at an angle and it fires.

The bullet careens across the air and hits the window overlooking the balcony. Glass shatters around me. I put my hands over my head to shield myself from the falling debris.

When I look up, I see Artem and Mischa on the floor, both men struggling to get the upper hand. Punches exchanged. The meatythwackof fists meeting faces.

I stumble to my feet, trying to get my brain to stop panicking. The gun is just a few yards away. I scramble for it, but just before I’m close enough to reach, Artem’s boot comes swinging around and kicks it under the couch.

The brawling men tumble into me before I can get out of the way. Combined, it’s like being hit with a wrecking ball.

I hit the floor with anoof.My skull cracks back against the hardwood. I see stars.

Another crash sounds through the air. I’m aware of screams and running footsteps coming from the apartments around us.

It takes a moment for my vision to clear, but when it does, I turn my head and see something shining just out of reach.

The knife.

It’s still slick with the blood from Mischa’s leg. I pick the dagger up with shaking hands just as Artem rams Misha into the television. It hits the floor, explodes.

Mischa snarls something in Russian, but Artem doesn’t bother to respond.

Then Artem makes a mistake that turns the fight against him.

He looks for me, checking to make sure I’m all right, but that one second of distraction costs him.

Misha punches him in the face and sends him stumbling to the ground. Before Artem can get his bearings, Misha jumps on top of him.

The snacks I ate earlier rise in a wave of nausea.

Move, Esme. Do something before it’s too late.

My feet move forward and it feels as though I’m watching myself from a distance.

I raise my hand high. Then I plunge the knife into Mischa’s side, just above his hip.

He stops mid-punch as his body goes limp. He turns his neck to the side and catches sight of me.

He’s stunned. As if, despite everything, he didn’t really think I could do it.

He thought I was weak.

That’s what makes me draw the blade out of him, cock it back, and stab in one more time.

This one goes right in his chest. Unlike the first time, the blade doesn’t go in smoothly. I have to push. I have to put some force into it, but I manage with a little effort.

And once I’ve started, I can’t stop. I keep stabbing him.

Even as his blood sprays across my face.

Even when he stops struggling.

Even when the life has long since left his body.

I realize suddenly that my throat is raw and I’m screaming, “I’m not weak, motherfucker! I’m not weak!”

Only Artem’s voice jolts me back to reality.

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