Page 214 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

She sucks in her breath, her eyes flooding with regret already.

“And you did them a favor by killing him,” I finish, before she can spiral out.

“What?” she asks, her eyes going wide.

“He was a brutal man at work and at home,” I lie smoothly. “His family won’t miss him.”

She takes that in for a moment and nods slowly. “But I still feel guilty,” she says.

“That’s because you’re a good person,” I tell her. “You have a conscience, which is a quality that precious few people have in my world.”

I feel her fingers twitch beneath mine. “Doesn’t that include you?”

“I have a conscience,” I tell her. “I’ve just learned to ignore it. It’s the only way to survive this life.”

“Do you remember the first time you killed a man?”

I nod. “It was on my first cartel raid,” I say. “We had a spy in our ranks who was playing informant to a rival cartel. We stormed their meeting, killed their men, and caught the spy who had turned against us. Stanislav had him strung up by the wrists and he put a knife in my hand.”

Esme listens silently. For a moment, I think she’s about to draw away from me, but she only moves closer.

“Everyone was watching. My father, my uncle, all the men,” I continue. “That knife felt so fucking heavy in my hand. It might as well have been a sword.”

“I tried to be confident. I tried not to feel anything. But when I looked up into his face, all my reasons for killing him seemed… inconsequential. It didn’t matter that he deserved it. It didn’t matter that he had betrayed us and caused the deaths of so many of our men. I saw his eyes, wide and fearful, and I hesitated.”

I pause, taking a breath. It’s been a very long time since I’ve re-lived this memory.

“He looked at me and begged me for his life. I knew better than to think I had any power to grant it to him. I stabbed him in the chest first, but he didn’t die on the spot like I’d intended.”

The night is cool and still. Nothing moves or makes a sound in the desert.

“He struggled and screamed and prayed, and I panicked. The more he screamed, the more I stabbed him. I didn’t stop until he wasn’t screaming anymore.”

When I look at her, Esme has tears sparkling in her eyes. She leans in even closer and rests her cheek against my arm.

“I was fourteen,” I finish.

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Fourteen,” she murmurs in shock.

I nod. “The more you kill, the less you feel. It’s the only way you can continue.”

Esme shakes her head gently. “Killing is not something I ever want to get used to.”

“Nor would I want that for you,” I tell her. “But when someone tries to hurt you, you have to defend yourself. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t feel guilty about protecting yourself,” I say firmly. “Don’t give them that kind of power over you. They will take advantage of it.”

She nods slowly, pushing back her tears. She looks stronger somehow, as though hearing my story has helped give her closure.

“Thank you,” she says. “For sharing that with me.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead gently. She turns her face up as her lips seek mine out.

To my surprise, there’s heat in the kiss when our lips meet. A certain understanding that’s cemented itself between us in the last hour.

Not pure passion, like it’s been every time before. Not just fire and lust.

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