Page 258 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I hate that he’d even been capable of doing something so horrific to an innocent woman.

It burns like hellfire to realize how much he kept from me.

He didn’t want his sins to taint you,whispers some unseen voice in my heart.He didn’t want you to think less of him.

I sigh deeply. There was so much I didn’t understand back then.

Things are clearer now, and yet I’m still confused. Maybe more confused than ever.

The eagle lets out a high piping sound that catches my attention. He swoops lower. When he does, I notice that there are a few more birds flying in the huge expanse before me, squawking obnoxiously.

Ugly birds. Buzzards, I think.

It’s not exactly the peace and quiet I’m looking for, so I get up and start the walk back to the cabin.

As I follow the trail back home, I notice the screeches get louder and more exuberant. The birds are flying low down the ravine, their wings leaving small ripples in the river.

Is something going on down there?

Gripping one of the trees close to the edge of the trail, I inch closer until I can look right down to the bottom.

On top of a pile of boulders, I see motion.

At first, all I make out is a mess of wings and snapping beaks.

Then I see a carcass amongst streaks of blood, and it makes sense. Some poor animal has died down there.

The birds are just fighting over lunch.

Could it possibly be Artem’s stag, the one that got away?

I grip the tree a little tighter and lean in a little further so I can get a better look. I want to be able to tell Artem that I saw his stag.

But then something on the carcass gets caught on the breeze and wafted up past me.

It’s a piece of a torn t-shirt.

Something thuds uncomfortably in my chest.

Stags don’t wear clothes.

The ridiculous thought slips into my consciousness. I freeze, as a painful streak of realization hits me full in the face.

That’s not a stag the birds are feasting on.

It’s a human being.

I force myself to glance down one more time.

This time, I see the rotting flesh of what is unmistakably a human arm.

My stomach twists with nausea. I swallow back the bile as my mind races, trying to remember if I’d heard any gossip of a hiker or hikers who’d gone missing on this side of the mountains.

No, I’m pretty sure there haven’t been any incidents since Artem and I moved up into the cabin.

And then I feel another painful pinch in my heart as a memory from three nights ago resurfaces.

“Tell me again how this stag managed to get away from you.” I laugh. “Little deer outwits a big bad Bratva boss?”

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