Page 63 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

Shelves line the other walls, brimming with books. I meander past, touching the spines as I go.

The center of the wall opposite the window is devoted to a massive king bed with an imposing steel frame looming above it. Still, the room is so big that the mattress seems small in comparison.

I walk over to the window seat. It’s large enough to be a bed in its own right.

I sink into the cushions and stare out onto the city.

He’s brought me back to L.A.

I recognize the skyline from my last trip… the same one that had led to our heat-filled encounter in the bathroom of The Siren.

Artem had been my hero in that moment. My guardian angel, my white knight.

Now… he’s my own personal monster.

The trauma of the last several hours settles over me. My eyes grow heavy, weighted down by turmoil and the last remaining fragments of the sedative I was jabbed with before leaving Mexico…

A small part of my subconsciousness is aware that I’m sleeping when I see my brother standing in front of me.

Cesar looks different than he did in life. Older, but I can’t tell why. I guess it’s the look in his eyes more than anything.

He reaches for me at the same time I reach for him, but we’re too far apart. Our fingers touch nothing but empty space.

He mouths something.

“What?” I call out.

He mouths it again, but I still can’t hear what he’s saying.

“Speak up, Cesar,” I beg. “I can’t hear you.”

He sighs. Shrugs. Then fades away.

When he disappears, I’m suddenly standing alone in a black fog. The only thing I’m aware of is the little fluttering sensation in my stomach.

I look down and see my belly. My child moves inside me and tears spring to my eyes.

This should be a happy moment.

But it’s not happiness I feel.

It’s sadness, laced with fear.

Fear that’s growing, morphing, intensifying. It climbs up from my belly and into my throat like it wants to choke me out. It’s got tentacles on my ribs and they’re squeezing so hard that I can’t breathe and I’m suffocating and it hurts like I’m being stabbed and oh, God, I’m—

I wake up.

I must’ve been sleeping for hours. The room is dark and oppressive now. L.A’s skyline sparkles proudly down below me.

I turn to the room and wince at the crick in my neck from my awkward sleeping position.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Which is why I don’t see him until I’m on my feet, halfway to the bed.

I gasp and stifle a scream as I freeze in place.

Artem is seated in the leather armchair in one corner of the room. His eyes catch the light of a skyscraper and flash.

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