Page 208 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I stumble across a station that’s playing instrumentals. It’s modern day stuff from Hans Zimmer and Circadian Eyes, but it’s the kind of music I like. The notes are so beautifully balanced, so harmonious together I feel the sweet melodies seep into my body.

My fingers twitch again and I notice Artem’s smile.

“When we get back home, to our real home, I’ll get you a piano,” Artem tells me.

“Where’s our real home?” I ask. Even the concept feels foreign to me now.

“The place we’re running from,” Artem answers immediately. “Los Angeles. That’s home.”

I suppress the sigh I can feel at the back of my throat and try not to think about it. My desire to stay in L.A. has waned considerably since Stanislav’s funeral.

The city spells nothing but violence, chaos, entrapment.

What I really want is a quiet corner of the world. Somewhere to raise my child and play my piano.

I glance towards Artem. His profile is as impressive as the rest of him. I can see only one dark eye, the straight dip of his nose, and the thin curve of his mouth.

But I can’t imagine this man in the life I’m envisioning for myself. A quiet home? Piano in the living room, a child’s laughter on the front lawn?

No blood. No guns. No gangs.

It just doesn’t mix. Artem and that future are like oil and water.

I turn my attention back to the road ahead, but my train of thought has led me back to what we left in Tamara’s apartment.

Mischa.

His name was Mischa.

He was trying to kill Artem. He was trying to abduct you. It was self-defense.

All the justifications I’ve built in my head still don’t stand up against the guilt, though. It’s like throwing pebbles at a stone wall. They just bounce off, useless.

Did he have a wife? Did he have children? What kind of music did he like?

I take a deep breath and try throwing my pebbles again.

If you hadn’t stabbed him, he would have killed Artem.

I take another breath. It doesn’t help much.

He was dead. But you kept stabbing him. Why did you keep stabbing him?

“Esme.”

I look at Artem with a start.

“You went somewhere dark,” he says softly.

I feel tears at the corners of my eyes. “I… I’m fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I open my mouth, but I shut it again just as quickly. “I think… not just yet.”

“I’ll be here when you change your mind.”

I feel so incredibly grateful that I reach out impulsively and take the hand he has resting against the center console between us. His fingers weave into mine easily and it feels so damn good that it crowds out all the worry and guilt battling inside me.

---