Page 50 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

Impossible to tell. It feels like we’ve been staring at each other for as long as I can remember.

“It’s time to go,” he says again. “More troops are probably already on the way.”

So he’s going to kill me somewhere else, then. He’s going to drag out this process. Make me suffer, make me bleed, make me beg.

I knew he was dangerous. From the second I laid eyes on him in that club, I knew it.

Turns out I underestimated by a lot.

He grabs me by the arm and drags me out of the bathroom. My legs move as if independent from my body.

I have no control over my actions right now. I’m in a daze, I can feel it. My head spins madly on and my body goes where he pulls me.

At the threshold of my door, I can see a body. My stomach roils but I manage to keep it together.

The man doesn’t stop. He just pulls me down the hall, leading me away from the life I knew one step at a time.

As we move through the house, I feel my body drift deeper into shock. We pass body after body, men with their faces blown off or their heads smashed in.

Blood is everywhere.

If this were a movie, I’d say the set designer needed to relax a little bit. There’s just somuch.

Blood staining sofas.

Blood splattered across paintings.

Blood dying the swimming pool, flowing across the tennis courts, slicked down the banister railing of the staircase as we descend.

I trip several times and only manage to stay on my feet because of his grip on me.

More men with guns join us. None of them say a word.

He moves swiftly through the house, not stopping to talk or look at all the dead.

I’m actually grateful for that. Grateful that I don’t have long to linger on the lifeless faces staring at me.

Fernando. Ronaldo. Carlos. Javier. Alejandro.

I don’t have to see their faces to recognize my father’s guards. Their bodies have fallen to the ground like puppets cut from their strings. Their limbs disjointed and unnatural.

My body stills a little, but he pulls me forcefully forward and we pass them all.

All around the house, more men in black are swarming. They’re splashing canisters of liquid on top of everything. The stink of lighter fluid fills my nostrils.

I gasp as I realize what they’re about to do—burn everything I’ve ever known to a crisp.

I want to scream, to stop them, but my voice is lost inside me.

He comes to a stop and I almost ram into him. He doesn’t seem to notice as he turns to give orders to his men.

He has a natural authority that’s impossible to deny. I see the faces of his men, but I can’t absorb any details. Their features all melt together, becoming one. One many-headed, faceless monster smeared in blood from head to toe.

“Any survivors?” he asks one of his subordinates.

“None. We’ve checked twice now.”

I feel his men’s eyes flit over to me, but I don’t react.

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