Page 47 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I catch a whiff of a perfumed scent. It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

The door to the bathroom is ajar. In the sliver of mirror I can see from here, I notice a flash of movement.

I cross the carpeted floor silently and smoothly, then nudge open the door.

One step inside. My bloody, muddy boots mar the beautiful white tile. This room is so pure, so white, so flawless.

And here I come. The Grim fucking Reaper.

Here to ruin it all.

The anger from killing Joaquin is still roiling in my veins. I feel good, alive, empowered.

Until I see her.

Half-naked and shivering at the foot of the sink. She’s folded in on herself like she thinks she can disappear if she tries hard enough.

Dark hair pours in waves over her tanned skin.

And then she turns her face up to look at me with eyes full of tears and I realize something…

I don’t know what the fuck I’ve just gotten myself into.

14

Esme

My first reaction is to laugh.

Because when I see the face of the man who’s come to kill me, it confirms what I suspected since the moment the explosions began.

That this is just a horrible nightmare.

It has to be, right?

There’s no way it’s real. From the second I saw the positive sign on the pregnancy test, I refused to believe any of this was happening.

No baby in my womb.

No soldiers in my home.

I just closed my eyes and stayed curled up in a ball on my bathroom floor. I could hear the distant sounds of guests leaving soon afterwards.

No one came to check on me. No one gave a damn, and for once, I was grateful for that.

The first boom caught me by surprise.

The second made me sit upright.

Then came the gunfire and the roars of men shooting at each other.

None of it could possibly be real. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be.

Even now, as a six and a half foot tall soldier with guns strapped all over his body stands in my bathroom and looks down at me like an angel of death, I refuse to believe it’s real.

And for one blissful, beautiful second, I hold onto that denial.

“This is a dream,” I mumble.

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