Page 121 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Yeah?”

“Were you with me last night?”

“Why? Did you dream about me?”

“Artem.”

Nothing. A long, drawn-out silence. I think he’s going to just ignore me, until…

“I heard you screaming,” Artem says softly. “I thought someone had broken in, but you were just having a nightmare.”

I nod. “You calmed me down.”

“I tried,” he says. “You settled after a while.”

“What did you do?”

“What?”

“I asked what you did to settle me.”

His eyes flicker to my face again. My body heats up. I remember the feel of him suddenly. How his arms wrapped around my body like a blanket. I remember feeling safe, protected… content.

“I held you, Esme.”

My lip is trembling for some reason. I rest my chin against my folded knees to stop it.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He nods. Silence laps over us for a few minutes and there’s only the sound of waves before us and birds flapping around in the sky above us. The wind nips lightly at my hair.

It’s a beautiful day.

“How long have you had night terrors?” Artem asks, breaking the silence.

“It started after my brother’s death,” I reply carefully, amazed that I’m okay sharing this with him. “I had them for about six months after this funeral and then… they kind of stopped.”

He reaches for the bottle beside him and lifts it straight to his lips. He takes a swig and sets it back down in the same place. The smell hits my nose a second later: whiskey.

“Until now.”

“I dreamed he was trying to hurt me again,” I tell him, trying not to stare at the bottle.

He stiffens instantly, his biceps flexing under the white t-shirt he’s wearing. “The fucker from the club?” he asks.

I glance down at my hands. “No,” I answer. “Not him.”

“Then who?” Artem asks, as his knuckles go white.

My voice is soft and pitiful, even to my ears. But there’s anger in it too. So much anger. A lifetime of anger.

“My father.”

One corner of his mouth goes up but he doesn’t allow himself to smile. I continue as though he hadn’t interrupted me.

I don’t know why I’m even telling him this, but there’s a strange unspoken truce that exists between us this morning and it makes me feel brave.

“Right before we… uh, met,” I tell Artem, “Papa caught me sneaking off the compound. He didn’t like that. He slapped me. Told me what I meant to him, what he was going to do with me now that I was old enough to whore out. It wasn’t nice, in case you were wondering. I think he got skipped when they were handing out textbooks on how to be a good father.”

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