Page 51 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

It’s not that I don’t want to—Ican’t. I feel trapped inside myself, like I’m screaming on the inside but no one can hear.

My fingers twitch instinctively towards my stomach, but I suppress the instinct before I can go through with the action.

They can’t know about my baby. None of them.

Especially nothim.

“Ah, Artem?” someone speaks up.

I flinch.Artem.The dark-eyed man has a name.

It suits him. Blunt, brutal, foreign. Explains the faint Russian accent, too.

“What?” Artem barks.

“She’s shivering.”

I glance up towards the man who’s just spoken. He’s got shaggy blonde hair, pale blue eyes, the wisps of a patchy beard on his face.

He’s tall, built, and tattooed, just like Artem, but there’s a boyish innocence about him that Artem does not share.

His words also remind me that I’m standing here in the middle of an army of black ops soldiers sent from god-knows-where to do god-knows what, and I’m very nearly naked. All I’ve got on is a cotton nightshirt that scrapes halfway down my thighs. Not even a bra or panties on underneath.

Artem doesn’t even glance at me.

“I’ll bring her something—”

“No,” Artem cuts him off immediately. “I’m not wasting time. What she’s got on is fine. Make sure the place is burning before you leave. Rendezvous back at the plane.”

“Got it,” the blond man replies. “Hasta la vista, comrade.” He turns to rally the remaining men out of the compound.

Then Artem starts dragging me off again.

We move outside, then deep into the rear garden. Wind slaps at my face. It feels strange. It’s strong, too… unnatural.

Then I register sound.

When I look up, I see a helicopter descending from the sky, blotting out what little starlight there is tonight. It lands gracefully in the middle of a broad grassy stretch.

My eyes slide from it to the little parcel of land just a few yards off to the side of the landing site.

Cesar’s grave.

I feel life spark inside of me as my voice pushes past all the pain.

“No!”

I wrest my arm free from Artem’s grip. He’s not expecting it, especially after how compliant I’ve been up until now, so I manage to slip from his grasp.

But it’s a futile effort. He’s too fast—I’m still in shock.

He seizes the hem of my shirt before I’ve even made it a yard clear of him. I hear the tear of fabric and feel the cold breeze from the whirring helicopter blades stream between my legs.

Artem spins me back towards him with a sneer on his face. I see in his eyes what the Boulder Man who tried to rape me must have seen that night four months ago—pure fucking rage.

“I’m disappointed,” he snarls. “I thought you’d be smart enough to know not to run.”

I don’t know why my voice chooses to re-emerge just now of all times, but it does, full of as much acid as I can summon.

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